Modern Wicked Fairy Tales: Complete Collection Read Online Free PDF Page B

him down.”
    “Oh sure, take all the credit.” Jolee
laughed, spooning another bite. “Just because you tracked him, shot
him, dressed him…”
    Silas smiled at her teasing. “I admit, it’s
the only thing I’ve ever eaten killed by BMW.”
    “Does food taste better when you’ve hunted
it yourself?” she inquired, drinking her milk. Big Anna, his Irish
Dexter cow, provided them with fresh, whole milk, and the three
chickens, which the wolf had been eyeing, he was sure, when she
showed up on the hill, gave them eggs for breakfast every day.
    “I think it does.” He nodded. “Wait ’til I
make the chops.”
    “Mmm.” Her eyes lit up. He loved the way
they did that whenever she got excited about something. “I haven’t
had elk chops in years. My father used to make them.”
    “He was a hunter?” Silas had asked her as
much as he dared about her family and the circumstances surrounding
her father’s death, although he’d been careful about what he, in
turn, shared with her about his own life.
    Carlos hated the unions, and it didn’t
surprise him at all to hear he’d been getting rid of loggers like
Jolee’s father who were organizing, although it made him furious.
But most things about Carlos made him angry, although very little
surprised him anymore.
    Jolee smiled. “Know any loggers out here who
aren’t?”
    “Good point,” he conceded. He watched her
eating and felt a deep ache in his chest. She looked a great deal
like Isabelle, and he supposed that was one of the reasons Carlos
had married her. That, and the fact that he’d killed her father and
left her practically an orphan right out of high school. Carlos had
created the perfect damsel in distress to rescue. Besides, his
brother lived by the credo—keep your friends close and your enemies
closer.
    Silas noticed her looking at him and he let
his gaze shift to the window, the pine trees sagging like a cluster
of fat brides under the weight of the snow. He tried to keep
himself from her as much as he could, to reveal as little as
possible while still maintaining her trust, but it wasn’t easy when
she looked at him like that. He sensed the question coming before
she even asked it.
    “Why don’t you want me to see you?”
    “Jolee, please…” He held up his hand,
shaking his head, and stood. This was the easiest way to end a
conversation he didn’t want to have.
    “Just tell me why.” Her voice was soft,
pleading, and goddamnit, it made him want to relent. “Is it so much
to ask?”
    He tried not to carry the guilt of it,
because part of him wanted to tell her, wanted to share his life—or
lack thereof, anymore—with this woman. Then he reminded himself of
their situation, that this was his brother’s wife, a woman who was
in serious danger, someone he now had to protect. Taking off his
hunting mask and scaring her away wasn’t going to do anyone any
good.
    “I’ll be out back,” he replied gruffly,
heading toward the door.
    “Silas, you don’t need to run away.”
    Her words made him turn on her, in spite of
his best intentions. He snapped. “I’m not running away. There are
things to do around here. Food doesn’t appear out of thin air you
know. I’ve got wood to chop.”
    He heard her gasp when he slammed the door
behind him.
    It felt good to be outside and he stalked
past the shed, around to the wood pile, grabbing the maul and
swinging it at a piece of white oak already set on the block. He
set about his task, easing into a steady, lulling pace, working
hard, working up a sweat. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt, peeling
it off, the cold air feeling painfully good against his skin.
Picking up the maul, he got back to work, setting wood, swinging in
a full, round arc, hearing that satisfying ‘pop’ as the oak split
apart, flying to either side of the block. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Splitting wood was like meditation, repetitive that way, giving his
mind some freedom.
    And he needed some freedom, because ever
since