HOMESTEAD

KINDLED

CLAIRE KENT

CONTENTS

About Homestead

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

About Claire Kent

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2024 by Claire Kent. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

ABOUT HOMESTEAD

After losing the last remaining member of my family, I'm left all alone in a dangerous, uncivilized world. A twenty-three-year-old woman with no skills, no resources, and no protection can't make it on her own after Impact, so I'm forced to rely on the charity of strangers to survive.

My one chance of safety and security comes from an unexpected offer. Jimmy Carlson needs a partner. He wants help in his house and a woman in his bed, and he'd like that partner to be me. In return, I get a place to live, plenty of food, and the protection of a competent man and his larger community. It's a good deal, so of course I accept.

It means I have to live with a gruff, stoic man I barely know. All the new chores around the house are difficult enough, but they're not my biggest challenge. Because I'm now Jimmy's woman… whatever that means.

1

Y EAR NINE AFTER IMPACT

GRANDPA WAS a prepper back before Impact. One of those hard-core nutjobs always muttering about the end of days.

As a kid, I secretly believed he was fun and fascinating—and smarter than my parents would ever admit. He would show up a few times a year to our big house in Bentonville, Arkansas, with its manicured lawn and shiny appliances, and he’d tell me about his adventures in stockpiling necessities and the latest self-sustaining innovations he’d installed in his cabin.

“Chloe, doll,” he’d tell me, “the world is hanging on by a thread. It’s on its last legs. Don’t you feel the end in the air?”

I would close my eyes. Sniff the air. Try to recognize the doomsday vibes he could so clearly sense.

I never could.

He lived deep in the sparsely populated hill country in southern Missouri. Ozark born and bred. My mom always laughed and said that one day her father would disappear into the woods and never emerge again.

My parents were wealthy, intelligent, and successful. They loved my grandfather but never took him seriously. My dad was an executive for a multinational retail corporation, and my mom was a college professor. They finally had me in their late thirties after years of failed attempts and fertility treatments, and they treated me like a gift from on high.

From the cradle, it was understood that I would be as cultured, educated, and privileged as my parents. That I would care about my grandfather because he was family but would never let his eccentric, conspiracy-loving worldview infect me. I learned early that as long as I was a good girl, I would be given anything their love and money could provide.

Yes, sometimes I’d daydream about giving up our boring, vanilla life and running away to live with Grandpa, but I would always keep those imaginings secret. I never genuinely believed they could possibly materialize, and even if they could, I wouldn’t want to give up my parents or my friends or my pretty room or all my stuff.

But life likes to spin us around just for fun. When I was fourteen, my silly daydreams came true.

One random Friday, the president announced that an asteroid was on a collision course for Earth. My world and everyone else’s—the entire planet—fell into chaos.

Everything that was capable of collapsing eventually did.

My grandfather showed up the next day as stores were being ransacked and riots were erupting in the streets. He begged us to run. Escape to his survival-adapted cabin in the middle of nowhere where he’d stored up years’ worth of food and provisions.

My parents finally agreed, but they insisted on taking the time to pack all their favorite possessions while Grandpa and I waited impatiently in his old truck.

The delay was a mistake. Large groups of violent looters were already hitting the wealthy neighborhoods in town, plundering houses and killing anyone who resisted.

My mom and dad didn’t resist. Neither of them had ever thrown a punch or loaded a gun in their lives. But they were killed anyway, and Grandpa and I barely made it out of there alive.

By then the interstates and highways were impossible, clogged with cars and roadblocked by aggressive militia groups whose day had finally arrived. Grandpa took us on smaller back roads, shooting at or running over anyone who tried to stop us, until we reached his remote cabin and left the remains of civilization behind.

We stayed there—living off everything he’d stored up and using the self-sustaining energy and plumbing systems he’d installed—for more than eight years.

A couple of years ago, as our supplies were running low, we realized we’d finally have to leave the safe isolation of our home long enough to scavenge for food and provisions. This region of the Ozarks was abandoned a long time ago as the protected forests and uncultivated wildland overtook the former pockets of residents, but there are still plenty of abandoned buildings remaining.

We’ve lived on anything we can salvage from the wreckage of the former world as well as on the goodwill of the occasional passing stranger ever since.

It’s the ninth year after Impact on a cold, gray afternoon in late autumn, and Grandpa and I are on another quest for food.

He hoarded gasoline as well as food, and we still have some in reserve, but we’ve switched to taking his side-by-side ATV everywhere. His truck uses too much gas, and it’s no longer drivable through the overgrown dirt roads and trails of the wilderness surrounding his cabin.

Most of these roads weren’t paved even before the asteroid hit.

In the past two years, we’ve found and searched every abandoned hunting cabin, backwater shop, and outdoors outfitter within fifty miles of the cabin, so we’re having to go farther out now for successful scavenging trips.

Today we’ve driven east and had very little luck. Every damaged remnant of the old world that we come across has already been looted.

Grandpa has been steering us between the thick trees and through the overgrown foliage covering an old hiking trail, and I gasp when the familiar deep woods suddenly break into a clearing.

Not a clearing.

An old parking lot.

“Must’ve been a trailhead,” Grandpa says, just as surprised as I am.

The pavement is crumbling and filled with potholes, but there’s still occasionally a faded hint of the painted lines from parking spaces. “Look—there’s a sign.”

When he shifts into park, I jump out and hurry over to lift the toppled sign. Most of it is unreadable, but enough remains to prove it used to be a trail map and instructions for hikers.

I let the sign drop because several bugs are crawling on it, skittering too close to my hands.

“Think this musta been part of the national park or somethin’,” Grandpa says. He’s a small, lanky man with untrimmed gray hair and a long, wiry beard. I’ve always encouraged him to improve his hygiene and self-care, but he insists there’s no point anymore. “Look, got a building over there. Get back in and we’ll check it out.”

I climb into my seat, wiping my hands on my jeans, which have stretched and thinned so much over the years that it now feels like mere threads are holding them together.

They’re the jeans I was wearing when I left Bentonville at fourteen. I was a little chubby back then, having developed hips and boobs early and disliking exercise. My calorie intake dropped drastically after Impact, and my activity level increased. So even though my body has changed and matured over the years, I can still wear the same size. I do have other clothes that I’ve managed to scavenge, but none of them fit as well as these old jeans. I dread having to give them up.

Grandpa drives us over to the small building—half of it has collapsed from the elements and disrepair—and I slide behind the steering wheel as he gets out to investigate.

He taught me to drive early on, and we never leave our vehicle unattended if there’s any choice.

I look around at the parking lot as he disappears around the back in search of a usable entrance. There are a couple of abandoned cars. And on the far side of the lot, there’s an exit onto an old road.

A paved road.

This is all new to me. The scene feels foreign. Alien. We haven’t emerged from the safety of these woods for nine years.

Grandpa returns in a few minutes, grumbling that it’s hopeless and the building looks to already be pillaged anyway.

“Should we try the road?” I ask him, pointing toward the exit.

“S’pose so. Looks like this area mighta been more developed, so maybe there’s more supplies around here.”

“Maybe there’re people.”

That’s not a hopeful statement. It’s an anxious one. We have occasionally encountered travelers or other holed-up inhabitants in the woods, but they’ve always been more a threat than a promise. Grandpa had to kill a couple of men who liked the looks of me too much, and one couple took off with a whole box of supplies we’d found. A few we encountered were nice. Grandpa has always told me to flutter my eyelashes and act helpless so they might feel sorry for us. It sometimes works, but it’s always felt like a risk.

I’d rather stay away from people if possible since they can so rarely be trusted.

Grandpa is over seventy now. I try not to think about what will happen to me when he dies.

I’ve never been on my own. I’ve always had someone to take care of me.

I drive us out of the parking lot and onto the rough pavement of the damaged road. The surrounding area is still partly wooded, but it’s different. Not as thick and impenetrable as we’re used to. When we get to the top of a big hill, I can actually see out into the distance. Trees and fields and hills and old roads and even a couple of actual towns that are probably abandoned now.

Beyond that, it looks like farms. More settlements.

It’s hard to tell from this distance, but they might not be deserted.

Maybe people live out this way. Not just hermits and stragglers but actual communities.

I’m honestly not sure they exist anymore.

“Don’t know about this, Chloe, doll.” Grandpa is frowning as he squints out at the expansive view.

“Yeah. I know. Should we turn around?”

“Think so. Looks like people live out this way. Can’t trust ’em.”

I’m already making a U-turn. It feels scarily open here without the shelter of the forest. I don’t like it. I want to get back.

After a minute, I hear a sound behind us. I don’t immediately recognize what it is because it’s so out of context.

An engine. A loud one.

I glance back and see a motorcycle on the road behind us. My hands grow cold, and my heart drops into my gut.

“Faster,” Grandpa mutters after he’s glanced back too. He always goes soft rather than loud when he’s urgent. “Chloe, doll, faster.”

I accelerate until I’m driving as fast as possible given our vehicle and the condition of the road. I’m barely breathing now, and I couldn’t even explain why I’m so scared.

We don’t know this area. Maybe they have access to plenty of fuel. Maybe motorcycles are common. Maybe the guy behind us is out for a joyride or is in a hurry to do an errand.

Maybe he just happens to be going in the same direction as us.

But I don’t believe any of that.

It feels like he’s chasing us. Overtaking us. And if he catches us, it’s not going to be good.

He’s getting closer, and I can’t go any faster. There are too many trees through here for me to get off the road where the ATV might give us an advantage.

“You’re doin’ good, Chloe, doll,” my grandfather says. “Just don’t stop.”

Those are his last words. His very last.

A crack of sound behind us makes me whimper. I’m about to ask if that was a gunshot, but then Grandpa slumps forward in his seat. He stays like that, unmoving. After a minute, I realize there’s blood gushing out of his neck.

My stomach clenches into a sickening knot. My vision blurs over. I’m still driving, but I have no idea how. I’ve ducked my head automatically. Another shot sounds, and a bullet whizzes past my ear. I can barely see in front of me since it feels so important to keep my head down.

But there’s also someone in front of me. Standing on the side of the road ahead. I process his presence as part of my blur, and when I get closer, I see him aiming a gun.

They’re working together. Trapping innocent travelers. One chases and the other ambushes. There’s not a thing in the world I can do to protect myself except aim for the man, try to hit him with my vehicle before he gets a shot off.

I’m looking straight at him, incapable of noticing anything else, so I see when his aim shifts. He moves his arms and stance, redirecting the rifle so that it’s pointing at the motorcycle behind me.

I wouldn’t have thought I was capable of thinking and reacting so quickly, but the realization slams home in a matter of two seconds.

He’s not with the guy on the motorcycle. He thought I was a threat, but now he must realize I’m not.

He might shoot the guy behind me before that guy kills me.

So I steer away from him abruptly, swerving around him instead of running him over like I intended.

The sudden move is automatic. Instinctive. That guy wants to help me—I know it—so I absolutely cannot plow him down. But it isn’t a wise maneuver because of the rough road and the speed I’m driving.

I hit a big pothole and can’t hold my vehicle on the road. Slamming on the brakes only helps a little. I end up in a ditch after a series of nauseating bumps and jerks that rattle my entire body.

But my instincts were right. As I’m bouncing off the road, there are three gunshots. And when I’m able to focus and turn my head, I see that the man on the road has shot the other guy off his motorcycle.

The engine is still running, but the bike’s on its side, and the man would have been trapped beneath it if he hadn’t already been dead.

It’s the blood that reminds me.

With a gasp and a choked sob, I reach over toward Grandpa, carefully pulling him back into his seat.

His body is limp. Blood is everywhere. Soaking everything. Still coming out of the wound in his neck.

He’s dead.

He was dead the moment he was shot.

The world darkens as I process this reality. The sight of all that blood. The smell of it.

It’s all over my hands now. I sit in stunned frozenness and stare down at them.

A couple of drops of blood fall from my hands onto my jeans.

“Y’all right? Y’all right there?” It’s a male voice. It’s getting closer. It almost certainly belongs to the man who won the gunfight.

But I can’t turn my head. Can’t move my hands. Can’t do anything but try desperately to breathe.

“Hey,” he says, right next to me now. “Hey there, girlie. Are you hurt? Did you get shot?”

I try to reply. Try to turn my head. Can’t do anything more than part my lips.

He’s evidently not the kind of person to wait around for an answer. He reaches in and takes me by the shoulder to turn me around. He’s not exactly gentle, but he’s also not rough or violent. Efficient more than anything else.

He checks me out all over, and I let him. My head is throbbing and my body is shaky, but I don’t think I’m injured.

But Grandpa is dead.

He’s dead.

Which means I’m now entirely alone in the world.

“Can you stand up?” the man asks.

“Probably.” The word comes out of nowhere. My brain is definitely not working well enough to come up with such an appropriate reply to his question.

He lifts me to my feet. My knees wobble but don’t buckle.

“We need to get out of here,” he says. He’s younger than I thought at first. His longish hair and beard are brown, and his face isn’t wrinkled. He’s a lot bigger than me. “Where the hell did you even come from? Why were you on the border?”

I have no idea what he’s even asking. “The border?”

“The border.” He sounds more impatient now. “It’s dangerous here. Why the hell were you driving here?”

“We…” I lose my breath, so I have to try again. “My grandpa and I were… were looking for food and stuff. We’ve never been here before. We didn’t know it’s dangerous.”

His eyes are dark, and they narrow as he peers closely at my face. “Where did you come from?”

I gesture toward the thick, vast, overgrown forest that’s been my home since I was fourteen.

The man turns in the direction I pointed. His face changes.

The world is getting dark again, like the sun is suddenly hidden behind a cloud. I can’t take a full breath.

Grandpa is dead.

I’m almost positive the man mutters in disbelief, “You came from The Wild?” just before I pass out.

I’m not sure how long I’m unconscious. It can’t be for very long. But when I come back to awareness, everything is different.

I’m in the passenger side of the ATV, and the big, strange man is driving it.

Blinking a few times, I orient myself. Then I gasp and look around frantically for my grandfather’s body.

“He’s in the back,” the man says, correctly guessing the source of my urgency. “We had to get away from the border, so I had to move him.”

We are no longer on a road. We’re driving through a field of long grass.

“What border?” He’s said that twice now, and I have no idea what he’s referring to.

“The border of The Wild,” he says with a frown. It’s clear now from the way he says it that the final words are capitalized. “The border is gang territory. It has been for years. No decent folk go there. You never shoulda been there.”

“Aren’t you decent folk?” I stare at him with wide eyes.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” He clears his throat. “We take turns patrolling out this way every few weeks to make sure the gangs aren’t encroaching any further. Today’s my turn for patrol.”

“I see,” I say, although I don’t. Not really. I have no idea who or what he’s even talking about.

“You really from The Wild?” He keeps darting me little looks as if he can’t believe I’m real.

“If The Wild is that forest, then yes.”

“How did you even get in? Been blocked since Impact by the gangs.”

I frown, thinking this through. “My grandfather and I were there before Impact.”

“And you’ve been there all this time?”

“Yeah.”

He stares at the blowing grass in front of us and says softly, “We never knew anyone was even in there.”

I’m not sure how to reply to that, so I don’t say anything.

After a few minutes of driving, he asks, “You got any other people besides your grandpa? Family or friends or whatever?”

I shook my head. “My parents died a long time ago. All I had was my grandfather. Now…”

I almost choke. On grief and shock and absolute terror.

How the hell am I even going to survive in the world? I can’t get back home, and I have no one. No one .

Except this big, unfriendly man who has evidently decided he has the right to make decisions for me.

“Where are you taking me?”

He blinks, looking surprised. “Goin’ back home.” He pauses and evidently realizes he needs to give more explanation. “Not my home. My mom and dad got a farm. They got some extra room. They can help you out until you can get back home or… figure somethin’ out.”

I let out a breath. Parents sound safer than this strange man.

He’s got holes in his jeans and a ripped seam in his shirt. His hair and beard really need to be trimmed and look kind of dirty. In addition to his rifle, he’s got a pistol in a holster at his hip, and I see part of a smaller one on his ankle, not quite covered by his jeans. He doesn’t smell as bad as Grandpa always did, so that’s something. But he doesn’t appear inclined to smile.

“What’s your name?” I finally ask.

“Oh. I’m Jimmy. Jimmy Carlson. What about you?”

“I’m Chloe.”

He stares at me for what feels like a long time. Then he shakes his head like he disapproves.

“What?” I demand.

He mutters, “Don’t know what the hell your grandpa was thinking takin’ you out here. You’re way too little and pretty to be out here on your own.”

My spine stiffens. A swell of indignation rises inside me. How dare he judge Grandpa? He has no idea about our circumstances or how well my grandfather took care of me. He doesn’t know anything.

But I bite back my instinctive response.

I’m entirely vulnerable now. And this man is currently the only thing standing between me and some sort of dangerous gang members who might attack me.

I’m not going to get on his bad side.

If you can’t be strong, you have to be smart.

That’s what Grandpa always said.

Jimmy and I make the rest of the trip in silence. It only takes about half an hour, so I barely have time to adjust to my new situation.

The one without Grandpa. The one where I’m alone.

After a while, the vast stretches of emptiness transform into a community of small farms and houses. They’re not like our neighborhood back in Arkansas—large new builds ordered neatly on neighboring lots. These homes are older and obviously repaired numerous times. Most have a motley collection of outbuildings.

But there are animals too. A lot of them. Chickens and pigs and goats and at least one big dog running out to bark at us on nearly every property.

In one pasture we pass, there are a few horses. And in another there’s a large herd of cows.

“That’s the Hurleys,” Jimmy says, nodding toward the cows as I stare at them. “They’re the only ones with cows around here. My folks had some, but they didn’t make it even a year after Impact.”

“Can’t they get a few from the Hurleys?”

“Probably. Hurleys are willin’ to trade. Had some folks come from the east a couple years back to get some since they lost all their cattle after Impact. They’re planning to come back to these parts to trade next year. So it’s not because the Hurleys are unwillin’. But tending cows is a big operation. They’re not as easy as pigs and chickens. And my folks decided to put their energy into other things. They plant all the wheat and oats and corn around here. One farm with cows nearby is enough. We all get milk from them.”

“Oh. Of course.” I keep staring, feeling like I’ve been transported into a book about pioneers.

I haven’t had anything except canned evaporated milk in nine years.

When I glance over, I see Jimmy looking at me as if he’s expecting some sort of reaction. I’m going to need help. A lot of it. Since he clearly belongs to this community, it would be good to have him on my side.

So I smile at him as sweetly as I can. “It’s real nice around here. Y’all have done a great job. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He drops his eyes and makes a harrumphing sound in his throat. I guess I didn’t do so great at buttering him up.

“My folks live over that hill.”

