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  "You have a young, youthful face. You're aging quite well."

  "Good answer." Liz smiles. I love her smile.

  "Did you get married young?" Now I am prying.

  "Yes, too young. I always justified it with the fact that my husband was five years older than I was. We weren’t a couple of young, dumb kids; just one of us was a cradle robber.” Liz pauses. “Sorry, I've said enough about my husband already. I'll stop. No further talk of my husband. He gave up on me, so no more about him.”

  Liz makes a motion to zip her lips. It’s as if she is solidifying her declaration against her husband. I promise myself not to ask about him since it brings a sense of pain to Liz.

  I show Liz where I keep the spare key to the gate inside the lip of the keypad box, then show her how to jiggle the key. Lifting to unlatch the metal bar before swinging the gates open, I motion her to a large rectangular metal box that has a boulder on top of it.

  “This is the drop box to the property.”

  I remove the boulder, which keeps it securely closed, and remove the items.

  “When I am here, I have neighbors deliver packages, mail, or leave milk and eggs. Some keep milking cows while others keep chickens, whereas I do not. In return, I stock them up on produce in the summer, when I can. They always know when I am here and when I am not.”

  "The crazy ones or just the bears?" Liz asks with humor on her face.

  I laugh. I like her sense of humor.

  "When my neighbors go into town, they collect things for everyone. Some go into Calgary or Edmonton more often than others do. They like to play the role of pony express. I do the same for them. I don’t feel as if I am out in the middle of nowhere or stranded with no resources. Basically, anything can be delivered here."

  I continue to load the back of the truck with goods left in the drop box. Liz asks if she can help, but I insist she not. Once everything is removed from the box, I replace the boulder and point out all the paths, trails, and roads. Liz has a blank, confused look on her face as she looks over the vast forest of trees and wilderness lying before us. She couldn't manage on her own and I think she is realizing it, by the forlorn look on her face.

  "Hey, look, Jake!” Liz points. “There's a moose staring at us from the grove of trees over there.”

  Liz begins slowly stepping in the direction of the moose.

  "You know, if you approach any closer, he will charge at you. They are fast and strong. They do not scare off easily."

  As Liz continues creeping toward the moose, I pull my rifle from the back of the truck and cock it. Once Liz hears the click of the gun, she quickly turns around to face me.

  "Are you going to shoot me to stop me from getting a better look at that moose?"

  "No," I say gently. "I'm just taking precautions. Moose are extremely unpredictable. They aren’t friendly like they are in cartoons.”

  Liz walks back to me and slides her hand into mine. Heat rises in me from where she touches. "You're not going to shoot him just for the sport of it, are you?"

  "No, I wouldn't do that. I would only fire if he gets any closer or it looks as if he will harm you.”

  I keep her hand in mine. I don’t want to let go. I lead her to examine the electric fence. I'm using my rifle as a pointer stick as I describe the fence. Liz’s eyes follow the movement of my rifle.

  "You haven't heard a word I have said. Have you?”

  I look down at the rifle. She has her eyes glued to the gun.

  “Does this gun make you that nervous?"

  "I just haven't been around guns."

  "I can teach you how to use a gun so you’re not uneasy," I suggest.

  Liz cringes as she shakes her head. She obviously has no desire to fire a gun, hold it in her hands, or look at it. She has no idea the power a gun gives a person or the protection it provides. After seeing her so uncomfortable, I place my rifle back in the truck.

  "Let me explain the fence to you again.” Liz listens attentively this time.

  "It's better to give a mountain lion, a moose, or a wandering bear a bit of a shock than to shoot the animal to keep it off your property, away from your food, and a good distance from your home. It's not an extremely high voltage, just enough of a jolt to get wildlife to turn around. It’s like training them to stay a safe distance away. My grandpap had it installed when he first inherited the land many years ago. It hasn't been updated like the other properties. Since you are petite, you could manage to crawl through with few problems but please use the main gate like I showed you so you don't have to deal with any electric shocks."

  "Now I'm a bit embarrassed I attempted that route.” Liz blushes.

