"Keep an eye on her, Ace,” he called through the doorway. "I'm beat. I'll take the next shift."
Casually, I began opening kitchen drawers and cupboards. Shaun was right; we'd eat well today. Canned corn, peas, sloppy joe sauce, powdered milk, rice, kidney beans, and vegetable oil. Sugar, flour, cornmeal, vinegar. I crouched in front of the sink and peered into the cabinet. I stared at the gallon-size clear plastic bag filled with first aid supplies . . . and a pocketknife.
"Fire's going,” Mason said from above, and I immediately shut the cabinet and stood up. The kitchen bar separated us, and I hid my hands in my pockets to keep Mason from seeing that they were shaking.
"That's good,” I responded automatically.
His bleary eyes instantly came alert with suspicion. "What are you doing?"
"Figuring out what to cook. I'm starving."
He continued to watch me, his look pure calculation. He came around the bar, slowly opening cabinet doors. His gaze shifted between the contents of each cupboard and my face, as if my reaction might clue him in on what I was up to. There was a knife block with steak knives on the counter, and he immediately seized it, studying me distrustfully.
He finished checking the bank of cupboards over the stove and moved down the counter toward me. In a matter of seconds, he'd open the door under the sink.
"You'll have to show me how to work the stove,” I said, fiddling with the knobs. "I can cook something for us once the stove is on. We have a gas stove at home, so I'm not used to electric,” I added, trying to keep my voice neutral.
With one final, searching look at me, Mason turned his attention to the stove top. He twisted one of the greasy, worn knobs. Immediately, a sweet, pleasant burning smell filled the kitchen, and when I held my hand over the coils, I felt rising heat.
"A good sign,” I said.
He nodded in agreement. "Power's not out-yet.”
”Sleep first or eat first?" I asked.
"Your call,” he said, making it sound like the decision was up to me and he didn't care either way. In one of those rare moments, though, he made the mistake of shooting a split-second look of longing at the sofa. I felt a small victory in noticing. It meant Mason wasn't perfect after all-he could slip up and give away his secrets. And that gave me hope.
"Let's nap first,” I said, turning off the stove burner. "We're exhausted."
After he fell asleep, I'd come back for the pocketknife.
I sank into the rocking chair near the fireplace, and Mason stretched out on the sofa. The heat from the fire tingled my skin, and I pulled a wool blanket up to my chin. A warm smokiness filled the ranger outpost, making my thoughts drowsy. I sighed, already feeling stiffness in my muscles from the long hike here. I wished I never had to move again.
Long after I shut my eyes, I felt Mason watching me. I knew he wouldn't sleep until he was sure I'd fallen asleep first. To keep my mind alert, I counted time. I was exhausted, but I could outlast him. I had to, if I wanted the pocketknife.
The fire burned down, smoldering quietly in the grate. At long last, I heard Mason shift, rolling to face away from me. His breathing slowed, and when I stole a quick glimpse, his long legs were relaxed in sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was a bleak, drizzly afternoon in March of my junior year, and the Wrangler was in the shop with a blown gasket. My brother, Ian, had promised to hang around after school-I had Key Club-and give me a ride home. After ten minutes of waiting, I left a distress call on his voice mail. After thirty minutes, my messages turned hostile. After an hour, the janitor kicked me out and locked up for the night.
Within seconds, my hair was plastered over my ears and my dress clung to my figure. Rain dripped off my eyelashes. My lips felt stiff with cold, and to keep them from freezing, I muttered every swear word I could think of, in every possible combination. I was going to punch Ian. The minute I got home, I was going to shove my fist into his nose, and I didn't care if it got me grounded from Korbie's party the following weekend.
Halfway home I kicked off my silk polka-dot ballet flats and hurled them furiously into the gutter. Ruined. I hoped Ian had eighty dollars sitting around, because that's how much they were going to cost him.
I was about to jaywalk across the street, when a black truck honked and I jumped back onto the curb. Calvin Versteeg rolled down the passenger window and hollered, "Get in!"
I threw my books in the backseat of his extended cab and boosted myself inside. I felt rivulets of water running down my thighs and pooling in the leather seat. When I glanced down, I could see skin peeking through the lavender fabric of my dress. I couldn't remember what color underwear I'd put on that morning. A mortifying thought struck me. Had my underwear been showing through my dress the whole walk home? I folded my hands self-consciously in my lap.
If Calvin noticed, he had the decency not to comment. He grinned. "I ever tell you the story about the girl who tried to take a shower outside?"
I punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up."
He reached into the backseat, groping blindly. "I bet I can scrounge up some soap in my gym bag. . . ."
I giggled. "You are the dumbest boy ever, Calvin Versteeg.”
”Dumb but chivalrous. Where to?"
"Home, so I can strangle Ian with my bare hands.”
”A no-show?" Calvin guessed.
"With a death wish."
Calvin cranked the heat. "You should have called me."
I looked at him, perplexed. Calvin was my best friend's older brother, but aside from that, we didn't have a relationship. I'd dreamed for years that he would see me in a new light, but the truth was, calling Calvin for a ride would have been the same as calling any other guy at school.
"I guess I didn't think of that,” I said, bewildered by his offer. He turned on the radio. Not loud and blaring; a steady melody to
chase away the silence. I don't remember what we talked about the rest of the ride. I stared through the window, thinking, I'm in Calvin Versteeg's truck. Without Korbie. Just the two of us. And he's hitting on me. I couldn't wait to tell someone. And then it dawned on me. For the first time, I couldn't run straight to Korbie. She didn't want me flirting with her brother. She would brush it off, telling me he was just being nice. But he wasn't. He was hitting on me, and it was the most flattering thing that had ever happened to me.
Calvin pulled into my driveway. "We should do this more often,” he told me as I climbed out.
I smiled back, unsure. "Yeah. That would be nice."
I was about to shut the door when he said, "Hey, you forgot this,” and he offered me a folded scrap of paper.