“Okay.” I have no idea what else to say. Grandpa always said it’s good to compliment people to get on their good side, but I’m not sure how I can say something nice about a place I haven’t even seen. So instead, I say, “Thanks for helping me.”

That attempt isn’t successful either. He frowns with both his mouth and his eyebrows. “As if I’d leave a girl by herself on the border. Be a death sentence or worse.”

I don’t want to speculate about or imagine what the worse might have been. It’s finally settling in the very real danger I was in after Grandpa got shot. It’s an honest-to-God miracle that Jimmy happened to be there and knew what to do.

Something inside me starts to shake. I try not to let it spread to my fingers and knees. “Thank you,” I whisper, looking down at my bloodstained jeans and letting loose strands of my long blond hair that’s escaped my ponytail hang forward to hide my face.

He ducks his head down to see my expression beyond them. “Don’t be scared, girlie. Good people in these parts. You’re gonna be okay.”

The evening passes in a chaotic blur. I’m not sure how I even manage to get through it.

Jimmy’s mom is Greta Carlson. She’s a tall, attractive woman who looks like she might be in her sixties. She gives me a warm welcome and chides Jimmy about how he must have scared me, whisking me away while looking like a big, raggedy bear. She’s clearly an efficient person who likes to stay busy and expects everyone else to do the same. I never really understood what bustling meant when I read it in books until I see the word come to life in her.

Her husband, Ben, is big like Jimmy but is clean-shaven and has gray hair. He doesn’t say much, but that must be his nature. He tells me he’s sorry about my granddad and they’ll bury him tomorrow in a field they’ve been using as a cemetery if that’s all right with me.

Grandpa would rather have been buried in the forest he loved, but that’s not an option anymore. I accept the offer with gratitude and offer to help dig.

Jimmy makes a sound in his throat like a laugh at that, and I don’t appreciate it. I’m not big and strong, but I’m capable of digging. And that is my grandfather after all.

I meet some other people too. There seems to be an awful lot of them hanging around and waiting for dinner. Greta shows me a big room that can sleep eight people. She leads me to a twin bed in the far corner, and it looks perfectly fine to me. She shows me the outhouse and the basin and jug in the bedroom for washing up. Next on the tour is the kitchen, and she asks if I’ll help with trimming beans.

I say yes. Of course I do. But I don’t actually know how to do it. Any of it. Grandpa’s cabin had a solar generator that powered lights and the basic appliances we needed. He also rigged up the plumbing so I could pump well water into the sink or into the toilet or into the shower.

None of it works the same way here. As the sun gets lower, they light candles and lanterns. They can pump water into the kitchen sink but not any of the other rooms. And I’ve never trimmed beans in my life, but a younger woman named Nicky shows me how.

I’m exhausted. Still shaky from a drop in adrenaline. And I haven’t even come close to processing the fact that Grandpa is dead.

When I cut my finger as I work on the beans, the drop of blood reminds me of the blood gushing from my grandfather’s neck.

I’m hit by wave after wave of dizziness and nausea. A tidal wave of grief that I’m barely holding at bay. My fingers tremble so much I have to stop using the knife for fear of doing even more damage.

I breathe slow and deep. I need to get it together. Greta asked me to do these beans, so I’ve got to finish them. If I don’t earn my keep, I might get turned out into the dark with nowhere to go and no one to help me.

“Why the hell are you doin’ that?” The question is gruff and right behind me. So sudden it makes me jump.

I turn around dazedly and see Jimmy glowering at me. I swallow hard so I can answer. “Your… Your mom asked me to…”

He reaches out to take the knife out of my limp hand, then drops the bean I was holding back into the big bowl. “You can’t be doin’ chores right now. You can barely stand up.”

“I can too!” I’ve resolved to myself not to argue with anyone. To just go along with everything anyone says or wants me to do so they’ll like me and hopefully keep me safe. But this is outrageous.

I’m on the verge of collapse here, and he’s bossing me around.

“You been through trauma.” He’s still frowning deeply, but I can’t tell if I’m really the target of that expression or not. “You’re white as a ghost. You’re gonna faint again any minute.”

“I am not!” My tone is far more confident than is entirely warranted. Fainting feels like a real possibility.

He ignores me. He strides to the door of the kitchen and sticks his head out, calling, “Mom, Chloe’s sick. I’m taking her outside!”

I make a gurgling sound. A couple of tears slip out of my eyes and run down my cheeks. I try to resist when he turns me around and puts a hand on my back to push me toward the back door that leads outside from the kitchen, but I have neither the strength nor the will to resist.

He makes me sit down on the back stoop and pushes my head down toward my knees.

My whole body starts to shake, and there’s no way I can make it stop.

I manage to keep my sobs silent, but Jimmy’s got to know I’m crying. He’s sitting right there beside me, and he keeps his hand flat between my shoulder blades.

He doesn’t say anything or expect me to talk to him. I’m not sure how long I cry like that, but it has to be at least several minutes.

When I’ve finally quieted down, he mutters, “Mom’s always believed that staying busy helps. That’s why she gave you those beans to do.”

“I was doing them fine,” I choke out. It’s ridiculous—nonsense—that I feel so obsessed about that fact, but I can’t help but defend myself.

“Don’t matter. You shouldn’t have to. Not today.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I wipe my face with the sleeves of the zip-up hoodie I’m wearing and finally manage to straighten up.

“I’m not helpless,” I tell him, once again focused on that irrelevancy.

“Never said you was.”

“You were thinking it.”

“You really think you can read my mind?”

No. I can’t. He’s a stranger to me still, and it’s hard to even read his face beneath so much hair. I sniff a couple of times. “If your folks are gonna give me a place to stay, I want to work to earn my place.”

“Plenty of chores to do. But you don’t gotta do ’em today. Be better to get your bearings and… and process stuff.”

He’s probably right. I do feel better sitting here on the stoop, away from the cheerful voices and hustle of the house. Like I can actually breathe.

I don’t say anything, and he doesn’t either. We sit there together like that until a bell starts clanging.

“That’s dinner,” Jimmy says, stretching his back as he stands up. “You think you can eat somethin’? I can bring a plate out here if—”

“No, I can go in.” I already shirked my bean duty. I’m not going to act snobby or antisocial as well. After all, these people are the ones who can keep me alive. “I can eat.”

2

FOUR WEEKS PASS QUICKLY, and I go through most of them in an exhausted daze.

I’ve never worked so hard in my life.

There are only three other women in the spare room right now—two are youngish like me and one, Paula, is in her sixties—and all of us have assigned chores. Running the farm takes a lot of work, so it makes sense we’d be expected to help out.

Paula has bad knees, so she mostly does mending and kitchen work she can do sitting down. But the rest of us help with raking leaves, feeding the chickens and pigs, and cooking and laundry.

I do know how to cook. Grandpa was a traditional type, so I did the cooking and cleaning while he did all the harder, rougher tasks. But my previous experience with chores does me little good here. Grandpa and I ate only processed foods—either canned or dried for long-term storage—and we had the solar generator for power to help with dishwashing and laundry. Everything at the Carlsons’ farm is done by hand, so I have to learn it all from scratch.

The other girls have been here longer, so they know what they’re doing. One girl, Laura, was actually born and raised a few miles away, but her parents died from some sort of viral infection two years ago. She, Nicky, and Paula go about their daily tasks easily and quickly, leaving plenty of time for rest and recreation.

I have to work all day long to get my chores done.

Greta is always kind and helpful, but she has certain expectations about speed and performance, and I almost never meet them. More than once, I’m forced to redo a job because I don’t accomplish it well enough the first time.

Even when I’m dead on my feet, I never utter a word of complaint or protest. If this is the only way I can survive, I’ll attempt any work put before me.

Everyone is nice to me. The meals are better than anything I can remember, and my bed is comfortable. I don’t like using the outhouse. In fact, it’s incredibly gross. But overall I’m safe and taken care of, which is not a small thing in the world after Impact.

And it’s not these people’s fault that I’m not used to doing hard work.

Grandpa never made me get dirty or sweaty. He’d tease me and say I was too pretty for hard work. My grief for him is still raw, but occasionally I can’t help but wish he expected just a little more out of me.

But it’s not his fault. It’s mine. I could have learned how to use a rake or a hammer if I’d pushed back against his gender views even slightly.

I didn’t. I accepted my cushy situation just like I accepted getting anything I asked for as a kid. So now life has ended up a lot harder for me than it had to be.

So almost a month goes by before I can even begin to adjust to my new position, and I try not to think too deeply about whether my future will consist of nothing more than day after day of backbreaking work.

I used to daydream about being a movie star or marrying a handsome billionaire. About traveling all over the world and living a life of luxury. About being loved and adored and envied by everyone I encounter.

I haven’t fantasized about anything like that since Impact. It’s no longer even dream material. My only daydreams now are safety and security and to maybe one day be able to have an afternoon to read again.

Not that I have books any longer. Grandpa’s collection is lost to me along with him and everything else we used to have.

This is what I have now, and it’s not likely to change anytime soon.

That’s what I believe and keep telling myself, and I have no reason to think differently until a Saturday exactly four weeks since Jimmy brought me to the Carlsons’.

Sundays are their real rest days, but even Saturdays tend to be lighter in work than the weekdays. Most of the people in this neighborhood get together for big meals on the weekends and talk and sing and share news and generally have a good time.

I’ve been looking forward to today, hoping it will grant me a bit of a reprieve, and I’m utterly thrilled when—after breakfast when Greta hands out chores for the day—she asks if I’d mind helping her bake bread.

She makes bread from scratch, and naturally I’ve never done it before this month. But I picked it up quickly, and it’s one thing I actually enjoy. Kneading and pulling and pounding out the dough. Letting it rise. Forming it into loaves. Sliding them into the oven. Waiting for them—like magic—to turn into warm, bready goodness.

I’ve rarely done anything so satisfying.

Plus baking bread always happens on a clear timeline. It will get done in the morning, leaving the afternoon for me to rest.

So I’m happy as I go to wash breakfast dishes with Paula. Genuinely excited about the day.

But then Laura tells Greta that she has a bad headache this morning and asks if it’s okay if she trades her chore for breadmaking.

Her chore is laundry, which is the absolute worst.

Greta tells Laura that the trade is up to me, so Laura comes over with wide blue eyes and trembling lips to ask if I would please trade breadmaking for laundry because she feels so bad.

I don’t entirely believe her story of the headache. Even after only four weeks, it’s not difficult to recognize that Laura is someone who is in the habit of maneuvering events for her benefit. Plus, since I first arrived, I’ve sensed bad vibes from her in my direction. As if her sweetness is just an act and she secretly doesn’t like me.

In fact, I distinctly remember a cold look from her on the very first evening when Jimmy and I came in to dinner from outside.

I’ve never given her any reason not to like me. Maybe she’s just one of those girls who loves drama and is always in search of a rival. I remember them well from back when I was in school.

So I’m not convinced of her headache and suspect she just wants to get out of doing the worst chore.

But I’m new here. I’m living on charity. And she’s established—almost part of the family.

I can hear Grandpa’s advice sounding in my head. Always stay on people’s good side if you need them. A pretty girl like me can’t fight for what I need, so instead, I need to convince people to give it to me willingly.

I have no power here. None at all. And the last thing I need is an enemy.

So I make myself smile. “Sure. I’m happy to trade. I’m sorry you have a headache.”

Laura thanks me profusely with that cloak of false sweetness that grates on me so painfully I force myself not to cringe.

Then she leans over and whispers in a confidential tone that’s completely inappropriate to the nature of our relationship. “I really appreciate it. Jimmy and I will probably take a walk this afternoon, so I want to be feeling better for that.”

She waits for a reaction from me, but I have no idea how she thinks I should respond.

I don’t care if she’s going to take a walk with Jimmy. I didn’t realize they were a thing—and I can’t help but think he could probably do better—but he’s barely been on the periphery of my life since the first night I arrived here, so it’s of no concern to me.

Laura is very pretty—tall and slim with red-brown hair and striking blue eyes. I always feel kind of short, dumpy, and washed-out next to her. So Jimmy probably likes how she looks.

I blink and say, “Okay. I hope your head feels better before then.”

“I’m sure it will. I’d hate to disappoint him.”

I really don’t like her, but I shake it off. Petty grievances can’t matter to me anymore. I have much more important things to focus on.

Like figuring out life in this new world without Grandpa.

And now I’m stuck with laundry today, and that’s the absolute worst.

It’s late in the afternoon and everyone else has finished their chores, but I’m still hunched over a large tub, scrubbing shirts and underwear against the washboard.

I’ll be the first to admit I’ve been spoiled. As a child with pale blond hair and round, rosy cheeks, I looked and was often treated like a doll. Grandpa always called me “Chloe, doll,” and that’s how I was viewed. Even after Impact, his ingenuity and traditional gender views saved me from any manual labor. I’m not strong. I’m not tough. I’m not skilled at anything except smiling and acting nice. But still…

I’m trying to do the job I was given without complaining even if it means they’re starting to eat dinner while I’m not even close to done.

It’s better than starving, and I’ve finally figured out how to rub the fabric against the washboard without scraping my knuckles and getting blood everywhere.

Because I’m focused so intently on my work, I gasp when someone suddenly sits down on the bench beside me. I blink a few times before I process that it’s Jimmy.

I haven’t talked to him since he saved my life that first day. He’s been around on and off these past weeks, but he never speaks to me.

“Hi,” I say since he’s sitting there on the edge of the bench, staring at me mutely.

“Hi.” His hair and beard need trimming even more than they did before. His eyes are a very dark brown. He’s got a prominent scar that slashes down his forehead and into his left eyebrow. He shifts slightly in his seat.

I drop my eyes back to the laundry, awkward and confused. I’m working on a man’s white T-shirt, which was covered with dirt and sweat. “Did you need something?” I ask him, praying he’s not here to give me any more work.

Naturally, I’m grateful for these people housing and feeding me, but at this rate I’ll be up at midnight trying to finish my chores.

He leans forward, taking the washboard and wet shirt from my hands, then starts cleaning it himself.

“Was I doing it wrong?” My voice wobbles slightly since I actually thought I was doing good for once. It took me a long time to get used to this new way of washing clothes, but today I finally got the hang of it.

“No.” He sounds surprised and glances up to search my face. “Thought you could use a break.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

I take a few deep breaths and smooth back several loose strands of hair that have escaped my ponytail. I’m sure my cheeks are red. I’m definitely sweating.

He works the shirt with quick efficiency while I sit and watch him. I feel like one of us should say something, but I have no idea what to talk about with this man.

He’s big and strong and capable and quiet. He’s got to be in his thirties. He has a big family and a lot of friends. I thought he went on a walk with Laura this afternoon. What the hell is he doing sitting here with me?

Maybe he feels sorry for me because I have nothing and no one. The thought makes my spine stiffen.

When he’s finished with the shirt, I take it to rinse and stop him before he pulls out a pair of boxers. “I don’t mind doing them,” I tell him. “It’s my job.”

He looks for a moment like he’ll object but then changes his mind. He sits back. Adjusts his position. Clears his throat.

I give him a curious look as I start scrubbing the boxers on the washboard.

It’s kind of gross to launder a man’s underwear like this. I don’t even know who these belong to.

Jimmy clears his throat again.

“Are you getting a cold?” I ask him, hoping it’s not too contagious. If I get sick, I’ll have a hard time getting my work done.

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.” My back is killing me from leaning over for so long. Surely there’s a more comfortable position to do this work. I scoot closer to the edge of the bench and try not to hunch my shoulders.

“I got a place of my own,” Jimmy blurts out.

I’m surprised by the out-of-context announcement, but at least he’s making conversation. It’s better than the awkward silence. “Do you? I figured you must since I don’t see you here at the farm very much.”

“Yeah. It was my fishing cabin back before Impact. So the property has a good pond.”

“Are there still fish?”

“Yep.” He’s looking between my face and the washtub. “Not as many as before but still got some. It’s in the woods, and the wildlife is finally startin’ to come back. So I can do some hunting. Really helps in the winter.”

“I bet.” It must be nice to have both fish and wild game available for food. Grandpa and I spent years eating nothing but stored or scavenged canned and dried food from the old world with only the occasional fish or rabbit when he got lucky. “Sounds like a good situation.”

“It’s pretty good. Also got chickens and pigs. And I cleared out space for a big garden.”

“That was smart. So I guess you’re in pretty good shape for food.” I make sure to sound polite and interested although I’m honestly a little annoyed by his bragging.

Surely he knows I have nothing. Why the hell would he go on and on about how good he has it when I’m relying purely on charity?

Maybe he’s one of those guys who gets an ego boost from other people hearing about how great he is. He didn’t seem like that before, but I don’t genuinely know the man at all.

“Yeah. Also get milk from the Hurleys. My folks provide everyone round here with oats and flour. Get some extra produce when I need it from the Santiagos and the Clearys. So got plenty. More than I need.” He’s staring at me, breathing in long, slow inhales and exhales.

I frown, wondering what he’s expecting me to say. “That’s great for you.”

After a minute, he clears his throat again and looks away. “The cabin’s in good shape. Got a decent bedroom plus a smaller extra room. Had to build an outhouse after Impact, but I made a covered walkway so it’s not too bad going out in bad weather.”

Goodness, why on earth is he going on and on about this? “Oh, that must work nicely.”

“It does.”

He seems to be waiting for me to say something, but I’m as clueless as ever. Instead of replying, I give him my best smile, and he looks almost surprised, then kind of smiles back before he stares down at the pile of laundry.

We’re both silent for a minute before he mutters, “I do all the outdoor chores. The garden and the animals and fishin’ and huntin’ and work on the yard and the house.”

“That must be a lot to do by yourself.”

“I can manage. But don’t have much time left for the inside stuff. Cookin’ and cleanin’ and laundry and stuff.”

“Well, that’s understandable. It would be nearly impossible for you to do everything.” Just doing the laundry is taking me all day. How could he possibly do all the chores for an entire household all on his own? “I’m sure no one blames you for that.”

“No. No, they don’t.” He clears his throat yet again.

I want to ask him again about having a cold. It sure sounds like he’s got something wrong with his throat. I bite back the inquiry, however, since he shrugged it off before.

He’s doing that staring and waiting again. I’m so confused by his behavior I focus back on the washboard. I’ve got the boxers done now, so I rinse and wring them out.

I’m on the last basket. All the other clothes are already hanging on the lines strung up and down the big sun porch where I’ve been working. They never hang the laundry up outside at this time of year.

“Be good to have someone to help,” Jimmy finally mutters.

“Well, yeah. You could definitely use some help. Easier to split the chores.” I’m still smiling at him kindly, but I’m ready for this awkward conversation to be over.

He takes a weird, raspy breath. “Kinda lonely sometimes too.”

