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The sound of grain hitting metal met her ears, and she opened her eyes to see Krieger filling a small pot with oats and water.
He set the item down on rocks amid the fire and turned to look at her. He rested his arms on his thighs, his usual MO, and tilted his head as he regarded her. “So, are you and Derek an item or something?”
“What? Why would you ask that?”
He shrugged. “He seems . . . protective of you.”
She tugged at the collar of her shirt. “N-no, we have never been an item. H-he may have expressed interest a while back in becoming more than friends, but I didn’t reciprocate. He was fine with that, and really, he’s just protective of all the residents of Everwood. It’s his job.”
He shook his head and surveyed the ground. “No. This is different.”
She scoffed. He was one to talk.
He looked up at her again. “What?”
“You think Derek and I are an item because he’s protective of me, but have you checked yourself out lately?”
His brow furrowed. “T-that’s . . . different.”
She snapped her mouth shut and looked away. Was it?
When the oats began to boil, he placed a cloth over the handle and removed the pot from the heat. Using a wooden spoon, he scooped out portions into bowls, then handed her one. “Here, you should eat.”
She accepted the dish but poked at the contents. He was right, she should eat, but could she keep the food down? No time like the present to find out. She placed a spoonful in her mouth, chewed slowly, then swallowed. The oats tasted good.
He made himself a bowl, then asked, “What’s the deal with your father and this council?”
She shook her head. “There’s no deal.”
He ate a heaping spoonful of oats and asked, “But why do the people follow him?”
“My father was a colonel in the military. Afterward, he became the mayor of our village and, in his free time, became an excellent huntsman. Everyone knew my father. He was loved and respected, so when the end came, survivors looked for a leader.”
“So, they chose him, then?”
She nodded. “They knew he could provide for them and keep them safe.”
He finished his bowl and said, “And the council?”
“They keep the balance and help preserve order. It would be hard for one man to mind hundreds of survivors, now, wouldn’t it?” She set the bowl aside with some oats remaining.
He laughed. “I thought that was what he had you for?”
She met his gaze. “No, although the people have come to trust me as they would my father.”
“So, someday you’ll take over for him?”
“The council would never allow it.”
He leaned against the wall. “Why?”
She sighed. “They’re . . . old fashioned about these things. I would need . . .”
“What?”
“A husband.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