  "Don't be. I would have run, too."

  "Yeah, but you run like a superhero. You could leap that fence in a single bound."

  "You were only in your socks, a little dehydrated, and a bit malnourished."

  Liz makes an imitation of gagging. "Eww, I just couldn't devour the Meal Ready to Eat pouches you left for me. I wasn't that hungry."

  "They aren't that bad. When you're hungry and it's your only choice, you'll eat it.” I state from experience, but don’t include that piece of information about myself.

  "Thanks for not allowing me to get to that point."

  I smile. "I would never have come close to doing that to you. I'm not a monster."

  Liz smiles in return. “I’m starting to figure that out.”

  I am relieved she is softening.

  "I have some water you can take with you and leave now if you'd like, but I think it is best if you get a little stronger.”

  I silently plead that she doesn't take my offer, but I still just want to put it out there for her. I want her to feel comfortable, to trust me.

  “I am totally confused, Jake. You kidnap me, bring me over the border disguised as a potato into the middle of nowhere in Canada, chain me up, and now you’re opening the road to freedom for me? You didn’t take me home when I asked. I don't understand any of this!" she yells.

  "I don't want you to feel like a prisoner here,” I begin to explain, but how could she not feel imprisoned?

  Liz runs at me, slamming her fists into my chest. "I shouldn't have told you about my breakdown." Tears stream down her face. "Now you know the wrath I will get once I return home. You’re playing this to your advantage."

  "That didn't sound like a breakdown to me and I'm not playing you. I would never do that to you," I insist as I raise my voice. "I was the one who snapped. I was the one who made the wrong choice. If I can't recall a rainstorm, then I am clearly not sound of mind myself. I will try to rectify this as soon as I can trust myself to think straight. I will face more repercussions over this than you can ever imagine, regardless of what you think!”

  I run my fingers through my hair, taking in a breath, and try to speak calmly. "I just don't want you to feel like you’re completely trapped. That's why I'm showing you around the property. I want you to feel comfortable. You can take my new truck, anything you want, that is, when you are stronger. The drive up the main road was a little too rough on you, even though you say it wasn’t, and that's because of me. I'm glad you told me about what happened with your husband. Now I definitely don't want to send you back weak, with bruises and scrapes on your body. You have to go back strong."

  Liz charges at me again, this time burying her face in my chest and wrapping her arms around my waist. She cries into my shirt. I hold onto her. I smell her lavender-scented hair and take in the warmth of her creamy skin. I don't want to release her. Liz’s touch relaxes me. I need her with me more than she’ll ever know.

  Chapter 14: Jake

  Liz watches me chop wood while sitting on a large boulder, terrified, as I swing the axe over my head. Zeke is at her side. I notice out of the corner of my eye how terribly her clothes drown her body. The leggings bunch in excess and the shirt hangs halfway down her thighs. I will get online after I finish splitting this last log to order appropriate clothes. I don't want her to be mi
serable in ill-fitting clothes while she is here.

  Liz moves a safe distance away so the flying splinters from the split pieces of wood don’t hit her. By the horrified expression on her face, she is probably imagining parts of her body on the chopping block, not a simple piece of wood.

  As I balance another log before splitting it, Liz says to me, "I have a little under a hundred grand between stocks, bonds, annuities, and a money market account. It's yours if you are looking for some sort of ransom money.”

  I stop, lean on the handle of my axe, and reply, "I don't want your money.”

  “Then, what do you want?” Liz asks suspiciously.

  I remain silent.

  I take the axe, grip it tightly in my hand, swing it over my head, and slice the log in two. Liz flinches every time my axe cuts in the wood. I have not gathered the pieces as I have been cutting. They lie scattered all over the dirt. Liz pulls the sleeve of her sweatshirt down, extends out her left arm, and begins gathering the chopped wood.

  "You don't have to do that," I assert. "You’re going to get splinters in your hands.” Liz ignores my warning.

  "It's not like I have anything better to do and these hands aren’t freshly manicured," Liz says, distressed as she places the fresh wood in a new pile.

