Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection Read Online Free PDF

everyone. But that was all she’d ever known about
her husband’s only sibling. She tried to remember more and
couldn’t.
    “Goodnight, Jolee.”
    She tried to see him in the moonlight but
could only discern his outline. “Goodnight, Silas.”
    Overwhelmed with the crushing impact of
chance, she turned her face to the wall and closed her eyes,
wishing again for oblivion.
    * * * *
    The woman was impossible.
    He’d wanted to take her into a hospital when
the snow finally stopped, but Jolee refused, too afraid Carlos
could find the records, trace her somehow.
    “There are privacy laws,” he’d reminded her,
but she just gave him a long, steady look and shook her head.
    She did seem to be getting better, her cut
healing, memory returning, but he would have felt better if he’d
had confirmation from an emergency room doctor, or at least a few
x-rays or an MRI.
    Then he’d tried to take her into town for
clothes. “You can’t live in my t-shirts forever,” he’d teased. But
she didn’t want to go. Even when he’d offered to drive three hours
away, to a different town, she refused.
    “He’ll find me.”
    Silas didn’t point out the holes in her
logic. If Carlos found the car, if he discovered her body missing
from the wreck, that would prompt a sweep of the area—and being
anywhere near the accident site would then be the worst place to
be. No, he didn’t emphasize that fact at all.
    But he did bolster his security around the
cabin—not lights or alarms, but traps and snares. And he watched,
and waited and tried not to leave her alone. But he couldn’t always
be there. He’d had to run to town for supplies, going three hours
away, as he promised, getting them staples like sugar and salt,
things he only had enough stocked of for one. He’d bought her
clothes too, some jeans and shirts, both a little too snug—she
seemed smaller to him than she was, apparently—along with underwear
and socks.
    “No bras?” Jolee had asked in wonder as she
pawed through the bags.
    Silas had flushed and shrugged and turned
away to finish putting away groceries. What did he know about
women’s clothes? The truth was, he had looked at bras, lacy,
strappy things, small and soft in his hands. They made him dizzy,
and the woman who had come out to help him had just made him feel
more uncomfortable, so he’d left. He bought underwear for her
somewhere else, plain white cotton, the kind that came in a plastic
package, the kind he didn’t have to handle or touch. That seemed
safer.
    Of course, now the woman was walking around
braless in t-shirts and driving him further to distraction. Lesson
learned. But she’d really liked the oranges he brought home and had
delighted in the bar of chocolate he’d splurged on. That alone made
the trip worth it, in spite of her protest and worry and constant
questions.
    Silas wasn’t used to living with someone—he
knew that was part of it. And the mask was a bone of contention
between them that wouldn’t go away. He hated wearing it, she hated
him wearing it, and yet he couldn’t take it off. Revealing himself
to her would be a mistake, he was sure of it, and so he tried to
deflect, change the subject, make a joke instead. It didn’t always
work.
    Just that day, she’d been eating her lunch
in bed. He still made her take a mid-afternoon nap, even if she
protested, like a child, “I’m not tired!” She always slept though,
and he would bring her lunch on a tray. He liked seeing that sleepy
smile on her face when she woke.
    “What is this?” she’d asked, sipping from
her spoon. “It’s so good!”
    “Elk stew.” He’d had his before bringing
hers, but now sat in the chair beside her bed while she ate to keep
her company. The chair was a convenience for her nightmares, which
came and went, but she liked to fall asleep after a bad dream
holding his hand.
    “ My elk?” Her head lifted, eyes
wide.
    He raised an eyebrow. “I seem to remember
having something to do with bringing