Stony River Read Online Free PDF Page B

falling tree in a windstorm,” Fenn retorted. He looked up from his plate as she sat down, and something registered in his face for a fraction of a second before he mastered it—an unintentional appreciation for her natural appeal as she sat across from him with face shining-clean and radiant, her pulled-back hair emphasizing the graceful curve of her chin and throat.
    Sevana recognized the look. She had learned early in life that her entrance into a room could elicit glances of admiration from strangers and acquaintances alike. And for that she was not vain, but merely grateful—that with the love of the esthetic she’d been born with, her own appearance did not give her much cause for dissatisfaction. Her only true regret was not having brown hair and eyes, for she had always been convinced that dark girls epitomized true beauty better than their fair-haired sisters. “What about the wolves—and coyotes?” she persisted.
    “They’re not dangerous, either—unless you’re a rabbit.” On his feet to drain the last of his coffee, Fenn went to the counter and began construction of a hefty stack of peanut-butter sandwiches.
    Observing the production, Sevana decided that the bread he’d gotten in Cragmont yesterday wouldn’t last very long if he used the better part of a loaf for every lunch. She wondered if he ever made his own bread. Maybe she could try her hand at it, if she could figure out how to cook in such a rustic kitchen. The stove would probably be hard to master with all its grates and levers, but it would only be confusing at first: once she did something a few times, she was usually all right with it. “Do you have instructions how to run the stove?” she asked, trying to avert a problem she could already see coming. Life was difficult when you were confounded by anything with working parts.
    “Just slide the damper all the way over before you light it.” Fenn moved the lever in the slot to demonstrate. “When it gets going, you can move it back again.” He bagged the collective sandwiches, then foraged for raisins and other oddments to complete his lunch. After filling two canteens from the water bucket, he took his lunchbox in hand, looped a pair of boots with wicked-looking metal spikes over his shoulder by their tied-together laces, and headed for the door.
    “Have a good day,” she called hurriedly, realizing he was leaving.
    His eyes flicked hers briefly as he was reaching back to close the door.
    Sevana crossed her arms as she watched the long-legged figure traverse the yard in the thinning darkness. She wished she could find at least a glimmer of friendliness in his eyes for her. The morning peace was shattered as he fired up the truck and roared away down the mountain, the dense forest quickly blotting up all remnants of the sound.
    With Fenn gone, the house seemed unnervingly hollow and still. As Sevana fried the leftover batter and ate alone at the table, she wondered if she could occupy a whole day, even, against such an empty silence. Briskly, before she could become lost in it herself, she washed the few dishes, swept the dirt from the cracks and ledges of the uneven floorboards, and then went upstairs to unpack, hoping the sight of her belongings would help her begin to feel more at home in that absolutely deserted place.
    The first thing she lifted out of her satchel was her paint box. Just the sight of the treasured paints and brushes gave her the comforting feeling of being in the presence of old friends. No matter where she was, she thought as she reverently placed the box in the bedside crate, as long as she had her paints with her, she could never feel completely lost. A look through her artwork further cheered her, as did several studies hung strategically about the room. Next she took out the few favorite books she’d brought with her, and stowed them in another crate. She had read them so many times, she didn’t have it at the top of her list to read them again that