  "Do you want the old stuff on top and the new stuff on the bottom or are you okay with me just adding to your pile?” Liz points to the stack of wood already accumulated next to the cabin.

  "I don't want you to do any of it!" I'm trying not to raise my voice, but it’s still rather strong. "I'll take care of it!” I add sternly.

  Liz doesn't understand that I need to do this. Plus, I don't want her to think she has to take on daily chores while she is here.

  "I'll just make a new stack on the side. You can add the old stuff since it might have hidden spiders on top.”

  Liz turns to busy herself when I yell, "Seriously, I've got it!”

  The harshness of my voice is startling. Liz jolts and turns on her heels to face me.

  "Why are you cutting wood anyway? You have a gas fireplace, not a wood-burning fireplace in the cabin. You don’t even have a wood-burning stove in the kitchen.”

  I want to explain her that it’s a natural release of tension as I swing my axe over my head and bring it down forcefully on the log, but I'm not certain she will understand. Perhaps she will.

  "The fire pit." I point to the circular stone formation near the lake. "I light fires at night.”

  "I'll let you do it the way you like to do it. I'll go back into the cabin so I’ll be out of your way.”

  I don't necessarily want her out of my way. I like having her sit on the boulder, with Zeke, watching me. I like looking over at her blue eyes as they veer through her eyelashes.

  Liz piled the freshly cut wood where I would have placed it, right on the bottom so the old wood is accessible on the top. I have on gloves; she does not. She could have easily suffered a spider bite. I cannot allow that to happen.

  * * * * *

  The delicious aroma hits me as I walk through the back door of the cabin. The cabin hasn’t smelled like this before. Liz cooked while I was outside meticulously stacking the firewood and putting my chainsaw away in the garage.

  Liz is stroking Zeke on his belly, although he is dead asleep. I look for something cold to drink from the fridge. I notice the fridge is barren of beer.

  I ask Liz, puzzled, "I thought I had a couple of beers still in the fridge, not that I mind if you had any.”

  Liz stands from where she is kneeling with Zeke. She swats a dismissive hand in the air. "I got bored. I thought you might be hungry. Since I couldn't help outside, I thought I'd get busy inside. I used your beer to make some beer-batter bread and beer-battered onions.”

  Liz lifts a dishcloth to reveal her creations and my mouth waters.

  “I was obviously following a beer theme, so I assaulted your Cornish hens," she says with a grin on her face.

  I laugh. "What?"

  Liz pops open the oven door a sliver. Two Cornish hens are sitting atop beer bottles, roasting.

  "It's called beer in the rear.” A smile plays at the corner of her lips. “It tastes better than it looks. The meat falls right off the bone. It’s really good, I promise. However, it needs more time. Go hop in the shower. It'll be ready by the time you get out.”

  As I walk away from the kitchen, I can't help but notice Zeke lying on the floor asleep, almost sleeping too soundly.

  Liz clears her throat. "About Zeke. Well, um...I'm sorry. I didn't notice until it was too late, way too late."

  I shake my head in confusion. "He's just sleeping."

  "Not exactly." Liz cringes.

  "Zeke was in the kitchen while I was cooking. Some beer spilled on the floor. He lapped it up before I could clean it. As I continued chopping tomatoes and cucumbers for the salad, Zeke snuck the last beer bottle and chugged it down."

  I chuckle. "So, Zeke is sleeping after downing a beer?"

  Liz is wringing her hands. "Yeah, I basically got your dog drunk. I'm so sorry, Jake."

  "It won't kill him; don't worry about it, Liz."

  I laugh as I walk toward my room on the main floor.

  * * * * *

  Liz places two plates on the table. "What can I get you to drink with dinner? In case you have forgotten, Zeke drank your last beer. There is some white wine chilled in the fridge. Would you like me to pour you a glass?" she asks.

  "I'm good with just water, but let me get it." I jump to get two glasses out of the cupboard.

  "Do you want some wine?" I ask.

  Liz shakes her head. "I stopped drinking in college. I get tipsy too fast and the last time I got drunk, it didn’t end well.”

