A Journey's End (Journey's End #1) by Christopher Ann

Author:Christopher, Ann [Christopher, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Blue Iris Press
Published: 2015-08-26T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Miranda stepped closer and reached out a hand, beseeching. Something in her expression—a new determination, maybe—caused his flight response to flare up with a vengeance.

“We have to talk about this,” she told him.

He shook his head and turned away even though he had nowhere to go. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

A harsh sigh. “How did I know you’d say that?”

Probably because he was as predictable as Greenwich Mean Time, not that he’d admit it.

He looked around, desperate for an escape. The scariest thing about Miranda had reared its ugly head again. She saw him. She saw through him. Like his mother, she saw things about him that he’d need an advanced degree to figure out. All he knew right now was that the walls were closing in on him and Miranda was the one who’d set them in motion. He couldn’t breathe. He needed fresh air. That was it. Firewood. They needed firewood to get through the night.

Jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the back of his house, where he had a chopping block and a cord of wood at the ready, he grabbed his flannel jacket off the back of the chair where he’d tossed it earlier. “We need firewood. I’ll go chop some.”

“We don’t need firewood this very second. We need to work things out.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You? Say something?” She laughed, but there was no humor in her smile. Only bitterness. “Why would I ever hope for that? I may be a misguided optimist, but I’m not delusional.”

That low blow was so far beneath his belt that he took an aggressive step forward and got right in her face. “Sorry I’m not as open as you want me to be. The last person I opened up to went and died on me, so I’m a little guarded.”

Another derisive laugh. “A little? The only thing more guarded than you is Korea’s demilitarized zone.”

He stiffened. Way in the back of his jaw, he felt a muscle begin to twitch.

It felt like this conversation was causing him to implode. His gut churned and burned, surging and retreating like the glowing orange magma in a volcano about to blow. And Miranda didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Instead of running to safety as fast as her legs could carry her, she hitched up her chin and came closer, into the danger zone.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” she asked quietly.

He wheeled around, away from her, and shoved an arm into his jacket sleeve. “I’m getting wood.”

“No.” Her hand clamped down around his wrist with surprising strength. He tried to jerk free, but there was no shaking her off. “I’m talking to you.”

He looked to the vaulted ceiling, blinking against the sudden stinging in his eyes. Blinked. Shook his head. Tried to laugh, to shake it off. To breathe.

She waited.

Finally there was nothing else to do but meet her determined gaze and try not to notice the way she smelled—like flowers,

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