“Yes. It must be. But it’s good you have so much family and friends around.” I glance back to the large living room where everyone else is mingling.

Imagine complaining about being lonely when you have so many people in your community.

I only had Grandpa, and now he’s gone.

He shifts restlessly. “Been lookin’ for someone.”

I glance over because he sounds different. More mumbly than ever. He’s not even looking at me.

“A woman,” he adds, darting me a quick look.

“Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.” I take out my impatience on another dirty shirt and my washboard. Why won’t the man just shut up? If he wants to ask Laura to couple up with him, he can do it. He doesn’t have to hash it all out with me first.

He seems kind of impatient too. Like he’s expecting something from me and I’m not providing it. “So thought… thought I’d ask… you.”

I stop scrubbing and stare at him. This is getting ridiculous. I finally say bluntly, “Ask me what?”

He frowns, almost grumpy. “Ask if you wanna be my woman.”

Shock. That’s my initial reaction. My eyes widen, and my mouth falls open.

His frown deepens. “You surprised?”

“Yes, I’m surprised,” I choke out. “You’re asking if I want to be your woman?”

“Course. Why the hell else would I be ramblin’ on about all this?”

“I didn’t know. You’re… you’re asking me ?”

“Sure. Not a lot of single women around. Been watchin’ you.”

My surprise is finally breaking, and my chest instead swells with excitement.

He’s asking me . Offering me a home and a place in the world and food and shelter and safety that I have absolutely no other way of obtaining.

“So you and Laura aren’t… aren’t…” I’m not sure what the right word is here. It used to be dating, but no one seems to date anymore. They couple up. Fuck. Live together. But they don’t date.

“No.” He briefly makes a face before he settles his features into a frown. “No, why would you think we were together?”

“I… I don’t know. Because…” I start to say it’s because Laura implied it, but I don’t bother. It doesn’t matter anymore.

“We’re not. Never have been.”

“Okay. But I don’t know how to do most of those chores.”

He shrugs. “You can learn. You’re already doin’ good.” He nods down toward the laundry. “You’re a hard worker. You’ll be fine.”

I moisten my dry lips and turn toward him more fully. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I am.” He’s meeting my eyes for real now. Seems sincere. “I need help. It’s too much to do on my own. And be nice to have some company.”

I want to hug myself. Barely manage to keep my voice calm and mild. “I would… I would like to try. But I honestly don’t have much experience with this kind of work. I’d hate if you were disappointed.”

He shrugs, his expression relaxing. “Don’t have unrealistic expectations. We can figure it out.”

My mind is whirling so much it takes a minute for me to think through the next logical question. “So… just so I understand. You’re looking for… for a partner?”

He nods and glances away. “Yeah. That’s right. A partner.”

“So you and I would…” The words get trapped in my throat.

He appears equally embarrassed. His cheeks are slightly flushed. “We don’t have to do anythin’… anythin’ in the bedroom right away. I mean, we can get to know each other and see how it goes. But I wanna partner. Not a maid.”

My cheeks burn, and I twist my hands together to keep them from shaking. This is like a dream. Like a miracle.

I’d be willing to be a maid if that was what he needed—if it meant I was sheltered and provided for—but I’d rather be someone’s partner. Closer to an equal.

Jimmy might be kind of gruff and grumpy, but he’s not mean. I know it for sure. He’s not even bad-looking. He just needs some better grooming.

And being his partner is a better option than I believed was possible for me.

It might actually be the best thing that’s ever happened in the twenty-three years I’ve been alive.

“Okay,” I manage to say as I swallow over my growing excitement. “Okay. That would work fine with me. I’ll do it. Thanks for asking.”

So that’s apparently settled. In one weird conversation over the laundry tub.

I’m going to be Jimmy’s woman.

I suppose that means he’ll be my man.

Laura is pissed.

I mean, she’s pissed .

Not that she says so. That evening she acts all sweet and excited about my change in circumstance, but I know she doesn’t mean it.

She wanted it to be her.

I can hardly blame her for being disappointed. If I’m reading this small community correctly, Jimmy is the only single man with stability and his own home. There are several other strays like me—men of various ages who live and work on the farms. One of them even made a move on me the third day I arrived, but I told him, no, thank you and avoided him after that.

Laura is not going to want to pair up with someone without his own home and means of providing for her, so she had her sights set on Jimmy.

I can almost—almost—sympathize. It doesn’t take too much mental stretching to imagine how she must feel. She’s been here for years and known these people since childhood. She clearly had hopes where Jimmy was concerned and probably poured a lot of herself into those dreams. Then I show up and less than a month later get what she was wanting.

Or at least something of what she wanted.

She was probably daydreaming about romance and marriage with him. Obviously that’s not what he’s offering me. Ours will be a practical arrangement that benefits both of us.

I have absolutely no fantasies about romance. It hasn’t factored into any of my future plans for years.

Years.

So I feel just a little bit bad for Laura even as I’m annoyed by her backhanded comments, and I don’t let myself get angry.

I can’t get angry—at least I can’t show it. My position is far too tenuous here.

From this point on, my primary goals are as follows. Make Jimmy happy to the best of my ability. Secure a safe and mostly comfortable space for myself in the world. And not get on anyone’s bad side who might be in the position to affect my first two goals.

That includes Laura. So I’m nice to her that evening and pretend I believe her congratulations are genuine.

Jimmy insists I come in and eat dinner with everyone else, but afterward I have to finish the laundry. He tries to help, but I don’t let him. It’s my job. Not his. And accepting assistance on one of my chores is not a good start to our relationship. So while the rest of the group hangs out after dinner—the Carlsons, those who live and work on the farm, and a bunch of their neighbors—I leave to finish doing the laundry on the sun porch.

The clothes I hung up earlier this afternoon are almost dry from the heat of the big central fireplace in the house, but the shirts and underwear from before dinner are still wet, and half a basket hasn’t even been washed yet.

I’m so tired when I’m finally done that I can barely keep my eyes open. I should join the others now and smile and laugh and make small talk, but all my mental energy has drained away with the fatigue of my body. And for some reason, the cozy, cheerful scene makes me feel lonely.

Like I’m not a part of it and never really will be.

Despite my good news today—better news than I could ever have imagined for myself—the loneliness makes me want to cry.

I lost my parents. My school friends. Grandpa. And my best hope for myself now is living with a strange, grumpy man and trying to please him.

Since I’m on the verge of tears, I can’t risk hanging out with the others. I stop by the living room to let Greta know I’ve finished the laundry, to thank her for dinner, and to say good night to the rest of the people gathered there.

Jimmy jumps up as soon as I make an appearance, and he walks down the hall with me when I head toward my bedroom.

I have no idea why he’s here. He was comfortable in there. He was playing an old guitar, and they’d started to sing some old country songs. He was probably enjoying it.

But he walks with me silently until I reach the bedroom door.

“Okay,” I say, peeking up at him and trying to figure out what the sober frown on his face might mean. Surely he’s not having second thoughts just because I’m not social enough today. “I’m sorry I’m not hanging out with everyone tonight. Normally I will.”

“You feelin’ okay?” He’s peering at me with those dark brown eyes like he’s looking for clues on my face.

“Yeah. I’m really just tired. I’m glad about your offer. Thank you for… for thinking of me.”

“Course.” His frown deepens. “You feel weird about it? ’Cause we don’t have to do anythin’ right aw—”

“No, no! I’m not weird about it at all. I’m excited. I’ll try to do a good job.”

“Okay then.” He’s still frowning, and I finally give up trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

“Okay.” I gulp and drop my head, wishing my hair was loose so it would cover my face. But it’s pulled back in the high ponytail I always wear. “Good night.”

“Good night, Chloe.”

I stand there for another minute since it feels like something else should happen. Nothing does, so I quietly open the door, step inside, and smile at him once more before I close the door in his face.

I let out a breath and try to shake off the confusing, tense interaction. Then I realize I’m not alone in the room.

Paula retired even earlier than me. She’s propped up on the pillows on her bed and reading a book. From the worn leather cover, I assume it’s a Bible.

“I’m sorry,” I say automatically although I have nothing to be sorry for. “I didn’t realize you were here. I won’t disturb you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a smile. She’s got steel-gray hair cut short and a plain, pleasant face. “You’re not disturbing me, and it’s your room as much as mine.”

“Yeah. I guess so. I still don’t want to bother you if you’re reading.”

“I can read through any distraction. Someone as sweet and quiet as you won’t bother me at all.”

It strikes me as funny that she calls me sweet and quiet. I don’t think of myself like that in any way. My mind is always working, and only occasionally would my thoughts be considered agreeable.

But I learned from my parents that life is easier when you behave, and I learned from Grandpa to always be smart when you’re dependent on others. To butter them up and play nice.

These people don’t have to know who I really am. They only need to like me and not view me as an annoyance or a burden.

As I pour water into the basin to wash up and brush my teeth before bed, Paula says, “So I heard the big news.”

“Oh. Yeah.” I blush but hide it by rubbing a wet washcloth over my face.

“Are you excited?”

“Yeah. I am. It’s a good thing. It’s just… unexpected.”

“Eh, I’ve caught him staring at you a bunch of times. Think he was interested from the beginning.”

If anything, my cheeks burn even hotter. “Really?”

“Yes. That’s my take anyway. Plus things happen faster now than they used to. People don’t have time to play around and hem and haw and romanticize and waste months and years before they commit. And Jimmy’s been on his own a few years now. Ever since his wife died.”

“He had a wife?” I lower my washcloth and turn around to face her.

“Yeah, he did. She died like three or four years ago. They got married right out of high school, and I think they did pretty well together. They didn’t think she could get pregnant, but she finally did. But the baby came way too early, and then she and the baby both died.”

“Oh.” My chest clenches. That must have been so hard for him. “That’s terrible.”

“I’m sure it was. I wasn’t around here then, but that’s what I’ve heard about him. He seems like a decent guy. You could do a lot worse.”

“I know. I’m glad about it. Kind of nervous since I’ve never done anything like it before, but still glad.”

“That’s understandable. Anyone would feel the same way.” She pauses as if second-guessing herself, then decides to go ahead. “Have you had a boyfriend before?”

I shake my head. “I was fourteen at Impact, and then my grandfather and I lived all by ourselves in the middle of the woods. I mean, I guess there was a guy in my class I liked when I was fourteen. We went to the movies once and we’d text each other. But we never even kissed.”

Paula’s face is sympathetic. “You’ll do fine. Jimmy’s not a bad man. He’s not going to hurt you.”

“I didn’t ever think he would. I just want to make sure… make sure he’s happy with me.”

With a laugh, Paula says, “I wouldn’t get too uptight about it if I were you. Most men really aren’t all that complicated.”

I frown. “What do you mean?” As far as I’m concerned, men as a whole are unknowable, mysterious creatures. I have almost no experience of my own to draw on here.

“I don’t think it will be too hard to make him happy. Don’t waste your time on trivial, superficial things that aren’t going to matter to him. You don’t need to polish the silver or scrub the floor every day. You don’t need to set the table real fancy or put on a big show. Just make sure he eats good and the house feels pleasant and peaceful. Listen to him when he has something to say. You’re exceptionally pretty, so it shouldn’t be hard for you to give him something nice to look at. And blow jobs. A lot of them.”

I’ve been paying close attention because her advice feels both helpful and practical. But at the last item, my eyes grow very wide.

She chuckles at my expression. “I don’t think Jimmy is the kind of man to get pushy in bed or out of it. I could be wrong, of course, so do remember you don’t have to let yourself get shoved around or bullied into doing what you don’t want to do. But I’m telling you—blow jobs are a really easy way to make your man happy.”

I giggle. I can’t help it. I’m embarrassed but also grateful for her encouragement.

I’ve never given a blow job before. I’ve never even kissed a man. But if Paula is right and it’s an easy way to make Jimmy happy, there’s no reason in the world I shouldn’t try.

3

THE NEXT DAY IS SUNDAY, and Jimmy comes over early to take me to his place.

Greta doesn’t act either excited or disapproving about the new development. She takes it in the same efficient stride with which she deals with everything else in life. She collects some extra clothes and bedding and packs them up for us to take to Jimmy’s house. Then she draws me into the kitchen and packs up a basket with fresh bread, ham steaks, a block of cheese, and several jars of vegetables and fruits canned here on the farm.

“I have no idea what that boy has in his pantry,” she says, “but there’s no reason for you to scrounge around for food for today when you’re just settling in. I know he’ll have plenty of eggs, so you can have eggs for lunch and the ham with vegetables for dinner tonight.”

“Thank you,” I reply, genuinely grateful for the help. It’s a burden off me not to have to figure out how to feed Jimmy on the very first day. “That’s so nice of you.”

“I’m not trying to interfere,” she says with a wry look. “Honestly. So please don’t think I’m going to try to manage what happens over there. I’ve got enough to worry about right here.”

“I never thought that for a moment! I really do appreciate it. All this is new to me. I think I’ve learned a lot this past month, but I’m sure there’s going to be plenty of things I have no idea how to do.” I twist my hands together. “I hope you don’t mind if I occasionally ask you questions.”

Her smile widens. She clearly appreciates that I might come to her for advice. “I don’t mind at all. Anytime you need help, just head on over here and let me know.” She pauses, clearly hesitating before she adds, “Jimmy’s a good man. He had to grow up quick, but he’s always been warm and generous. After Impact and losing Mary, he’s withdrawn. He’s still there when anyone needs him, but he doesn’t… He doesn’t open himself up like he used to.”

I listen, eager for this insight into the man I’m moving in with and filing it away for future brooding.

“Impact changed everything,” Greta goes on, looking beyond me now into the empty air of the kitchen. “It took so much away. Maybe I’ll never get my sweet boy back.” Her expression changes back to her normal, practical smile. “At least now that he has a woman again, he might not always go around looking like such a raggedy bear.”

I laugh at that, as I’m supposed to. And I carry the full basket of food out of the kitchen and down the hall to where Jimmy is talking to his dad outside the front door.

He takes the basket from me and stows it away with the other stuff in the back of my grandpa’s ATV. It’s mine, after all, and there’s still more than half a tank of gas. We might as well use it to haul all this stuff over to his house.

“You ready?” Jimmy asks me after he closes the storage compartment at the back of the vehicle.

My stomach churns. Nerves and excitement both. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Me too.”

According to Jimmy, his place is about four miles from the Carlsons’ farm.

In the ATV, it doesn’t take long at all. We drive down the road along the row of small farms and houses. When we clear them, we go over a big hill. There are woods on the other side—not as vast and deep as Grandpa’s forest but definitely different from the cleared farmland.

The paved road shifts to gravel fairly quickly on entering the woods, and it’s not long until we turn off the road and take a short, curved driveway uphill toward a small cabin.

It’s got wood siding and a metal roof. There’s a small porch on the front, and as he’d mentioned, on one side there’s a covered walkway leading to what’s clearly an outhouse.

On that same side, the trees were cleared out to allow for a large garden. The animals must be around the back because I can’t see them. On the opposite side from the garden is a wide deck extending back toward the pond.

I take it all in as Jimmy puts the vehicle into park.

When I notice him peering at me, waiting for my reaction, I say, “It’s really nice. I like it.”

I’m telling the truth. The place feels closer to my grandfather’s cabin than any of the farmhouses. I like the shelter of the trees and the water rippling on the pond and the background sounds of wildlife in the forest.

His expression relaxes as he gets out and opens the storage compartment to start carrying in the stuff.

I help him, taking an armful in through the front door.

It’s smaller than Grandpa’s cabin. There’s one open room with kitchen cabinets and a sink against one wall. A woodstove nearby is obviously both the heating source and the primary method of cooking. There’s a couch and an old leather chair on the other side of the room and a small table with two wood chairs for eating. He pulls up a panel to show me a small root cellar he dug out to keep food cool so it will last longer.

The house is very simple—no rugs, nothing on the walls, no extra cushions or throws or knickknacks to make it cozier. But it’s neat. He might have made an effort to clean it up.

I put the basket of food on the small kitchen countertop. “This looks great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I like it.”

He’s looking around, not meeting my eyes. “I know you’re used to somethin’ nicer.”

We had power from a solar generator. Hot showers. A slow cooker and a toaster oven. A television that played DVDs.

And I had a grandpa who loved me.

I smile at Jimmy, making sure none of the grief at what I’ve lost reflects in any way on my face. “No. This will be great. I really do like it.”

“Okay. Good.” He clears his throat. “You can make any changes you want. If you want me to find anythin’ to make it nicer, I’ll be happy to do that for you. Want you to feel at home.”

I nod and smile again. My cheeks are aching slightly from so much sweet smiling lately. “I appreciate that.”

He rubs at his beard and finally sets the pile of bedding he carried in on the table. “Bedroom is in here.”

I follow him into a separate room. It’s small and neat but equally basic. There’s a queen-size bed with a plain gray cover on it. One side is pushed up against the wall, and it’s easy to see why. If it was pulled out to allow access to the opposite side, there wouldn’t be any room for the dresser or the basin and jug for washing up like they had in the guest room at the Carlsons’.

“That there was the old bathroom,” he says, pointing toward a connecting door. “Just a sink and toilet. Since we can’t use ’em anymore, I just use it for storage.”

“Okay. That makes sense.”

We step out of the room, and he leads me to another room about half the size of the bedroom. It’s got a few pieces of old furniture and a bunch of old moving boxes filled with sundry items.

“I can clear this out,” he says, “if you want a room of your own. Mom said she’d let me take that bed you’ve been sleeping on. Think it would fit in here. If you… If you’d prefer to have your own space.”

On this I’ve already made a decision. “I don’t really need my own space unless you’d like to keep your privacy. I don’t mind sleeping with you.”

He twitches slightly. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. When I agreed to this, I meant all the way. Unless you want something different.” I’m pleased that I sound so calm and relaxed when I’m feeling nothing of the kind. My cheeks are hot, but that’s hopefully the only sign of my self-consciousness.

“I don’t want nothin’ different,” he mumbles.

“Okay.” I take a couple of slow breaths. “So you can leave this room as is unless we figure out something else to do with it.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Now that we have that awkwardness figured out, seeing the rest of the place is easy by comparison. He takes me outside to his chicken coop and the small building and pen where he keeps his pigs.

I like the pigs. They’re funny and interesting and unexpectedly responsive, snorting at me like they’re trying to say hi. The chickens don’t have as much personality, but they’re fun to watch too. Jimmy shows me where he keeps their feed and lets me throw out a handful for them. They cluck excitedly and scurry around to gobble it up.

Then we walk out on the deck to look at the pond.

“I used to fish with Grandpa sometimes,” I tell him. “We didn’t have a pond like this, but there was a lake kind of nearby where we would go. I always liked it.”

“Did you? I can make you a rod if you want. You can use mine anytime until I get it done. Although it might be kind of big for a little thing like you.”

