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“Everyone dies sometime, Cam.”
She was right. I knew she was right. “I know.” I didn’t want to talk about this anymore, and she must have sensed it because she didn’t say another word until we’d pulled into the dark driveway beside her house.
Without speaking, I stepped out and went around the car to open her door.
Harper stepped out of the car, the cab light shining behind her, illuminating the curves of her body, shining through the edges of her thick blond hair. I wanted to touch her right then, had to fight the urge to take a strand of that hair and rub it between my fingers. I wanted to pull her close, so I stepped away.
She closed the door and shouldered her bag, and we walked together up the path to the front steps of the house.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said quietly, turning to face me again.
“You’re welcome,” I managed, but words were hard because every ounce of energy I had was being expended to keep myself in check. I’d known Harper a few short days. We’d played some cards. There was no precedent in the world I could point to as defense if I were to suddenly pull her to me and kiss her.
She turned and stepped on the first riser, but then spun around and came back down. She moved in close in the darkness and her hand came up to cup my face, the warmth of her palm on my jaw sending my mind spinning.
“Cam?” she breathed.
I didn’t move, didn’t respond. The stillness of my exterior, I hoped, was hiding the chaotic turmoil going inside me—in my heart, my mind, my entire body—as I fought the urge to pull her into my arms and relieve the aching loneliness I didn’t even know I’d felt so acutely until Harper had arrived.
“You’re not cursed,” she said softly.
And maybe it was because I’d needed someone to say that to me, maybe it was because I wanted it to be true. Maybe it was just because there was something about Harper that was the opposite of death, the opposite of the macabre darkness that filled me when I thought about the trail of desolation behind me. But I gave up fighting in that moment, let my guard slip. And I leaned into her hand, my own arms going around her, one hand burying itself in her luscious thick hair.
For a long second, we hovered there, suspended in anticipation as our lips remained just millimeters apart. I could feel her shaking in my arms, feel her heart thudding inside her small body. I could feel how human, how alive, and therefore, how vulnerable she was. But I couldn’t help myself. I pressed my lips to hers and took what she offered. Reassurance, contentment, warmth and a frenzied storm of desire. It all rushed through me, replacing the worry and fear for the few minutes we stood there, kissing in the darkness like each of us was taking a treasure from the other.
I held her to me, felt her body mold to mine, felt the warmth of her hands on the back of my neck and on my low back, pulling me nearer.
And then it was over, and for a blissful second there was nothing but a warm contentment inside me. But then the dread and fear I lived with rushed in to replace it and I stumbled backward, unsure what to say or do.
“You’re not cursed, Cam,” she said again, and before I had to say anything at all, she was gone. She closed the heavy front door and I was left alone in the darkness.
* * *
Finally,I trudged back to my own house. I hadn’t left on the porch light, but my eyes were adjusting to the darkness deepening around me, and I could clearly see something on my deck as I approached. Just at the top of the stairs near the door there was a shape, a dark lump that didn’t belong there. I pulled the knife from my belt, sliding it open with a click.
Slowly, I climbed the steps, eyes on the shape. It moved, just a slight little shiver, and then it whined. And slowly I realized this must be the animal I’d been feeding. I stepped past it, glad it wasn’t blocking the door, and reached inside to switch on the porch light.
There, in a shaking heap just to the right of my door, was a dog. A very pregnant, very frightened dog with dull desperate chocolate eyes staring into mine, even as a low growl came from her throat. I put away my knife. She looked like a collie, except her coat was black instead of brown, but she had a white muzzle and expressive brown eyebrows next to a white blaze up her nose and forehead. I’d have to do a search to learn her breed. But first, I needed to figure out what to do with her.
“How’d you get here, girl?” I asked, squatting down and keeping my voice gentle and low. “Did you follow my scent?”
The dog whimpered, her eyes never leaving my face.
“You’re gonna be a momma, aren’t you?” I reached a hand toward her head, just holding it there, not moving.
The dog moved her head a little, angling her nose toward my hand, and I moved just a bit closer so she could smell me, hoping she’d match the scent to the food and water I’d brought, that she would know I wasn’t a threat. I guessed she already understood that, since she’d tracked me here.
The dog issued another whimper, sounding miserable and tired, and dropped her head. I looked her over as well as I could in the darkness, and saw a muddied dirty slash across her hip, just above the back leg. Had this dog tangled with the mountain lion?
“It’s okay, girl,” I told her, glancing around the darkness as my mind worked through what to do. “I’ll be right back.”
I couldn’t leave the dog outside. If a mountain lion was feeding in these hills, this injured dog was an easy target, and I wouldn’t be responsible for that. It was a miracle the dog had survived whatever had gotten her in the first place.
Back inside, I cleared a corner behind the couch and a path to the front door. I went back out and took the edge of the outdoor rug the dog was lying on in my hand. “Just going for a little ride,” I told her, and I gave the rug a gentle tug. It slid, with the dog still lying on it, and I pulled it over the wood of the deck, and up over the threshold of the door. The dog whined, especially as she went over the threshold, but she didn’t get up. I dragged the rug to the back corner of my living room, some distant voice wondering what the hell I was doing. I ignored the voice and brought a few towels, some food, and some water for the dog, tucking the towels around her like a little nest.
“I must be losing my mind,” I told her. “But you’re welcome here. You’re safe, okay?” I reached out again, but another low growl discouraged me from touching her. I’d have to gain her trust.
I moved around the house, cleaning up a bit and keeping the dog in the corner of my vision. She wasn’t bleeding, so I thought the gash could probably wait until morning for attention, and I didn’t think she’d let me touch it anyway. She watched me as I moved around, and eventually she ate a little bit and drank some water, lifting only her head and chest as her swollen belly lay on the rug. I guessed she might actually be in early labor already and figured I was about to be responsible for not just one stray dog but for many.