  "My grandpap was a wine collector. That bottle of wine has been untouched in the fridge for a long time. The beer is for a friend who likes a cold brew when he comes to visit, so I keep some for him.”

  "So, you’re not a beer-chugging lumberjack?" Liz says with a wry smile.

  "No, I’m not.”

  I set a glass of water down for Liz as I return to my seat.

  I bite into the moist chicken. It tastes delicious. Liz is looking at me strangely out of the corner of her eye. I must be moaning as I devour the food, as if this is a sexual experience. Then again, how would I know? I have not had a fabulous home-cooked meal or sex in a very long time.

  Liz jumps out of her seat when the oven timer goes off. Its beeping sounds muffle the moans I continue to make as I savor the delectable food. Liz pulls a cake out of the oven to cool atop the stove. She baked a cake…she baked me a cake!

  When Liz returns to the table, she apologizes for the vinaigrette salad dressing.

  “Most people don’t like this kind of dressing on their salad, but it’s all I could improvise making.”

  “Liz, it’s delicious. Everything you made tonight is simply delicious,” I tell her.

  “So, if you didn’t snatch me for money and you didn’t abduct me to be your slave, then I’m going to bet you were looking for a cook.”

  She pops a piece of bread in her mouth and smiles coyly as she chews.

  I choke on her words, pick up my water, and take a drink.

  “Let’s go with that.” I wink at her. “Yes, I needed a cook and help around here is hard to find.”

  Liz laughs at my remark. I love that we are laughing together over a meal.

  With dinner plates cleared, Liz serves me a piece of chocolate cake with a warm chocolate sauce poured over the top. She apologizes for the cake being too heavy instead of being light and fluffy like a box mix, but it is nothing less than scrumptious.

  Doug told me the medicine she is taking is for a heart condition and I should be concerned. He didn’t mind filling it for her, but he said it’s not a minor health issue. I decide to take a risk and ask her about it.

  "Liz, how bad is your heart? I hope you don't mind me asking."

  "I obviously can't function well without medicine. I didn't
think it was that bad. My cardiologist didn’t seem overly concerned about my diagnosis earlier this summer. My sisters told me not to be so melodramatic. Now that I am back on my medicine, I'm not waking up with headaches or an upset stomach. I don't feel dizzy or winded. The medicine is supposed to help strengthen my heart and help keep the blood pumping through my ventricles. My cardiologist said he was taking extreme cautionary measures in my treatment because of my family history."

  Liz takes my plate and rinses it off in the sink, avoiding more talk about her heart condition.

  "You don't have to clean up. I can do it," I say.

  "I can handle rinsing off a few dishes, loading them in the dishwasher, and pressing a start button. I'm not bed ridden or crippled.”

  Liz appears to be insulted that I am telling her what she can't do. Perhaps she is one of those people who, when you tell her she cannot do something, that gives her the drive to do it in spite of what anyone says. I like that about her.

  Liz adds, "What do you expect me to do while I am here? Sit in the cabin and knit?"

  She smiles and I laugh with her as I run my fingers through my hair. I don't know how to answer her question. I didn't know what to expect; all I know is that I love her being here. I need her here with me. I still cannot bring myself to explain all of this to her.

  "Can you check on Zeke? He's quiet and has been sleeping a very long time.”

  I walk over to Zeke to find he is in a comatose state.

  "He is still breathing. I'm sure he'll be fine."

  "How do you know?" Liz crouches down next to me.

  "I don't. I've never had a dog before."

  Liz’s eyes bulge over this revelation. I can't imagine what she'll think when she finds out where I got this puppy and how he was trained. I've only had him a few months myself. Getting a companion dog was not my idea.

  "Have you had a dog like this?" I ask.

  "I’ve had a toy poodle, not a big dog like Zeke."

  I pat his tummy. "He is a hearty dog. I’m sure he’ll just sleep it off."

  Liz's eyes are sick with worry; a frown scrunches on her forehead. I want to hold her, console her in my arms, and assure her Zeke will be all right.