“I’m not that little.” I’m five four. While that’s obviously not tall by any estimation, I also have never considered myself particularly short. I’m also curvy. Not at all waiflike. I’ve got noticeable hips and breasts. I’ve always thought of myself as average size.

Not little.

“Okay.” His mouth works oddly. “You’re not little.”

I eye him suspiciously, but he doesn’t say anything else.

The day passes uneventfully. Jimmy does his outdoor chores, and I familiarize myself with the house and swap out the bedding for the new stuff Greta sent with us. It includes a prettier quilt in peaceful shades of brown and green.

I go through the clothes she gave us and am relieved to discover they’re entirely women’s clothes. I don’t have anything to my name except the clothes and shoes I was wearing when I arrived and the big T-shirt Greta gave me at the farmhouse to sleep in.

But from the bag I pull out several tops, a couple of skirts, a pretty cotton dress, another pair of jeans, a couple of other pants, a fuzzy purple bathrobe, and several pairs of underwear. I have to roll up the legs on the jeans and pants, but otherwise everything fits me. There aren’t any bras, but I haven’t worn a bra for years. From what I observed at the Carlsons’, most other women don’t either. The last thing I pull out of the bag is a nightgown. It’s pink with wide straps and is made of a soft, stretchy material.

I really like it. I like everything. I open drawers in the dresser to discover that Jimmy has already cleared out half of them for me. I stow all my new stuff away and still have space to spare.

I make eggs for lunch as Greta suggested and do some cheese toast on the side. Jimmy gobbles up everything quickly, so he clearly finds nothing lacking in my meal.

He’s got more work to do in the afternoon—he explains that usually he takes it easy on Sunday but he got distracted from his normal work yesterday by preparing the house for me to hopefully come—so I find a pile of dirty clothes in the old bathroom and decide I might as well wash them.

It takes a good chunk of the afternoon, but I’m glad to get something useful done on the first day. Jimmy enjoys the dinner of ham steak, canned green beans, and potatoes just as much as he enjoyed lunch.

By the time I finish washing dishes afterward, Jimmy is back from getting the animals settled for the night. It’s dark out. I’m not sure what time it is, but it feels like it’s almost bedtime.

He smells like dirt and winter air when he comes back inside. I’ve been drying the last dish slowly because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.

Is he going to want to go to bed already?

Is it time for us to have sex?

He stands behind me, watching as I finish drying the plate and put it back in its spot on a shelf. When I turn around, he’s looking at me.

I really wish the man would just say something. What the hell is he waiting for?

“What do you like to do in the evenings?” he asks after a few seconds of us staring at each other.

I lick my lips in a nervous gesture until I realize what I’m doing and stop. “I… I usually read books. We had a lot.”

“Oh. Yeah. I got some. Not a whole lot, but I guess it’s better than nothin’.” He makes a gesture with his hand, so I follow him into the small room full of boxes. He checks a couple of them until he pulls out one that’s half-filled with an assortment of books. “Some of these were Mary’s. She’s… she was my wife.”

I nod, glad that Paula gave me the background, so that information doesn’t take me off guard.

“So there might be somethin’ here you like,” Jimmy continues, picking up one worn paperback and staring at it. It looks like some sort of mystery. “And it’s pretty easy to find books in old buildings. I’ll get you some more. If you tell me what you like, I can look for those ones.”

“Okay. Thank you. That’s nice of you.”

He puts the book back in the box, and we stare at each other some more.

Deciding I need to take some responsibility for making conversation, I ask, “What do you usually do in the evenings?”

He makes a face. “Honestly, not too much. I’m usually so exhausted trying to get stuff done that I basically collapse at the end of the day. In the evenings, I’ve been still trying to rinse out a few clothes or prep somethin’ to eat the next day.”

“Oh. Wow. I didn’t think about that. You’ve had way too much to do for one person.”

“Yeah.” He rubs at his beard—it’s a habit of his. “It’s been a lot. So guess I’m… It’s good you’re here.”

“Yes. I guess so.” I shift from foot to foot.

Should I step over and find a book to read? I’d be happy to curl up on the couch or in the chair and read for an hour or two. But then what would Jimmy do? Maybe he’d rather I do something with him.

Maybe he wants to have sex and thinks it would be pushy to bring it up.

“Do you wanna take a bath?” he blurts out before I can figure out anything else to say.

My eyes get very big.

“I mean, not that you’re dirty or anythin’. Just wondered if you’d want to. I do got a tub I use for baths. Gotta pump out all the water to fill it, so I only do it once a week or so and just use the basin otherwise. It’s easier in the summer since we can do it outside.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but I’d swear his cheeks are red. I start to respond, but he’s on a roll and doesn’t let me.

“So we could have baths tonight if you want. I need one for sure, specially if we’re sharin’ a bed. Wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

I manage to break into his rambles. “Okay. That sounds like a good idea.”

I don’t say it, but I haven’t had a real bath since my grandpa and I left our home in the forest. Even without modern conveniences, any sort of bath sounds like a dream.

Jimmy looks relieved that we’ve finally stumbled on a plan for the evening. He drags a big tub inside that’s more than large enough for one person to sit down in. He positions it in the kitchen directly over a drain in the floor. He explains the process—filling a big pot with water and then putting it on the stove to heat up and then pumping out enough cold water to fill the tub about two-thirds of the way up.

It’s not easy, and it takes a while, but we eventually get enough water into the tub. Then Jimmy pours the hot water into the cold and stirs it around with his hand.

“See?” he says, looking pleased when he retrieves his hand. “Not exactly a hot tub, but it’s warm enough now.”

I feel the water, which is indeed warmish. “That will be just fine.”

“Oh wait, this might help.” He turns around and strides into the small room again and emerges with a couple of towels and a little bucket in which are a number of bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and bath soap, clearly scavenged from the old world. “Some of it is basic, and some of it is flowery. You can use whatever you feel like.”

For some reason, his blunt comment makes me want to snicker. “So you use the flowery stuff sometimes?”

He makes a huffing sound that’s evidently amusement. “Only when I’m really tryin’ to impress.”

It takes a couple of seconds to realize he made a joke. An actual joke. I giggle.

“So you go ahead first, but don’t let out the stopper at the bottom to drain it. I’ll use the same water since it’s such a pain to fill it up.”

“Oh, you should go first then.”

“No. No way.” He frowns at me with a mild disapproval I’ve seen on his face before. “You don’t wanna get into my dirty bathwater.”

“But you’ll have to—”

“Stop all that arguin’. I’m telling you, girlie, you stink way less than me.”

I giggle again, half nerves and half amusement. He hasn’t called me girlie since the very first day he rescued me, and for some reason it makes me feel good. Safe. “Okay. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“No hurry. I’ll be outside. Just call out when you’re done.”

“Okay. I will. Thank you.”

He disappears out the back door—the one that leads to the outhouse. I feel weird and vulnerable as I start taking off my clothes, but it would be stupid to delay. The water will get cool.

Before I get in, I do think of something else and pump out enough water to fill the big pot and put it back on the stove. That way Jimmy can have warmish water too.

Fortunately, I’m not on my period right now. That would definitely make things awkward with sharing the water. I get naked all the way and take a high step to put one leg into the tub. I pull the other one over the side and then sit down.

It’s not big enough to submerge in or stretch out my legs, but it doesn’t matter. I quickly squirt out pear-scented bath soap, lather up, and use a washcloth to clean myself up. Washing my hair is a major process, and I like to do it on sunny afternoons so it dries quicker, so I don’t bother submerging my head and instead clean my face and neck and shoulders with the washcloth.

I’m able to get myself a lot cleaner than I’ve been able to do with a quick washup with the basin in the evenings, and I feel a lot better as I stand up, letting the excess water drip off me before I carefully step out and dry off.

I pull the pink nightgown on over my head. It fits good through the chest and shoulders, but I suspect it’s supposed to come to the midthighs. Instead, it falls down to my knees.

It doesn’t matter. It’s better than anything else I have, and looking at myself in the mirror over the dresser in the bedroom reveals I actually look really nice in it. It shows off my breasts, making me look almost sensual. And the color is flattering against my hair and skin.

Self-conscious about how much skin is exposed, I pull the bathrobe on over it. I’ll need to visit the outhouse before bed anyway, and it’s way too cold out there for only that nightgown.

I check the water. I’m sure it’s dirty, but it doesn’t actually look that bad. I pour the big pot of water I’ve heated up into the tub and swirl it around. There. That should be okay for Jimmy.

I open the back door and call out into the darkness, “I’m all done!” Then I follow the walkway to the outhouse.

When I come back inside, Jimmy is leaning over the tub.

“The water is warm,” he says.

“I heated up more water for you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He looks surprised, but I don’t know why. Surely he wouldn’t assume I’d want him to sit naked in cool water.

His eyes run up and down my body from my ponytail to my robe to the socks I pulled on so my feet weren’t bare outside.

I’m not at my most attractive at the moment, but hopefully he realizes I’ll look better after I’m ready for bed.

“I’ll be in the bedroom,” I tell him.

He nods. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, but no sound comes out.

Flushing and jittery, I hurry into the bedroom and close the door.

I don’t want him to think I’m lingering to watch him in the bathtub.

I take off my bathrobe. Then I pull the elastic out of my ponytail and brush out my hair with the hairbrush on the dresser.

It was shoulder-length when I was fourteen, but I’ve only occasionally trimmed it since, so it’s long now. Halfway down my back.

I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair looks good. It’s always been really straight and smooth, so it doesn’t kink or frizz. My shoulders and neck look almost graceful when set off by the straps of the gown. My boobs are quite prominently displayed, but hopefully Jimmy will like that. My eyes are a fairly light blue, and the look in them right now is weirdly foreign. Wild. Like it’s a stranger staring at me.

I have no idea who this person even is, living here now with a man I don’t really know. And maybe having sex with him soon.

It’s too much to wrap my mind around, so I sweep it away as I brush my teeth and then climb onto the bed.

I assume he won’t want the side all the way against the wall, so I crawl all the way over. I pull down the top sheet and quilt, but I don’t lie down. It makes me feel weird and vulnerable. Helpless.

So I sit there on the bed, my legs folded up beneath me, and wait until the bedroom door finally opens.

4

JIMMY COMES into the room in a pair of dark blue boxer shorts. They look old. Kind of faded. He’s not wearing anything else.

I stare at his long legs, his bare chest, his big arms. He’s naturally large, but he’s not rock-hard like a bodybuilder or an underwear model. His belly isn’t entirely flat, and he’s got hair on his chest and his legs.

He stands still when he sees me sitting in bed. After a few seconds, he keeps walking toward me, slower now. “Hey.”

“Hi. Do you need me to do anything?”

“Nah. I drained the tub. I’ll let it dry out and then take it back outside tomorrow. And I locked up. Nothin’ else to do. Do you need anything?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed. Turns his head to give me a quick glance. “You look real pretty.”

I flush again. Feel an unexpected flutter of pleasure around my heart. “Thank you.” I wonder if I should compliment him too, but I have no idea what to say. I do like the looks of his body. He’s big and strong and solid. Real. Human.

The sight of him makes me feel small and soft in a way I’m not used to.

He takes a couple of loud breaths. “We don’t have to… to do nothin’ tonight if you don’t want. If you’re not ready, I mean.”

I’m relieved one of us finally brought up the topic. “I’m ready.”

He turns around to face me, bending one of his legs onto the bed. “You are?”

I nod. “I want to. Do this. All the way.”

“Okay.” His face changes almost imperceptibly, but I don’t know him well enough yet to read it.

“As long as you want to too.”

“Course I do.” He gives me one of those disapproving frowns. “Told you you’re real pretty.”

“Oh. Okay.” I would have assumed there would be more to the decision to have sex than whether he found me attractive, but maybe not. Men are different after all. Maybe it’s really that simple for him.

It might make things easier. If my body is the most important thing to him, maybe I don’t have to try to impress him with a lot of deep connection or practiced techniques.

“Okay.” He reaches over to turn off the lantern on the bedside table, casting the room into darkness.

That will make it easier too. That the room is dark.

He stretches out on his side of the bed. I can feel his eyes on me although I can’t clearly see them. “How you wanna do this?”

My heart is pounding like a jackhammer. My pulse is throbbing in my eyes and ears. My mind is a complete blank, and the only thing I can think of—the only thing—is Paula’s advice to me.

Men like blow jobs.

So give him a lot.

“Oh,” I say, leaning over so I can touch his chest. It’s warm. Coarse. Nice to feel. “I can…”

I’m too embarrassed to say it, but I feel my way down his body until I reach his underwear. I brush my hand against the front of them and realize his penis is already starting to get hard.

I can feel it growing as I rub gently through the fabric.

Jimmy sucks in a harsh breath. His whole body tenses up. “We can… You don’t gotta… We can…” He can’t get a sentence out because I’ve pulled down his boxers to his thighs and wrapped my fingers around his cock.

I squeeze—still gentle since I don’t actually know how much force is appropriate for this particular pursuit—and he gets even harder, bigger.

It’s oddly mesmerizing. Gratifying.

When he’s as big as he apparently gets, I lean down and slide my lips across the tip of his shaft. He smells like soap—not the pear-scented kind I used but something more basic—and there’s just a hint of his normal, natural scent beneath it.

He makes a choked sound, and his hips come up off the bed.

I lift my head to look at him, wanting to make sure his reaction is a good one. My eyes have adapted to the dark, so I can see him better. Not the details, but the outline of his face and body and the general location of his features.

He’s staring at me fixedly. “Chloe, we can do somethin’ else first if you want.”

“You don’t like it?” Maybe I’ve already messed up. On the very first night. Darn it.

“What? You think I don’t like it? You out of your mind? Course I like it. But we can start slower. Might be easier for you. I can… I can do some stuff for you.”

I shrug away his offer since the most important thing for me is that he said he likes it.

I lean down again, and this time I take more of him in my mouth.

My only knowledge of male anatomy comes from what I saw in movies and on the internet before Impact and from the romance novels I’ve read.

I don’t actually know if he’s big or small or average. All I know is he feels large in my hand and my mouth. There’s too much of him to fit in my mouth, and it makes me nervous when the tip is close to my throat, so I don’t try to get him any deeper. I suck on the part of him I can handle, and he gives another little buck with his hips.

It startles me, but I also like it. It feels like a helpless gesture. Like he’s enjoying it so much he can’t control it.

I suck some more. Feel around with my hand, rubbing the base of his cock and his balls and hoping he’s not disappointed by my amateur technique.

His thighs and stomach muscles have tightened palpably. He’s breathing raggedly, and one hand has moved to grab a bunch of my hair. “Fuck,” he gasps with a roll of his pelvis. “Fuck, Chloe. You keep doin’ that and I can’t… I can’t… Oh fuck!”

Something suddenly changes in his body. Dramatically. His legs twitch, and he chokes on a loud, wordless sound, and his cock pulses in my mouth.

Then there’s suddenly spurt after spurt of ejaculate in my mouth.

I cough and straighten up. I can’t help it. For a moment it feels like I might choke. He’s not done coming, so some of his semen ends up on my shoulder.

“Fuck,” he rasps again. “I’m real sorry. Didn’t expect to lose it so soon. You okay?”

“Yeah.” It only takes a minute for my heart to settle and my throat to clear. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” He’s staring at me again, intently focused even in the dark.

“Yeah. Did you… Was that okay?”

“Okay? You kiddin’? That was amazin’. Why d’you think I lost it in thirty seconds like a horny teenager?”

I giggle, relieved and pleased that my attempts weren’t a total flop.

“Been a while since I done anythin’ like this,” he says. Then he waits like he’s expecting me to say something.

I have no idea what to say. It hasn’t been a while for me. It’s never happened for me before.

But for some reason I don’t want to tell him. He doesn’t necessarily know I’m a virgin, so maybe he’ll think I already know how to please him. That I really know what I’m doing.

The problem is, now that we did the blow job, I have no idea what to do next.

“Why don’tcha lie down,” he says. “I can do somethin’ for you.”

Well, that’s helpful. At least I don’t have to figure out the next step myself. I lie on my back, tucking the lower half of my legs under the covers since they’re a little chilly despite my socks. I gaze up at the dark shape of him rolling over and moving above me. My breath hitches.

He pauses halfway into lowering his head. “You nervous?”

Automatically I start to say no, but it’s pretty clear he can tell that would be a lie. “A little.”

“You don’t gotta be. I know I’m not the kind of guy you’re probably used to, but I’m not a selfish asshole. I’ll treat you real good. As good as I can.”

I lick my lips. I never thought he was an asshole, and I have no other guys that I’m used to. “Thank you.”

He continues moving down toward me, and for a minute I think he might kiss me, but he doesn’t. He strokes my face with his knuckles and then carefully pulls up my nightgown to expose my naked body.

It’s dark. Yes, he can probably see some of me. As much as I can see of him. But the details will be obscured.

“You’re real pretty,” he murmurs thickly, lightly touching one of my breasts.

I have no idea what to say to that. The compliment makes me feel good, and I like the sound of his voice. Husky. With a lot of texture that’s not normally there. “Thank you.”

“Don’t gotta thank me for every little thing, you know.”

“Oh.” My breath catches again when he strokes his fingertips against my right nipple. It triggers a little ripple of sensation I can feel in my belly and even lower.

He keeps playing with that breast, and it keeps feeling even better. Then he lowers his mouth to my left nipple. Flicks it with his tongue and then gives it a hard suck.

My back arches, and I let out a weird little sound. It embarrasses me because it sounds almost childish. I don’t even know where it came from.

He lifts his head. I think he’s smiling. “See? Told you I could treat you good.”

“I believed you.”

“Sure you did.” It kind of feels like he’s still smiling as he moves his mouth down to my breast again. He sucks and teases it while he fondles the other one with his hand. The dual sensations are intense and disorienting. I gasp and wriggle and make more of those whimpering sounds.

After a few minutes, he stops, so I’m able to relax and breathe deep. My skin feels overly sensitized. I’m achy between my legs. Kind of throbby. I really want something to happen, but my mind is too dazed to figure out what to do.

Both his big hands slide down my belly until they’re holding on to my thighs. I can hear his heavy breathing in the otherwise silent room as he pulls my legs apart.

I suck in a sharp breath as the cool air reaches my pussy.

“This all right?” he asks, even more gravel in his voice now.

“Yes.”

He touches my inner thigh. Then his fingers brush higher. He opens me up and strokes a finger up and down against my private flesh.

I twitch and grab the sheet beneath me, needing something to hold on to.

His finger moves more, sliding all the way inside me and then withdrawing to find and rub my clit.

It’s so good—so needed. I roll my hips and start to pant.

“That feel pretty good?”

“Y-yeah.” I have to bite back more of those whimpering sounds. “It does.”

He rubs more intentionally, and I get all tense and hot. I bend my legs and push into the mattress with my feet. All my breath collects in my chest, and all the sensation in my body coils in my pussy.

“You’re doin’ real good,” he says.

And that does it. It’s like I fall over a cliff. A rush of pleasure erupts, flooding through my body from where he’s pushing against my clit. I shake all over and arch my back up off the bed as I let out a long, stretched, high-pitched sound I can’t possibly hold back.

My eyes are closed as my body finally stills and relaxes. My skin is hot. My cheeks are blazing. I can’t seem to catch my breath.

“That seemed like a good one.” Jimmy has moved his finger and is pressing into my groin with his whole hand in a relieving gesture.

“It… it was. Thank you.”

He makes a humming sound and sits up on his knees. I’ve started to close my legs automatically, but he keeps them open with the position of his body. “You wanna do some more?”

“More?”

“Yeah. I’m ready to go again, and it feels like you are too. But we can wait if you want.”

My eyes lower and catch the outline of another erection. He must have gotten turned on again. It didn’t take him too long.

I feel perfectly satisfied, but if he wants to do more, I have no objections. After all, we haven’t even had intercourse yet. “We don’t need to wait.”

He got relaxed after the blow job, but it feels like his body is tensing up again. “That’s good then.”

He parts my thighs farther, bending my legs again and planting my feet flat on the mattress, then moves closer, still sitting on his knees, and lifts my bottom up until my pussy is aligned with his cock.

I let him move me any way he wants. It’s not like I have any preferences, and I’m glad I don’t have to make the decisions.

“You like it this way okay?”

“Yeah.” I have no way of determining what I like, but this feels just fine to me. Vulnerable. Exposed. But it’s still dark in the room, and it’s mostly comfortable except for some stretching of my stomach muscles. “This is good.”

He shifts my weight to only one of his hands and uses his other to feel for my entrance again, then hold his cock in place until the tip of it is pushing in.

It’s tight almost immediately, even more so as he penetrates more deeply.

I’ve imagined having sex a thousand times, fueled primarily by novels I’ve read, and because I had no real frame of reference, I always visualized something huge and overwhelming forcing its way into my body with searing pain.

Jimmy feels big. No question about that. And there’s not a lot of room for him inside me. But it doesn’t actually hurt. It aches. Stretches. I make more of those silly, embarrassing sounds as he slowly fits himself inside me, pulling out and pushing in again a couple of times at slightly different angles.

When he’s in all the way, he stays still, holding on to my ass with both hands.

“Jesus Christ,” he says in an extended hiss.

That sounds like it’s good. I hope so.

I have to fight the instinct to writhe. I clutch at the sheets beneath me and try to slow my breathing.

“This hurtin’ you or anythin’?” he asks hoarsely after a minute.

“No. It doesn’t hurt.”

“You likin’ it?” It seems like he’s trying to peer through the darkness to see my face.

“Yeah. I’m liking it. You can keep going.”

I’m not sure if I like it, but I definitely don’t hate it. I’m not sure about anything. It’s just so much. So intense. Like everything I’ve always kept safe inside me has suddenly been exposed.

Jimmy starts to pump his hips, moving his cock inside me. It’s a slow, steady tempo at first. He doesn’t pull out very far. The motion works to stretch and soften my pussy, so it’s more comfortable as he continues.

I watch him as he works his hips. I wish I could see his expression more clearly, but from the angle of his face, his gaze is moving up and down my body—from my face to my breasts (which are jiggling from the motion) and down to where he’s moving in and out of me.

Maybe he likes the look of it. I hope he does. I hope I’m doing okay and giving him what he wants.

After a few minutes, his rhythm accelerates. His grip tightens on the soft flesh of my ass. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m not gonna last very long.”

All the friction and shaking have started having an effect. I feel that deep coil of pleasure again. The one that swells and swells and then explodes. I’ve started making those whimpering sounds at a regular interval, paired with his thrusting inside me.

His body jerks unexpectedly, and he speeds up even more, pushing into me even harder.

It’s not exactly comfortable. It’s more achy than ever. But something inside me wants it. Wants it bad. I make a loud sound as the pleasure mounts even more.

Then, before I know what’s happening, he’s suddenly pulling his cock out and letting go of me with one hand so he can squeeze it.

He makes loud, rough sounds as he comes, spurting onto my belly as he works through his climax.

I’m startled and shaky and still throbbing between my legs as he lowers me back to the bed, gasping loudly as he collapses beside me.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Sorry ’bout that.”

“About what?”

“Came before you did.” He sounds surprised as he rolls on his side to face me. “Seemed like you might’ve been getting there again.”

“Oh. I was okay.” He’s right. I do feel wiggly and unsatisfied, but I’m not about to complain.

I already had one orgasm, and nothing about what happened was bad for me.

He reaches over to stroke his hand over my breast and belly, then moves it lower, parting my outer folds so he can find my clit again. He rubs it like he did before.

It takes less than a minute for the interrupted climax to restart, mount quickly, then release in hot shudders of pleasure.

It feels even better this time. So good that I fold one arm over my head so I can hide my face against my inner elbow as I gasp and moan.

I’m fully relaxed again when the spasms work their way through me at last. He gives me a few soothing strokes with his hand before he pulls it away.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “I really liked that.” I blush as I say the words, somehow more embarrassed by the thanks than by the climax.

“You’re welcome. Thank you .” He rolls over onto his back. “I think we did okay for the first time.”

“Yeah, we did.”

I mean it. If that’s what it takes to keep Jimmy happy, then doing my duty in this relationship shouldn’t be too burdensome.

Maybe I’ll even enjoy it.

5

FIVE DAYS LATER, on Friday morning, I wake up earlier than normal.

I’ve been sleeping until Jimmy gets up, which is always right as the sun is rising. But today I wake up before he does. He’s still sleeping in the bed beside me, so I’m trapped between him and the wall.

I don’t mind. I almost never need to get up in the middle of the night, and there’s something safe and secure about being tucked away here. Like this, with Jimmy’s big body blocking the rest of the world from me.

He doesn’t snore, but he does breathe heavily. I hear his slow, steady inhales and exhales. We haven’t had baths since Sunday, so he’s smelling kind of strong. He washes up pretty well every evening before bed, but he also does a lot of very physical work every day. I’m already used to his smell. It’s distinct. Familiar. Not even all that unpleasant.

It smells like Jimmy.

I don’t know why I woke up so early. I still feel tired. Heavy. Hate the idea of having to get up and start working. Every day this week, I’ve worked my butt off, trying to learn basic chores like mending clothes and deboning rabbits. I’ve done pretty well with the cooking and cleaning, but even that takes a lot of energy. And the problem is there’s never an end of work that needs to be done.

The one positive about my work this week is that it’s been more satisfying than working for the Carlsons. At least my tasks here are only for me and Jimmy. They feel more personal and purposeful. And they’re not going to increase exponentially. There’s even the hope that I’ll eventually learn to do them faster so I might get a little downtime.

I’ve been working most of the day on one thing or another, from dawn until after dinner. Then I usually have an hour or so to read or rest before it’s time for sex and bed.

We’ve had sex every night except last night. That’s the one responsibility that hasn’t felt too onerous. While I’m obviously not even close to an expert yet, I feel like I’m getting better at it. I like making Jimmy feel good. It gives me a possessive thrill of success. I still haven’t been able to come from intercourse, but he always makes sure I have an orgasm from his hand.

The evenings have been undoubtedly the best part of my days this week, and afterward I always sleep like the dead.

The only reason we didn’t have sex last night is that I was so tired I accidentally fell asleep before he got in from using the outhouse.

I really don’t want to move, to get out from under the cozy covers and my safe spot against the wall. But I need to pee, and now that I’m conscious of it, I can’t think of anything else.

With a sigh, I sit up, wondering if I’ll be able to crawl over Jimmy’s big body without waking him up.

I haven’t devised a strategy yet when he makes a huffing sound and blinks up at the ceiling.

It’s still mostly dark, but it must be around dawn because the window is letting in some grayish light.

Jimmy turns his head toward me with a jerk. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I was thinking about getting up to go to the bathroom.”

His eyes move lower than my face, and his face heats up a little.

I usually start the evening naked because Jimmy will always just take my nightgown off. Then after we have sex, I put on my gown and a pair of socks. But because I fell asleep so fast last night, I’m still naked this morning. He’s staring at my bare breasts.

I really do need to pee, but I like that particular look in his eyes. It’s not just admiring. It’s hungry. And also kind of entitled. Like what he’s looking at is his.

Responding to instinct, I adjust my position and crawl toward him. When I push the covers down from his chest, he lowers his eyebrows.

“Whatcha doin’, girlie?” The tone of his question is different this time. Hoarse. Excited.

I don’t answer him with words. I move down his body until I can grab his half-erect cock.

Without wasting time on preliminaries, I lower my head and take him in my mouth. He grows and hardens all the way in almost no time at all.

He holds my hair back in a big bunch so it doesn’t fall into my face, then pushes down the covers so they’re not in the way. He lifts his head from the pillow.

He likes to watch me do this to him. That much I’ve learned this week.

I’m still not anything close to an expert at this activity, but I’ve figured out a few things since I give him a blow job every time we have sex. I take as much of his cock in my mouth as I can without triggering my gag reflex, and I suck rhythmically as I massage his balls.

Soon he’s grunting and rocking his hips in time to my sucking. And it’s not long before all the muscles in his body clench up and then jerk in spasms as he comes hard.

I can tell when it’s about to happen now, so I let him slip out of my mouth and come on my chest. I don’t like trying to swallow down his semen, and he doesn’t seem to care if I don’t.

He’s gasping as he lies back afterward, his body hotter and softer than before. “Thank you for that. Not sure what I did to deserve it.”

“You missed out on last night.” I straighten up and stroke his chest—firm flesh and coarse hair—and his not-quite-flat belly. I don’t actually know if he likes me to pet him like this afterward, but it feels like I should.

He frowns slightly. “That wasn’t a problem. You were tired. I was too.”

Well, that’s a relief. There’s no way not to believe him. He must not be holding it against me that I couldn’t stay awake. “Okay. Good. I still wanted to do it.”

“Well, it sure made my day. Not sure how I’m expected to get my ass out of bed after that.”

I giggle, still caressing him. My hand moves down to one of his thick thighs. His penis has softened back to its regular shape. I feel a flicker of interest in playing with it, but I resist.

I wait until he’s fully recovered and breathing evenly before I start to climb over him and out of the bed.

“Where you goin’?” he demands, lifting his head and shoulders.

“I told you I’ve got to pee.”

“But I was gonna do somethin’ for you.”

I pull on my bathrobe and smile at him over my shoulder. Part of me wants to see what he has in mind, but the rest of me knows I have a long day of hard work in front of me. The longer I delay in bed, the longer my day will be. “All I need right now is to pee.”

We go through our morning routines—washing up quickly and getting dressed, then Jimmy heading outside to tend to the animals while I start working on breakfast.

Breakfast is the easiest meal to figure out since we always have plenty of eggs. I try to do slightly different things each morning so Jimmy doesn’t get bored.

Today I make egg and cheese sandwiches, grilling them with butter after I put them together. We’ve still got some good milk, so I pour him a glass and set it on the table next to his sandwich just as Jimmy comes back in from outside.

“Looks good,” he says, perking up at the sight of the food. He waits until I pour a glass of milk for myself and take it and my own sandwich to sit at the table across from him.

We eat in silence for a few minutes until he says, “Remember I got to go to my folks’ place this morning to help my dad repair that barn.”

“Oh. Yes. That’s right.” I’d actually forgotten about it. He told me a couple of days ago, but it feels like ages have passed since then. “Will you be back here for lunch?”

He’s chewing a big bite of his breakfast. “This is real good,” he mumbles as he swallows. “I don’t know how long the work will take, but I’ll plan to eat with them so you don’t have to mess with lunch.”

“Okay. That sounds good. Do you need me to do anything for you while you’re gone?”

“Maybe look in on that one pig with the dark rear end. He was acting kind of droopy this morning.”

“Oh no. I hope he’s okay. I’ll definitely check on him.” I frown, hoping nothing is wrong. I know the pigs aren’t pets. I know that eventually they’ll be slaughtered for food. But still… I really like the big, noisy creatures, and I don’t want any of them to be sick.

After a couple of gulps of milk, he says, “I was gonna do some fishin’ this afternoon when I get back. Maybe we can have some fish to eat this weekend.”

“Okay. That sounds good.” My stomach twists in nerves. Another thing I don’t know how to do. “I might need a little help in prepping the fish to eat. I’ve never done that before.”

“Oh sure. I’ll show you how. It’s kinda gross but not too hard.”

I’ve done plenty of other gross things in the past five weeks. I’m sure I’ll be able to handle the fish too.

“What you gonna do today?” Jimmy asks after another minute. He’s done with his sandwich already.

I have about a third of mine left, and I’m already full so I pass it over to him.

The first few times I offered him my leftover food, he quizzed me to make sure I wasn’t still hungry, but he must have realized I only give it to him when I’m actually done eating. He accepts it with a mumbled thanks and takes a big bite.

“I’ve got to bake bread this morning. I used the last of what we had on breakfast. I checked and we have all the ingredients. You’ve got a big sack of flour you’ve barely used.”

“Mom kept telling me to make bread with it, but even if I knew how, I never had time.”

“That’s what I figured. I’m pretty sure I can do it on my own since your mom taught me.”

“Okay, that’ll be good.”

“What’s the weather look like today?”

“Pretty good. It didn’t even frost last night, and the sky is clear. Think it will be sunny and mild.”

“Perfect. Then I’ll work on laundry too since the sun will be out. I hate hanging it up inside. The clothes always smell smoky and kind of musty. Do you mind changing out of those jeans before you leave? They really need washing.”

He looks down at himself in surprise, like he wasn’t even aware of what he’s wearing. He’s probably not. He’s in the habit of grabbing whatever clothes are closest when he gets up in the morning, so he’s been wearing the same jeans all week. “Oh. Sure.” He pops the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and then polishes off his milk before he stands up. “I’ll do that right now.”

The day is long. Very long. And it seems longer because Jimmy is gone for most of it.

My first attempt at bread is a definite flop, but I try again, and the second time I manage to come up with two fine-looking loaves.

While they’re baking, I start the laundry, working on the back deck because the sun is out and it’s not too cold for early December. And this way I won’t slop water all over the kitchen floor.

I get going, scrubbing each piece of clothing from our hamper against the washboard and then rinsing and wringing them out.

I barely remember to get the bread out of the oven in time and am relieved when I set them out to cool.

They look and smell just right. Thank God I’m capable of doing something well.

Then I have to return to the laundry. By the time I finish all the washing, it’s midafternoon. I completely forgot about lunch.

I’m scrambling around to find the clothespins to hang the wet clothes and towels on the line when a voice surprises me.

“Chloe? Chloe, I’m back!”

I run out of the spare room with the pail of clothespins and see Jimmy in the doorway, looking pleased and relaxed. “Oh hey. How did everything go?”

“Good. My dad had plenty of help, so it wasn’t too hard. Then we had a good lunch and hung out for a while.”

For some reason—for no good reason—I feel a sharp pang of hot resentment in my chest. He clearly had a good day. He had some easy work, which apparently he wasn’t even really needed for, and then what must have been a long, leisurely lunch. He’s not even out of breath, so he obviously didn’t hurry on his walk back home.

And I’ve been slaving away, stressed and exhausted, every minute of the day so far.

I don’t express any of my internal response. It’s not fair. Jimmy regularly works very hard, and his labor and his family’s help are the only reasons I’m safely housed and fed at all. He’s allowed to have a slightly easier day occasionally.

“You okay?” he asks, frowning and ducking his head slightly to see my expression since I’ve looked away from him in an attempt to hide my reaction.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just in the middle of laundry.”

“Oh, okay. I won’t get in your way then. I’m gonna do some fishin’.”

“That sounds good.”

“You mind if I open the windows? It’s such a nice day, figure we can air the house out. It always gets real cooped up in here durin’ the winter.”

“Oh yeah. That’s a good idea.”

I should have thought of that myself. Maybe he’s wondering why I didn’t.

The kitchen is a mess because I didn’t have time to put everything up after making the bread. And I’ve got a huge basket of wet clothes sitting out on the deck, waiting for me to hang them up.

I force a smile at Jimmy before I head outside to finish the laundry.

I clearly made a tactical error. There are too many clothes in the basket, and they’re exponentially heavier because they’re wet. I can barely lift it, so I have to drag the darn thing off the deck and toward the line.

The container of pins I set on top, but they fall off from the bump off the deck. I bite back a groan of frustration and just leave them there as I keep hauling the basket.

When I finally get it to the line, I’m hot and sweating and out of breath. I straighten up, stretching my back and breathing deeply to get myself back together because I feel like I might start crying.

It’s just my first week here. And it’s been only five weeks that I’ve done any of these chores at all. I couldn’t possibly be an expert yet on all this.

Hopefully Jimmy won’t be too disappointed.

He’d have been better off with Laura. She’s been doing all these things since they lost power and water and infrastructure after Impact. She’d be doing a lot better job than me.

When I’ve controlled myself, I turn back around toward the house since I need to collect the clothespins I dropped.

Jimmy is already there, bending over as he picks up pins and drops them back in the pail.

I hurry over and take them from him. “Thank you. Sorry about that.”

“What are you sorry for?” He’s frowning and peering at me again.

“I dropped them. I’ll get the rest.”

I really want him to go away since I’m embarrassed by both my clumsiness and my near breakdown.

For some reason, his presence is making it worse.

He doesn’t turn away or pick up the fishing pole he laid on the deck. His eyes have narrowed as he keeps trying to see my face. Half my hair slipped out of my ponytail hours ago, so I’m able to use the loose strands to hide behind. “You need help with the laundry?”

“Oh no. I’m good.” Shoot. He must know I’m not doing a good job. Maybe he’s feeling sorry for me. “I don’t have much left to do. You go ahead and fish so we’ll have something for the weekend.”

“Okay.” He sounds dubious, and he won’t stop staring at me.

It’s really getting on my nerves.

Stifling a frustrated sound, I turn away and walk back to the clothesline. It takes longer than I expect to hang up all the wet clothes and towels, and my shoulders are aching when I’m finally done.

I didn’t plan this day well at all. The sun is still out, but there’s probably only a few hours left of daylight. These will never be dry by then. It doesn’t look like rain anytime soon, but with my luck it will freeze tonight and the wet fabric will get frozen stiff.

I should have done the laundry first and gotten it hung up by midmorning so it would have most of the day to dry and then baked the bread in the afternoon.

Why the heck didn’t I think of any of this sooner?

I feel like crying again as I trudge back to the house. Nothing to do about it now. I just have to hope tonight isn’t too cold.

Jimmy is settled on the edge of the deck with his fishing pole.

I always loved fishing with Grandpa. I’d love to be able to sit around and fish this afternoon.

But I still have the damned kitchen to clean up.

Maybe it won’t take too long.

My hopes are completely dashed when I get inside and look toward the kitchen.

There’s flour scattered all over the floor.

I know I didn’t make that huge a mess earlier, and when I get closer, I see what happened.

I didn’t close the sack of flour well enough and the breeze from the open windows blew the top layer of flour out and spread it all over.

All over.

It’s not just on the floor. It’s on the counter and on the cabinets and even on the table and chairs.

I stand frozen for a moment, looking at the mess. That same swell of exhausted frustration rises and expands in my chest. My throat. Pushes out against my eyes. I wrap my arms around my chest and squeeze, trying to fight the shaking of silent sobs.

I hate this.

I hate all of it.

And I can’t do anything right.

Two months ago, I had a perfectly good life with my grandfather. Now he’s gone. He’s never coming back. All that’s left of him is a newly dug grave in a field nearby. I didn’t even have a rock or a wooden cross to use as a marker.

He was the last of my family, and now I’m living with strangers. They’re not mean. None of them. But they’re not mine.

Not even Jimmy.

He’s out there having a grand time fishing while I’m in here falling apart.

Bastard.

The least he could do was notice.

I swallow down that thought since it’s completely unjust. He asked if anything was wrong, and I told him no. How the hell is he supposed to read my mind?

Instead of holding on to this new flicker of resentment, I push it out of my mind and make myself start to clean up.

It takes a long time. It feels like forever.

My back is killing me, and my knees are aching, and my lungs are burning as I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing the last of the flour off the kitchen floor when Jimmy comes in, carrying a bucket.

“Got some good ones,” he says cheerfully before he sees me in the kitchen. When he does, he jerks to a stop. “What you doin’?”

“Cleaning.”

“Why you cleanin’ the floor? You already did a ton today.”

Nice of him to finally notice. “There was flour everywhere.”

“Flour? What do you mean?”

“It blew out of the bag.” I wince as I stand up because my back catches. I take a deep breath and step over to the big sack of flour. I closed it earlier, but I check to make sure it’s securely tied. “I took care of it.”

“Okay good. Well, I got these. We can work on ’em tomorrow since it’s kinda late.” He looks around. “What were you thinkin’ ’bout for dinner?”

There’s nothing—nothing —he could have said that could have made me angrier. It’s almost impossible for me to push down. “I… don’t… know,” I manage to grit out, hefting the sack of flour and putting it back in the cabinet under the counter where it belongs.

“You don’t have somethin’ planned?” He sounds light. Genuinely curious. Not annoyed or judgmental.

But it doesn’t help improve my mood. “No.” I pick up the rag I was using and scrub the counter with it, rinse it off, and wring it out. Wring it out very hard. “I’ve been working all day and haven’t had a chance to figure out dinner yet.”

“Oh. Okay. You want me to—”

“No. I don’t.”

I am trying—I really am—to moderate my tone, but the words come out harshly anyway.

“You mad about somethin’?” He steps over and puts a hand on my shoulder, turning me around so he can see me.

I jerk away from his hand. “No. I’m not.”

His frown is deepening. His shoulders stiffen. “Sure seems like you’re mad.”

“I told you I’m not. I’m tired. I’ve had a long day.”

“I asked if I could help you. You said no.”

“I don’t need your help to get my chores done. I can do them myself!”

His expression is changing. It’s not just questioning anymore. He’s definitely looking annoyed. “I never said you couldn’t do ’em. Why the hell you actin’ this way?”

“I’m not acting any way!” That was an outright lie. I’m shaking with upset and indignation, and there’s no way I can contain it all. “I just said I hadn’t figured out dinner yet.”

He breathes heavily as he stares at me. Rubs at his beard. “If somethin’s wrong, you gotta tell me what it is, Chloe.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything!” The words snap out before I can stop them. Then I hear them. Hear my angry tone. And am slammed by a wave of fear.

What in the world am I doing? Putting everything I’ve gained at risk in some sort of irrational temper tantrum.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, suddenly desperate to fix things. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think I got too tired. I’m fine. It’s all fine.”

His expression relaxes at my altered tone, but he’s still frowning deeply. He looks utterly baffled. “What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise. It’s all me.” I cover my face with both hands and stifle an almost uncontrollable sob. “I’m really sorry about the whole thing. I’ll do better.”

“But you’re upset.”

“I said it’s fine. I’m just tired.” If he doesn’t shut up soon, I’m going to burst into tears right in front of him.

“Okay.” He takes a few more loud, long breaths. “Well, if you’re tired, you should take a break. Why don’t you sit down for a little while?”

“I’ve got to make—”

“I’ll clean these fish and grill ’em up. We can have ’em for dinner with some of your bread. Looks like it came out good.”

He’s trying. I can see and hear that he’s trying to fix things. Fix me . And it makes me feel worse. A tear slips out of one eye, but I swipe it away—hopefully before he noticed it. “But it’s my job to make dinner.”

“Why is it your job?”

“Because I do the inside stuff. That’s what we agreed.”

“You don’t have to do everythin’. Why would you think that? Who d’you think made me dinner before you got here? I can manage to make somethin’ basically edible.”

“But I—”

“Damn it, Chloe,” he says with a growl in his voice. “Sit down right now and take a break.”

I suck in a sharp breath at his authoritative tone. There’s no way I can answer it. I walk over to the couch and do as he said. When he brings me a glass of water, I drink it.

He explains he’s going to clean the fish on the deck so they don’t stink up the house, so then I’m left blessedly alone.

I curl up on my side in the fetal position and cry for just a minute.

I hope he’s not too upset with me. I hope he’s not questioning his choice of partner. With more time, I think I can get better at this. I don’t want him to dump me before I get the chance.

I manage to pull myself together fairly quickly, and I’m calm when he returns to grill the fish. I even find the energy to get up to slice the bread and set the table.

He doesn’t say anything as he works, and neither do I.

I really hope he’s not mad at me.

6

WE DON’T TALK as we sit down to eat dinner. Jimmy is still watching me as if he’s trying to prepare for my next move.

When I take my first bite of the fish, I’m surprised enough to say without thinking, “This is good.”

He glances up from his plate. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Grandpa used to cook fish we caught, but they were never this good. What did you cook it with?”

“Just in a pan with salt and butter.”

“Ah. The butter. That’s probably what makes the difference. We never had any butter. Plus these are bigger fish than we ever caught.”

“They used to stock the creek that feeds our pond with trout a couple of times a year. That’s how they ended up here. We’d fish this pond before Impact but not a whole lot, so some of these fish’ve been here a while. Worked out well in the first couple of years when food was scarce and not much was growing.”

I was so isolated with Grandpa that I don’t actually know details on the conditions in the years after Impact. But I have picked up that there were at least a few very difficult years when a lot of the animals died and the layer of dust and debris in the atmosphere cooled temperatures so much that food crops were limited. Grandpa had stocked up so much food that we barely had to leave the house in those first few years.

“Yeah. That must have helped a lot. Do you think the fish will ever run out?”

Jimmy shrugs. “Not lookin’ like it. They established themselves real good here.”

“That’s good.”

The brief conversation is enough to break most of the tension. We have a few more casual interactions as we eat and then go about our normal routines afterward with me cleaning up and Jimmy going out to prepare the chickens and pigs for the night.

I go outside to pull the underwear, socks, and T-shirts off the clothesline since they’re dry. But the jeans, sweatshirts, and towels will have to stay overnight. Hopefully they’ll be okay tomorrow. I’m finishing folding the clean clothes and putting them in drawers as Jimmy comes back in with a waft of cold evening air. He hikes up the old sweats he changed into so I could wash his jeans and looks at me for a long minute.

I have absolutely no idea what he’s thinking. A week isn’t nearly long enough to learn all his different silent expressions.

“We should turn in early tonight,” he mutters at last.

“That sounds good to me.” It does. Despite the short break Jimmy made me take, I’m still exhausted.

Jimmy always lets me use the outhouse first, and then I quickly undress and wash up with soap and water in the bedroom basin while he’s outside.

I put on a pair of clean socks since I’m feeling chilly and then leave my nightgown and bathrobe in easy reach. I’m climbing into bed naked except the socks when Jimmy strides into the room.

He stops short when he sees me. “Thought you were still mad at me.”

“Why would you think that?”

He doesn’t answer with words, but his eyebrows go way up.

“I know I fell apart, but that was my issue, not yours. I’m sorry about it.”

His mouth is turned down, and he’s drawn his forehead into little lines. “You were real tired. It was fine.” He pauses for a minute, his eyes moving up and down over my breasts and hips like he can’t help but sneak a peek.

“Okay. Good.” He’s not acting annoyed or angry with me, so maybe I didn’t ruin everything.

But he’s still not moving. “So you wanna have sex?”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“Because you’re tired and were upset earlier.”

“I’m not upset now.” A sharp pang slices through my chest. “Are you upset? Do you not want to be with me tonight?” The idea is so sudden and so distressing that I start crawling to the side of the bed so I can put on my gown.

“Course I want to be with you,” he grumbles, sounding decidedly crabby. “I’m already hard as a rock from lookin’ at you naked. But I thought you’d…”

I’m torn between confusion and relief. I’m still poised on my hands and knees on the bed since I paused in the middle of crawling toward the edge. “So you do want to?”

“Yeah.” His voice is thicker. Lower. “I wanna. You’re really not mad at me?”

“No. I’m not mad.” I straighten until I’m upright on my knees. My hair is loose and is falling forward over my shoulders and breasts.

Jimmy obviously likes the looks of me. He can’t keep his eyes on my face.

His reaction gives me an inexplicable thrill of power and possessiveness both.

He takes a couple of strides toward the bed before he jerks to a stop. “I better wash up first. You don’t want me all over you smellin’ like this.”

That makes me giggle. I get settled back in my place in bed, pushing down the covers but still not lying down, while he makes rushed, sloppy work of washing his hands, face, and body after he pulls off his clothes. He turns toward me but then remembers to brush his teeth as well.

Then finally he’s coming to bed completely naked. He’s not even wearing socks like me.

He wasn’t lying earlier. He’s fully erect already. His cock bounces slightly with his motion. I like the way a trail of his dark body hair leads down to it.

When he gets into bed, I move over the way I always do to start with a blow job, but he grunts, “Uh-uh.” He eases me down on my back and keeps me there with the weight of his body.

I blink up at him. “I was going to—”

“I know what you were gonna do, and I appreciate it. But you don’t gotta always do me first. I told you before, I’m not a selfish asshole in bed.”

“I didn’t think you were a selfish asshole. I thought you liked it.” My eyes are very wide, and there’s a tremble in my lips. It’s very disturbing to think he might not have liked the way I’ve been taking care of him.

He huffs a couple of times in amusement. “I more than like it. But I like other things too. And it don’t always gotta be me first.”

“Oh.” I frown as I mentally work through what he’s telling me. It doesn’t sound as bad as I thought. His eyes are warm. Kind of protective. And I couldn’t have been wrong about the way he responded to me sucking him off this week.

He did like it, so he must be telling me the truth.

I smile up at him. “Okay. How did you want to start then?”

“I wanna start with you.”

Those words and the husky timbre of them make me gulp. I’m almost shaking in excitement as he kisses the pulse in my neck. Then my shoulder. Then he stares at my chest for several seconds before he takes one of my nipples in his mouth.

He gives them focused attention for a long time. So long that eventually I’m squirming and making silly, pleading sounds as arousal builds and builds without relief.

“Jimmy,” I gasp at last, arching my back up off the bed and clutching fistfuls of the fitted sheet.

He lifts his head to check my face. “Whatcha need?”

“I need… I need…” With a little whimper, I make a flailing motion beneath him.

“What’s that, girlie?” His expression has changed. Gotten hot and amused both.

I huff at him. “You know what I need.”

“But maybe I want you to tell me anyway.”

“I need to come ,” I burst out. “And you’re just being mean.”

“Not bein’ mean.” He lowers his head and gives my right nipple a big lick. “Just takin’ care of you. Sometimes it’s good when you gotta wait.”

“And sometimes it’s torture!” I grab his thick hair with both hands. I’m not conscious of doing so, but I must have tugged his head lower because his mouth ends up on my belly.

He kisses my belly button, then a line below it until he’s nuzzling my groin.

I suck in a loud breath and roll my hips, parting my thighs as his nuzzling gets more insistent.

“There you go, girlie,” he murmurs. “Open up for me. Let me in.”

My head is spinning, and my pussy is throbbing intensely with a degree of arousal I never believed I was capable of. He grabs my knees and pulls my legs even wider apart, then hooks my legs over his shoulders and uses the position to lift my bottom right up off the bed.

I squeal at the sudden move and clutch at his head.

He laughs against my pussy. Gives me a hard, wet lick. “Fuck, I love how you smell,” he mumbles, nosing me open and teasing me with his tongue.

It feels so good, and I’m so off-balance in my vulnerable position that I’m letting out loud, choppy sounds as he goes at it.

He plays for a while and seems to enjoy the way I’m completely out of control. Occasionally he mumbles out hot encouragement against my pussy. “That’s right.” “Don’t fight it.” “You’re almost there.” “You’re doin’ so good.”

Then he finally focuses on my clit and gives it suck after hard suck.

I come apart completely, convulsing and crying out shamelessly as the waves of pleasure slam into me.

He lowers me back to the bed as I twitch and whimper through the last of the spasms. He edges one hand between my legs to rub at my still-pulsing flesh as he pulls me into the embrace of his other arm.

I hold on to him, gasping against his chest. It takes me a long time to recover enough to think clearly.

“You did real good,” he murmurs at last. “Never seen you let go that much.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know I could feel like that.”

He rubs his beard against my hair. “Well, you can.”

“I guess so.”

He’s still massaging my pussy. It’s intense and relieving. I rock my hips against his hand.

He chuckles. “Feels like you’re ready for more.”

“No, I don’t need more. I just had the best orgasm of my life, and I still haven’t done you yet.”

“Then we can do somethin’ together. Why don’t you turn over on your hands and knees, and we can try it that way?”

I stiffen since we’ve never done that position before. It seems like it might be embarrassing with my butt exposed like that.

He pulls out his hand out from between my thighs and gives my hip a little pat. “What’s the matter? Don’t like it like that?”

“I… I don’t know.” I don’t want to disappoint him since he evidently wants it like this, so I pull away from him, turn over, and lift myself up on my hands and knees. I look over at him. “Like this?”

He’s staring at me hotly. “Yeah. Just like that. We can try it, and if you don’t like it, we don’t gotta do it this way again.”

“Okay.” I’m kind of excited now. Mostly because of that particular expression on his face. Like he’s about to devour me whole. The air is cool against my naked skin, and my pussy is still throbby from before.

He straightens and moves behind me, holding himself on his knees and adjusting my legs until I’m in the position he wants me.

I’m trembling with anticipation and an underlying current of nerves as he pulls apart my ass cheeks, fingers me to find my pussy, and then lines his cock up at my entrance.

He pushes in, and I let out a long, low mewling sound as he does.

He feels different like this. Bigger. Fuller. My body sways back and forth as I adjust to the penetration.

He’s gasping out a lot of breathy exclamations. “Yes. So good. Fuck, you’re so hot and tight and sweet.”

When he’s buried himself inside me, we’re still for a minute, both of us getting used to the feelings.

“How you feelin’, Chloe?” he asks at last.

“G-good. Weird but good.”

That makes him give another one of those huffs of laughter. “Guess I’ll take it. Let me know if it’s not feelin’ good. You gotta tell me.”

“I will.”

He starts rocking his hips, thrusting into me with short, steady pushes. After a minute, my inner muscles relax more, softening and clinging to the thick substance of him inside me.

“That’s right, girlie,” he murmurs, holding my ass with one of his hands and reaching over to gather up my hair with his other. “Now you’re takin’ it good.”

I close my eyes, overwhelmed by a wave of hot pleasure at his words. I pant and start pushing back against his thrusts.

“That’s the way. You like it like this, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” I reply in almost a grunt. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” I bite my lip when I keep saying the same thing like a refrain.

His speed accelerates. His pumping gets harder.

The rougher motion stimulates so many nerve endings that I cry out. I can’t seem to help it. It feels like the top might blow off my head.

The bed is rocking, and our bodies make an embarrassing slapping sound every time he pumps into me. And I like it so much. I need it. I push back against him even harder, wanting to feel even more.

He’s grunting like an animal now, and I’m making rhythmic sobbing sounds as the pleasure intensifies, coils down tight and hard. I’m so wet I can feel moisture leaking out from where we’re joined and trailing down my inner thigh.

“Jimmy!” I cry out his name helplessly as my need suddenly gets frantic.

“You’re all right, girlie,” he rasps, letting go of my hair so he can rub my back as he keeps fucking me from behind. “You’re doin’ so good. Just let it come. You’re gonna come real hard. You’re almost there. So just let it come.”

My sobs intensify with the sensations. I need it so much but can’t quite get there.

Then he gives me a sudden, unexpected swat on one of my ass cheeks, and the sharp sting pushes me over the edge.

I can’t keep quiet. I can’t keep still. I come hard and loud and sloppy as I’m overwhelmed with the rush of intense feeling.

He chokes on a loud exclamation as he pushes into me a few last times. Then he yanks himself out of me and holds his cock against my bottom as he comes too.

We stay like that for a minute, jerking with the lingering spasms of release. Until Jimmy loses his balance and falls back onto the mattress, taking me with him.

It takes a few more minutes until we gather our breath and untangle our bodies. He feels warm and softer than normal as he finally settles on his pillow and gathers me into his arms so I’m sprawled on top of him.

“Oh my God,” I manage to say.

He shakes with breathy laughter. “Yeah. We did pretty good.”

“I didn’t think I would like it that way.”

“Lots of stuff we don’t know we’ll like until we try.”

“I guess so.” I nestle against him. I like that his belly isn’t as hard as the rest of him. I scoot lower on his body. “We’ll have to try it again.”

“Definitely.” He strokes my messy hair. “How you feelin’ now?”

“I’m feeling pretty worn out. But good.”

“Good. Me too.”

I should get up. It feels like I need to pee again, and I prefer to sleep in my nightgown. I also need to clean up my back from his semen and between my legs. But I can’t move yet. I don’t want to.

So I don’t.

Not yet.

Maybe five minutes have passed when Jimmy clears his throat.

One thing I have learned in the past week is that he usually does that when he has something on his mind but isn’t sure how to say it.

I lift my head so I can see his face. When I catch his eye, I give him a little smile, making sure he knows I’m happy to hear anything he wants to talk about.

His expression softens, but he’s still a little mumbly when he asks, “So other than your grandpa, who else did you have around? When you lived in The Wild, I mean.”

I’m surprised by the question, but I let my head rest on his chest again. “It was just the two of us. I think I told you my parents died before Impact. We had some extended family, but we weren’t all that close, and I have no idea what happened to them.”

“I mean around. I know you lived with your grandpa, but who else was around?”

I’m still not exactly sure what he’s asking or why. “There wasn’t anyone. That part of the forest was always really isolated. He never had any neighbors before Impact, and that never changed. I mean, there are still some folks scattered around in old buildings and caves, but there aren’t any towns or even any communities like this one. It was just the two of us.”

“Since you were fourteen?”

“Yes.” I rub my cheek against his skin, slightly uncomfortable although I’m not sure why.

There’s a frown in his voice. “What about friends for you? Boyfriends? Anyone?”

It’s several long seconds before I admit in a whisper, “I never had any.”

He lifts my head with one of his big hands so he can see me. “Never?”

“I had friends in school. Back before. I wasn’t the queen bee or anything, but I was popular enough. But after Impact, there was nobody but my grandpa.”

“So have you ever…?” He trails off before he finishes the question.

I’m embarrassed for no good reason. “Have I what?”

He clears his throat. “Have you had sex before? Before me, I mean.”

“Oh.” I gently pull my chin away from his hand so I can lie back down where it feels safer. “No. I haven’t.”

He’s silent except for his heavy breathing.

I don’t like the reaction I can sense in his body. “It’s not a big deal. I just never had the opportunity.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I… I don’t know. I just didn’t. Would it have made a difference?”

“I don’t know.” He shifts beneath me. “Maybe. I mighta wanted to know. Fuck, did I hurt you or anythin’? I wasn’t even gentle. Shit, you musta been real uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t hurt me! You were careful with me and made sure I enjoyed it too. Nothing was bad about it or even uncomfortable. I didn’t think it would matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter? I assumed you’d done it before with the way you were talkin’ and actin’. I wouldn’t’ve— Shit! So you just powered through it ’cause you thought that’s what I’d want?”

“No!” I’m so disturbed by his tone that I sit up in bed. “No! It wasn’t like that at all. I wanted to have sex with you, and you made it good for me. The fact that I was a virgin was irrelevant.”

“It was?” He’s staring up at me, tense and bewildered.

“Yes. Why would it matter?”

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “Just seems like it does. So you really did like it?”

“Yes! I liked it then, and I like it even better now.”

He’s finally relaxing again. “You’re not lyin’ to me to make me feel better?”

I’m surprised by a little giggle. “No. I’m not lying.”

“Okay.” He strokes my hair and gently eases me back down so my cheek is resting on his chest again. “Next time just tell me instead of keeping things a secret.”

“Okay. Next time I’m a virgin, I’ll tell you.”

His body shakes slightly. Then a low chuckle sounds in his throat. Then he’s laughing for real.

His amusement is infectious. I giggle a little bit too.

“Seriously,” he finally says. “It makes me feel bad when it seems like you’re doing things you don’t want just for me. I don’t want that, Chloe.”

He means it. I can tell. And it tells me something I need to know about him.

My first and main priority might be to make him happy, but he’s not going to be happy unless he knows I’m okay and willing too.

He told me the truth from the beginning. He’s not some sort of selfish asshole. He genuinely wants to take care of me the way I want to take care of him.

It makes things safer. Better.

It makes my heart do little flutters, and a clench forms beneath my belly.

It makes me want to be close to him.

“What about you?” I only find the courage to ask the question because he’s proven himself to care about me.

“What about me?”

“When was your first time?”

“Oh.” He clears his throat in that familiar, stalling way. “I was sixteen. With Mary. She was my high school girlfriend.”

I wonder if that means he’s only ever had sex with me and her. They could have been separated at some point. It’s possible he cheated on her, although he doesn’t seem the type. And it’s been years since she died. He could have had sex with someone else since then.

That feels like too personal a question for our relationship, so instead, I ask, “What was she like?”

I wouldn’t have asked that question earlier today. He’s not a talkative man, and I’ve been trying not to pry into his private thoughts and history. But he asked about me, so maybe I’m allowed to ask about him.

I want to know more. A lot more.

“Oh,” he mutters. “She was… I loved her.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

I understand.

He’s a good man, so he doesn’t want to use me or take advantage of me, but there are clear boundaries around our relationship, and those boundaries will remain.

He wants us to share this life and help each other out. He wants me to do the inside work that’s more than he can handle by himself. He wants to fuck me—no doubt about that. And he wants me to be safe and content in our practical arrangement. And he wants me to be honest and not keep secrets from him.

But he doesn’t want me to be close to him.

He’s not going to open up to me.

His mother told me before I moved here that he got closed off after Impact, and it’s clear to me now that he’s likely to stay that way.

That’s okay.

It’s a little disappointing since something inside me wants to get close to him, but I don’t have to indulge that soft little instinct.

I can be practical too.

And I can be happy with everything Jimmy has given me that I never would have gotten without him.

With all that finally resolved in my mind, I’m finally able to go to sleep.

7

THE NEXT MORNING, I’m feeling a lot better. I slept well, and I’m not as stressed and exhausted as I was yesterday.

In fact, as I splash water on my face and pull on my jeans and sweatshirt, both my mind and body feel undeniably relaxed.

Maybe that’s what the kind of sex we had last night does for me.

It’s a kind of cringey thought. So is the memory of how eager and uninhibited I was in bed. It doesn’t fit with the way I’ve always understood myself. Not to mention the silly hope I had of getting Jimmy to open up to me emotionally.

But I brush the self-consciousness away. Brooding on it won’t accomplish anything, and Jimmy is acting perfectly normal as he goes through his morning chores.

I prepare an omelet with the last of our cheese along with some buttered toast. Jimmy makes a lot of satisfied sounds as he eats, so it must have turned out pretty well.

“Do we have any way of getting more cheese?” I ask him. The block we’ve been using came from the basket his mother packed for us on Sunday.

“Yeah, Mike Hurley will bring by our week’s supply to my folks’ place this evening, so we can pick it up when we’re there.”

“Oh, we’re going to your parents’?” This is the first I heard about that. It’s not bad news. Just a surprise. And my voice reflects that much.

“Yeah, sorry.” Jimmy swallows his bite with a gulp. “Everyone gets together on Saturday evenings at the farm. Thought you already knew. Is that all right?”

I should have known. There was always a crowd for dinner on Saturdays. But for some reason I hadn’t put the pieces together that I’d go too now that I no longer live there. “Yes, it’s great. I should have realized we’d go.”

“I need to go this week or my folks will worry when I don’t show up. But you don’t gotta if you’d rather stay here. And if we tell ’em in advance, we don’t always have to go.”

“No, I want to.” It actually sounds like fun. Something different to break the sameness of the days. “Do I need to make anything to bring?”

“Nah. If you feel like it, we can go a little early to help them prep.” He’s not talking with his normal, relaxed confidence. It’s like he’s being careful with what he says. “But you don’t gotta if you don’t—”

“It’s fine, Jimmy.” I suddenly realize what’s bothering him.

He’s afraid I’m going to have another breakdown like I did yesterday.

My cheeks flushing hotly, I try to keep my tone calm and easy. “I really am sorry about yesterday, but you don’t have to tiptoe around me. I’m happy to do all my chores and do everything that’s expected of me. I think it will get easier once I get into a better schedule with them. I shouldn’t have tried to do both the baking and the laundry yesterday. It would have been smarter to split them into two days. I could have done one of them today since it’s a light day.”

“Okay. Of course you need time to figure things out. Just don’t want to overload you in the meantime.”

“I’m not overloaded. I promise.”

He nods, peering at my face as if searching for confirmation that I’m telling him the truth. “Good. ’Cause I don’t want you…”

When he doesn’t finish, I do it for him. “To throw another fit?”

“No!” He frowns at me. “Don’t want you all stressed. I know how it feels from when I was trying to do everythin’ around here myself. So you gotta tell me if you’ve got too much on your plate.”

“Okay. I will.” I smile at him since he’s clearly trying to be nice. I just hope he’s not also a little disappointed that I can’t do normal, everyday duties without special accommodations.

“So you don’t got too much to do today?” he asks in a lighter tone.

“No, I don’t think so. Once it warms up outside, I need to check the laundry I left on the line. Hopefully I won’t have to wash it again. If it’s okay, I don’t really need to do anything today except lunch.”

His face relaxes. He’s obviously glad to hear that. Probably because it means no more hysterics from me.

“I might wash my hair,” I add, thinking through how to use an unexpectedly light day. “Do you have a lot to do?”

“Nope. This time of year isn’t too heavy. Figured I’d do more fishing so I can bring some fish this evening and see if anyone wants ’em.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe we should take baths this afternoon before we go to your parents’.”

“Yeah, that’ll work. No way you wanna go with me smelling all fishy.”

I’m about to insist I wasn’t hinting about any such thing, but then I recognize the look on his face and realize he was teasing.

“So today shouldn’t be too bad, right?” He’s doing more of that peering at my face.

I duck my head. “Yes. It sounds good.”

“You got anything big to do tomorrow?”

“No. Just meals and basics. I understood Sunday is a rest day.”

“It is. I was just makin’ sure you’d be able to take it easy tomorrow. We can hang around and do a lot of nothin’.” He’s tilting his head in that way he does to try to see my face when I’m hiding it.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

“Okay, good. I haven’t forgotten to make you a fishin’ rod. I’ll try to get that done this weekend.”

“There’s no hurry on that. I want you to be able to take a break too.”

“Won’t be any trouble. Think I got all the stuff I need. It won’t be fancy, but it’ll work and be more your size.”

“I’ll be happy with anything.”

I’m excited about the day now. As long as I don’t have to rewash the laundry, nothing on my schedule today is strenuous or annoying. Even with going over to Jimmy’s parents’, I should have a little time to sit and read this afternoon.

As soon as the sun has been up from the hills for an hour, I go out to check the clothesline. The stuff is still wet, but it didn’t freeze overnight, and the fabric still smells clean.

Smiling as I walk back to the house, I give Jimmy a thumbs-up when he calls out, asking if the clothes are fine.

I wash my hair in the kitchen sink since it wouldn’t have time to dry if I waited until my bath this afternoon. Then I spend a lot of time combing it out, noticing quite a few split ends. I search the house and find a pair of slim scissors that are still sharp, so I use them to trim about an inch off my hair.

In my search, I find a set of nail clippers, so I tidy up my finger- and toenails.

I discover some stewed tomatoes—obviously canned by his parents sometime in the past—in the root cellar. It gives me an idea, and I grab jars of beans, onions, and corn along with some sort of jerky so I can make a soup for lunch. He’s got some half-full containers of packaged spices, clearly left over from the old world. I’m not familiar with all of them, so I smell every one and pick out a few to add to my soup.

I taste it as I heat it up in a big pot, and it’s even better than I was hoping.

I get it hot and then let it simmer for a long time. When Jimmy comes inside around noon, he sniffs the air. “Somethin’ smells good.”

“I experimented and made a soup. We’ll see how it is.” I glance behind him. “No luck with the fish?”

“Oh, I got a bunch of ’em. They’re outside. Keepin’ ’em in water in the cooler.”

He heads to the sink to wash his hands and face while I ladle out the soup and serve it with bread and butter.

The soup is a success, and we have enough left over for lunch tomorrow.

When Jimmy goes outside afterward to work on putting a fishing rod together for me, I clean the kitchen and then curl up on the couch to read.

I read for about thirty minutes. Then I fall asleep.

I have no idea how much time has passed when I’m awakened by Jimmy gently shaking my shoulder. When I blink up at him, all I see is his face. His too-long hair. His untrimmed beard.

“I need to cut your hair,” I mumble.

His dark eyes widen slightly. “You can if you want.”

As awareness finally pushes the sleep from my mind, I sit up. “Oh, I didn’t mean to nap. What time is it?”

“It’s around three, I think. Didn’t wanna wake you but wasn’t sure if you still wanted to take a bath.”

“Oh. Yes. I do. Thanks for waking me up. I shouldn’t have slept so long.”

“Nothin’ wrong with takin’ a nap. I already got the bath ready for you.”

I stretch to see into the kitchen. “Okay. Great. Thanks. You want me to go first?”

“Yeah. Think that’s a better idea.”

He goes outside while I get into the tub and scrub myself thoroughly. Then I add more hot water before I tell him I’m done.

I stay in the bedroom while he’s bathing, start to put on my now-clean jeans, but then change my mind. The other women make an effort for Saturday dinner. Some came in skirts, some in nicer slacks. Some even looked like they were wearing makeup, which they must have scavenged from somewhere.

Since I don’t want to look like a slob, I put on one of the skirts Greta gave me. It’s brown and made of some sort of cotton blend—long and sewn in tiers. It’s pretty but doesn’t look too fancy, especially when paired with my hiking boots, the only shoes I have to my name.

I study my small collection of tops before I decide on the pink turtleneck.

When I check myself out in the mirror, all I can see are my boobs. The top is more fitted than the other ones I wear, and the deep curve of their shape is clearly visible beneath the stretched fabric. So is the outline of my nipples.

I pull my hoodie over it and am relieved. I haven’t yet fastened the zipper, but the way it hangs breaks the broad expanse of boobs.

There’s a tap on the bedroom door. “Okay if I come in?” Jimmy asks from outside the room.

“Yeah. Of course you can.”

He walks in wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He stops short when he sees me.

Self-conscious about his staring, I glance down at myself. “Your mom and the others wear something a little nicer, so I thought I’d try. Are my boobs okay in this?”

His eyes fix on the part in question. “They’re way, way better than okay.”

I swallow over a little giggle. “I mean in this shirt. I don’t have a bra, and I don’t want to be indecent. It would be better if they were smaller.”

“It wouldn’t be better as far as I’m concerned. They’re just the right size. Perfect.”

I can’t hold back the laugh this time as well as the flush of pleasure. “So I’m okay to go like this?”

“You can wear anythin’ you want, but I think you look real pretty.” His eyes are still moving over me, lingering on my face and my chest.

“Real pretty” seems to be his highest compliment, so I couldn’t ask for anything more.

Trying to pull myself out of my pleased haze, I ask, “Did you want me to trim up your hair and beard? I can do it now if you think we have time.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He obviously washed both during his bath, and they’re still mostly wet. “Where should we do it?”

“Let’s go to the kitchen. Be easier to clean up the hair.”

I find the scissors I used on my own hair and then go to where Jimmy has sat down in his chair at the table. He looks a little stiff as I gently comb out his hair.

For some reason, I’m suddenly self-conscious. This feels domestic. Intimate. It would be easier if Jimmy would say something, but he doesn’t. He sits very still as I trim his hair.

I’m not any sort of expert at haircuts, so I mostly just take off the extra length and even up the ends. I towel-dry it and then fix a few uneven pieces. Even with my amateur job, it looks a lot better, and it will look even better when it’s dried.

“Okay,” I say, wondering why my voice is hoarse. “I think that will do. I can do your beard too if you want?”

“Yeah.” He rasps out the word the way I did. Then he turns his chair so I can reach his beard.

This is even more intimate. Vulnerable. I try to keep my hands from trembling as I work. I cut his beard much shorter and then keep snipping until it looks neat.

It feels like Jimmy’s eyes are on me the whole time.

“Okay,” I say at last, running my hands down his beard to catch any stray pieces. “I think it looks okay. If you don’t like it, I can work on it some more.”

He looks almost unfamiliar with the shorter hair and neat beard. Not like the rumpled bear he’s always been.

It’s unnerving.

He gets up and goes to look in the mirror over the dresser.

“Is it okay?” I ask, following him into the bedroom.

“Yeah. It looks good.” He combs his fingers through his hair. “It’s great. You did great. Thank you.”

“No problem.” I smile in relief. “I can do it anytime.” I shake out my shirt and top to make sure I didn’t end up with hair on them.

“I guess I better put somethin’ decent on since you’re lookin’ so pretty.”

“Oh, only if you want. It doesn’t bother me if you wear what you always wear.”

That makes him chuckle. “I guess that’s your way of telling me that my normal clothes aren’t all that decent.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“I’m teasin’, Chloe. You don’t always have to worry ’bout hurtin’ my feelings. I’m not all that prickly, you know.”

I check his face and relax when I see he’s smiling down at me. Smiling for real in a way he almost never does.

“I know you’re not prickly,” I tell him, smiling back. “But I want to…”

I bite back what I was going to say. I want to be a good woman for you .

Or something like that.

“You want to what?” he asks softly.

He really wants an answer. I can see it on his face. But I can’t seem to shape my original words. I finally manage something. “I want to be good to you.”

His mouth parts slightly. Something flares up in his eyes. “You have been good to me. You got no idea how much better it is for me with you here.”

He had to do everything on his own before I got here. And he didn’t get to have sex every evening. It makes sense that things are better for him now, but it’s really nice to hear him say it.

My smile broadens. “Okay. Good. It’s better for me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Then he shakes himself off. “We better hurry. It takes a while to walk there, and it’s getting late.”

“I’m ready anytime.”

“Just give me five minutes.”

Jimmy is actually ready in less than five minutes. He puts on a pair of khakis and a blue plaid button-up. He even tucks it in, and he’s almost unrecognizable.

He looks good. Really good. But I almost miss the big rumpled bear.

I don’t tell him that, of course. He pulls the big cooler full of the fish he caught today on its two wheels, and he refuses to let me help. Everyone else is already there when we arrive.

It feels strange. Walking in with Jimmy at my side. Most of the faces are familiar, but they’re looking at me differently. I don’t know what to say, so I smile and nod and hope no one is going to put me on the spot.

I’m quiet to begin with, but I end up having a good time. I sit next to a lovely black woman who introduces herself as the Hurleys’ daughter, Amelia. She’s friendly and genuine, and it’s easy to warm up to her. I end up talking a lot—much more than normal—and I forget to feel self-conscious and wonder what everyone’s thinking about me.

Because we didn’t get here in time to help prepare dinner, I help clear the dishes and clean up afterward.

In the kitchen, Greta gives me a big hug and says, “Thank you so much, Chloe.”

When I pull back, I stare up at her in confusion. “For what?”

“For taking such good care of him. It’s like he’s a new man.”

I’m surprised and pleased both. And also filled with a possessive pride. “Really?”

“Yes, of course really. And it’s not just that you finally got him to look like himself again and put on decent clothes. He also looks… content, and it’s been a really long time since I’ve seen that.”

I swallow hard, having no idea how to respond to that. I don’t even know if it’s true, but I hope it is. “I… I’ve been doing my best.”

She gives me another quick hug. “I’m so glad he found you.”

That’s the extent of the conversation—quite effusive for Greta—and I focus back on the dishes I’m washing.

But I think about what she said. A lot. And I decide that despite my stumbles and insecurities, I must have done all right this week.

And hopefully I can keep doing better.

It’s late when Jimmy and I are finally on our way home. He’s pulling the cooler again, cleaned out and now holding our milk, cheese, and butter from the Hurleys.

The night is dark because it’s a new moon. While we’re on the road by the farms and houses, I’m perfectly comfortable, but once we start up the hill toward the woods, I actually feel a little nervous.

Jimmy always carries weapons, but still… Darkness is dangerous, and I’m not used to being out in it.

“You okay?” he asks after a while.

“Yeah.” I smile up at him so he won’t know what I’m thinking.

He reaches over with his free hand and pulls me closer. “You scared?”

“No. Not really.”

“It’s pretty safe around here. The bad sorts tend to stay over toward the border to The Wild. But if you’re worried, we can leave earlier next time.”

“No, no. I’m fine. And I know you can take care of any problems. I’m just not good at defending myself.”

“Yeah. Not sure I like that.” He’s frowning now.

“I just never… never had a chance to learn. My grandpa never wanted me to use a gun.”

“I get that. Not your fault. But what would you think about me teaching you? I don’t like you bein’ helpless when I’m not around.”

“I’d be happy for you to teach me. Thank you.” I’m smiling again, for real this time. “I’d feel better too.”

“Okay, good. We’ll work on that. I got a smaller pistol that Mary used to use. You can have that.”

I’m about to answer when two figures appear at the rise of the hill. I’m so startled I shrink toward Jimmy automatically.

He pulls out his gun from the holster on his belt and aims it toward the two men approaching. He’s also got his rifle strapped to his back and a second pistol on his ankle. He never leaves the house unarmed.

I don’t recognize these men. Neither does he because he doesn’t lower his weapon as they get closer.

I don’t like the looks of them. It’s hard to explain exactly why, but they look dangerous. Not like our neighbors around here.

They don’t say anything as they pass, and they stay on the other side of the road.

Jimmy turns around so his back isn’t toward them as they keep walking away.

I hear one of them say as they’re almost out of range, “Lucky bastard.”

It takes me a minute to realize he must be referring to me. Jimmy is a lucky bastard because he’s with me.

What else could he mean?

“Don’t like the looks of ’em,” Jimmy mutters when they’re finally out of sight.

“Yeah, me either.”

“Might be part of the gangs. They shouldn’t be this far into our territory.”

“What will happen if they get too close?”

“We’ll have to fight ’em again.” He sighs, making a face. “Really don’t wanna have to do that.”

“Oh. Me either.”

We’re silent as we walk the rest of the way back, and by the time we get home, we both seem to have shrugged off the heavy feeling.

We get ready for bed like normal, and I’m waiting under the covers in only my socks when Jimmy comes in to undress and wash up.

I give him a good blow job when he climbs into bed, and then he makes me come by thumbing my clit and suckling my breasts. Then he moves all the way over me and positions himself between my legs.

He’s done this position a couple of times before—usually when he’s tired. Tonight he’s quiet as he fits himself inside me and starts to thrust.

I hold on to his shoulders and rock my hips up to his rhythm. It feels nice. Safe. He’s only a few inches away from me, and he keeps looking down at my face.

I feel close to him, and I like that feeling.

I don’t come but it all feels good, and I’m almost sorry it’s over when he finally falls out of rhythm, pulls out, and squeezes himself through his climax against my belly.

He lowers himself on top of me afterward, nuzzling my neck and mumbling out something wordless that I understand as sated satisfaction. His body feels satisfied too. Softer. Warmer. Deeply relaxed.

I love when he feels like that and am filled with pleasure at the idea that he’s this way because of me.

Before I can say or do anything, he edges a hand between our bodies and explores between my legs.

“What’re you doing?” I ask, more curious than anything else.

He adjusts his hand to slide two fingers inside me. “Wanna make you come again.”

“You do? I already came—” I break off with a little gasp when he starts thrusting his fingers and my body immediately responds. “Oh God.”

“You like that?” He’s lifted his head so he can watch me.

I close my eyes and move my head back and forth. The sex we just had got me started, and now his hand is taking me all the way quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, feels good. Need it faster. Harder.”

He intensifies his rhythm, fucking me hard with his hand. And soon I’m shaking and moaning through a deep orgasm.

I hug him again as my body relaxes.

“Now then.” He’s mouthing the side of my neck, giving it little kisses. “Now you’re in good shape to sleep.”

I giggle at that, but it’s absolutely true. The second orgasm was enough to fully relax me, and I’m asleep in only a few minutes.

8

THREE MONTHS LATER ON A FRIDAY, I finish baking bread before lunch and have almost nothing left to do for the rest of the day.

Jimmy isn’t even here to fix meals for.

It’s early March now, and while it’s too early yet to start spring planting, the work around the farms is getting heavier. He’s been over at his parents’ a couple of days a week lately. He left at dawn this morning and said he’d try to get back this evening, but if he works too late, he’ll just spend the night.

It’s fine, of course. The reason we’re able to live so well is because we share resources with our small community. Since we don’t produce much ourselves, our main contribution is hard work.

I take care of the pigs and chickens while Jimmy is gone, in addition to my regular chores. Without him here, my daily housework is significantly lessened, so I still don’t have a whole day’s work.

That won’t continue. It’s the end of the winter season, when there’s the least work to do outside. For the past few months, Jimmy has focused on hunting and fishing. He’s also had plenty of time to go on scavenging runs, returning with rugs and curtains and cushions and other items to make the house cozier. He also found a winter coat and a couple of extra pairs of shoes for me. Anything I’ve asked for or even mentioned I could use, he’s somehow managed to find.

Even with everything he’s done since I moved in, he’s still had some downtime and some lighter days the way I have.

That won’t continue, however. Soon it will be planting time, and the work for everyone will start to increase.

It already has for Jimmy, so I’m not going to complain about being left alone all day and maybe overnight.

Even though I really don’t like it.

Jimmy eats a lot, and he comes into the house dirty and sweaty. When something disagrees with his digestion, he’ll sometimes stink up the whole house with one fart. He’ll apologize and try not to laugh as I run around opening windows even though it’s freezing cold outside. He often brings me things like rabbits or fish that I then have to skin, debone, clean, and prep. He makes more work and fills up the house one way or another. But he’s also company. He’s never turned into much of a talker. He doesn’t share his deep feelings or tell me stories about his past. But I’m used to him being around.

And it’s lonely and a little bit creepy all alone in this cabin without him.

If the asteroid had never hit Earth, I would have gone to college and started a career and probably lived alone for a while before finding a boyfriend and getting married. But that never happened for me, and in my twenty-three years, I’ve never once been on my own.

Jimmy taught me to shoot my little pistol, and he makes me practice several times a week. I’m better equipped to defend myself than I used to be, but I still feel small and helpless when compared to all the strong, competent women around here.

I like it better when he’s here.

I make myself a grilled cheese sandwich with a glass of milk for lunch and then fish for a couple of hours, catching one decent-size trout that will be more than enough for dinner for me and also for Jimmy if he makes it back. I keep it in the shade outside in a bucket of cold water so it stays good, and then I go back inside to clean up.

I read for a few minutes before falling asleep on the couch. When I wake up, I’m confused and disoriented, so I go outside to check the sun to see what time it is. Probably not even three yet.

I’ve got nothing to do, and it’s way too early to hope for Jimmy to appear yet.

After wandering around outside and giving the pigs and chickens a little extra food they ask for but really don’t need, I finally decide to wash my hair.

I usually do that on Saturdays, but it’s sunny today and not too cold. At least it will give me something to do.

I wash my hair in the kitchen sink, comb it out, towel-dry it, and then go outside to sit in the sun. It’s a little chilly with a wet head, but my hair always looks and feels better when it dries outside.

When the sun sinks behind the trees, I return inside, then build up the fire in the woodstove so I can warm up and so it will be ready to cook dinner.

I’ll be having fish either way. Maybe Jimmy will come back soon.

A sound from outside makes me jump up and run to the door, but it’s a young, skinny deer crossing over the gravel driveway. She looks lonely. She should have a herd.

Jimmy won’t like it, but I feel so bad for the poor little thing that I throw her a piece of bread. She snatches it up and chews it as she stares at me with big eyes. When she’s done, she makes her way back into the woods.

I return to the couch.

It’s past dinnertime. I should go ahead and cook up the fish. Jimmy probably worked late, so he’ll eat with his parents and then stay the night. Why wouldn’t he? It’s a hike back here, and he’ll be tired after a long day of manual labor.

It will be warm and cozy and cheerful at the farm. Greta always has much more food stocked up than us, and she’s a better cook.

I would do the same in his place. He’ll know I’m just fine here at home.

I’m pushing myself up off the couch when the front door bursts open and Jimmy’s familiar scent and size and presence are suddenly filling the room.

“You’re home!” I straighten up, breaking into a smile.

“Yeah. You doin’ okay?” He’s a mess. His skin and clothes are covered with a mix of dirt and sweat. His hair and beard are stringy, and his shoes are caked in mud.

“I’m fine. I was thinking you might stay at your parents’ tonight since it’s so late.”

“Thought about it but wanted to come home.” He’s been giving me a close once-over, but now his expression starts relaxing. “It was a crap day.”

“Oh no. Just hard work, or did something bad happen?” Since he seems stuck in the entryway, I pull off his jacket and then crouch down to untie his shoes and hold them as he steps out of them one by one. I take off his ankle holster and the small pistol he keeps in it.

“Nothin’ real bad. Just nothin’ went smooth. Damn tiller kept breaking.” He looks down at the dirt and dried mud on my clean wood floor. “Shit, I’m making a mess.”

“Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you get out of those clothes and wash up? I’ll start making dinner.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

“No. I was waiting to see if you’d come.” I give him a little push toward the bedroom since he still seems stuck. “But I’m hungry and you must be starving, so go wash up and we can eat.”

Jimmy does as I say without further discussion. I’m pleased and invigorated as I warm up the pan, melt some butter in it, and then sauté the fish fillets I prepared earlier, slicing some bread to eat with them.

The food is almost done when Jimmy reemerges, wearing his old gray sweats and a thin white T-shirt. His hair and beard are wet, so he must have practically dunked his head.

He slumps into his chair at the table. “That smells great.”

“Caught a fish this afternoon. It was pretty good size.”

I can’t help but be proud of myself as I plate the food. I caught that fish. Cleaned and deboned it. Sliced it into fillets. And cooked it.

All by myself.

Four months ago, I never would have dreamed I’d be able to do something like that.

Jimmy takes his first bite and mumbles, “Yum.” Then he keeps making hungry, appreciative sounds as he eats. I served him two times the amount of fish that I gave myself, but he gobbles it up quickly, and I end up giving him the last piece from my plate as well.

He leans back in his seat when he’s done, closing his eyes and rubbing his scalp with his fingertips.

He’s really tired. I can see it in his face, in the slump of his shoulders, in the heaviness of all his movements.

He’s been going since dawn with barely the chance to sit down.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” he says after a minute, gulping down the second glass of water I poured him.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you made it home. Do you have to go back and do more work tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. “Not until dinner.”

“Okay, good. Well, you can take it easy tomorrow. You need a rest after how hard you worked this week.”

“It was fine.” He’s still rubbing at his head. “It wasn’t that much.”

I don’t at all agree with that statement, but I don’t vocalize it. He doesn’t appear to have the energy for even relaxed conversation, much less a useless argument about whether he worked hard this week or not.

When I look back up from my empty plate, he’s watching me. His eyes are steady on my face, but I can’t read his expression, so I don’t know what he’s thinking.

“What did you do today?” he asks at last.

“Baked bread. Fished. Washed my hair.”

“That must be why it’s all nice and shiny and pretty tonight.” His expression has softened now.

Surprised, I run my hand down the length of my hair, realizing it’s still loose rather than pulled back in my normal ponytail. Feeling inexplicably shy, I smile at him before getting up to clear the plates.

“Okay,” he says with a loud exhale. “Got to take care of those animals.”

“I can do that tonight,” I say from the sink. “You’re tired. Go on and lie down, and I’ll take care of them.”

“Nah. I’m okay. You already got to clean up the mess I made in here.”

Before I can object, he’s striding out the back door.

I shake my head as I wash the dishes and then sweep up the dirt and dried mud from the entryway and the lighter trail of it toward the bedroom. I grab his shoes and take them outside to wipe off as much of the caked mud as I can so he won’t continue to track dirt everywhere.

I’ve returned them to the bedroom when Jimmy comes back inside. “I’m done outside and locked up everything except the back door,” he says, pulling off his shirt and sweats and collapsing onto the bed in just his boxers.

After I use the outhouse, I lock the door and secure the extra bar to further brace it against entry.

Then I return to the bedroom to wash up and take off my clothes.

Jimmy watches me as I go through my nighttime routine, and his eyes rake over me with an exhausted kind of hunger as I walk to the bed naked. I don’t turn off the lantern yet because he likes to be able to see.

I have to climb over him to get to my side of the bed. Then I push down the covers from his body and ease down his underwear over his half-hard cock.

He combs the fingers of both his hands through my hair to hold my head as I lower it over his groin.

He’s mostly erect when I slide my mouth down over the length of him, and he grows and hardens all the way as I make my first few sucks.

He lets out a loud, raspy exhale and holds my head where he wants it. Firm but not pushy. A gentle sort of entitlement that always makes my pussy clench.

I’ve gotten better at blow jobs because I’ve had so much practice. I give him one almost every day. I can get more of him in my mouth now, and my teeth don’t get in the way like they used to.

He smells like soap with undernotes of dirt and sweat. It’s a familiar, natural smell, and it always makes my insides go soft.

His head is lifted up off the pillow, and he’s staring down at me as I pleasure him. He guides the bobbing of my head and rocks his hips up toward my sucking with light, shallow thrusts. “Oh fuck, Chloe. You always make me feel so damn good.”

I move a hand beneath my chin so I can find and massage his balls. He likes that. And he likes me to rub the sensitive spot behind them.

Tonight when I do, he chokes on a loud exclamation. His hips jerk, and his cock spasms in my mouth. I slide my lips up so he can ejaculate on my breasts.

My body is hot and flushed and pulsing deliciously as I straighten up, reaching for the hand towel we’ve started keeping next to bed to wipe his come off my chest.

When he collapses back after his climax, his body is limp, boneless. He gazes at me with heavy, sated eyes. “Thank you,” he rasps.

“You’re welcome.” I smile at him and move up his body. He pulls me against him, holding me in a soft embrace. “It seems like you really needed it today.”

Because my head is resting on his chest, I can feel his heart rate slow down, his breathing deepen. “I did,” he murmurs, sounding half-asleep. “I always do.”

I enjoy cuddling against him, so I’m in no hurry to move. But eventually I lift my head to check his face.

He’s sound asleep. Already.

I reach over to turn off the lantern and pull the covers up to his shoulders. Then I settle on my side of the bed and get comfortable.

I sleep better if I have an orgasm first, and Jimmy usually gives me at least one. I’ve actually gotten better about coming from intercourse, so sometimes I get two or three.

But he’s exhausted. He worked so hard today, and it would be ridiculous to expect him to do even more work to get me off before he’s allowed to sleep.

I like taking care of him. I like making him feel good. I wouldn’t have expected to get so much enjoyment out of caring for a man this way, but I really do.

And he takes care of me too.

Because my pussy is still pulsing and it’s distracting me, I roll onto my side, facing away from Jimmy, and slide my hand between my legs. I rub my clit with a circular motion, my breathing intensifying and my body tightening until I reach a fast rush of climax.

I’m able to relax afterward. I listen to Jimmy’s deep breathing beside me. Then I can finally fall asleep.

The next morning, I insist that Jimmy take it easy. He does his regular morning chores outside with the animals, but otherwise he fishes in the morning and naps in the afternoon. I don’t have all that much to do either, so I have plenty of time to read and rest before we go to his parents’ for the normal Saturday gathering in the evening.

I have a really good time, chatting with friends and enjoying the large spread of food. Jimmy plays guitar for people to sing to afterward, and that always gives me a little thrill.

That he’s so good at it. He’s got a warm, pleasant voice, and he knows what he’s doing on the guitar.

And he’s my man.

I’m in a good mood on the walk back, so much so that I have trouble restraining giggles.

Jimmy is in one of his warm, relaxed moods. I always like when he’s this way. He’s not often cold or distant, but he’s usually focused on everything that needs to be done during the day. He’ll always talk over our schedules or give me instructions on how to do things or make sure there’s nothing he needs to help me with, but he doesn’t usually talk for the sake of talking. He’ll occasionally find things amusing, but he doesn’t often spill over with good mood or laughter. He loves having sex, and he’s never selfish about it. He takes my needs seriously, but it seems to come from his strong sense of responsibility rather than deep, genuine affection.

Occasionally, when he’s acting softer than normal, I’ll gently ask him about Mary or about the early years after Impact or about his feelings… about anything. He’s never mean about rebuffing me, but he always does. He closes down the conversations before they barely get started. He simply doesn’t want to open up to me.

It’s fine. I’ve never once expected him to love me or for us to have a normal intimate relationship. What we have began as and still is transactional. A practical arrangement. It’s worked well so far and hopefully still will as long as I don’t try to force it into something it’s not.

Jimmy is a good man who works hard at whatever job is set before him. One of his jobs now is to take care of me—make sure I’m safe and provided for and content. He does that job well, and I appreciate it. I appreciate him .

I want to do my job well too.

I lucked out with Jimmy. Big time. Finding a man like him is a dream come true in a world like this one. So I’m not going to take it for granted or waste time wishing for even more.

He doesn’t seem to mind my giggling tonight, and he keeps his arm around my waist for most of the walk. Nothing dampens my mood until, on the dark ascent of the hill before we enter the woods, we encounter two guys walking toward us.

They look dangerous. Questionable. Unkempt and carrying multiple weapons.

I move even closer to Jimmy. I didn’t bring my pistol with me since I wasn’t going to be alone, but it feels like I could use it right now.

Jimmy draws and aims his weapon as the men get closer.

They look at us but don’t make any threatening moves.

When they’ve passed and are out of sight, I whisper, “Are those the same guys we saw walking through here a few months ago?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy sounds sober. Worried. “Don’t much like that they’re still lurking around.”

“What can we do?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask around to see if anyone else has seen them.” He glances down at me. “Don’t wander around on your own.”

“I never do. I never go anywhere if you’re not with me.”

“Good.”

“Maybe they’re not as bad as they look. They’ve never done anything questionable.”

“I know. But still… don’t feel right.”

“Yeah. I agree.” I shake off the worry and take Jimmy’s arm, staying close as we enter the woods and complete the walk back home.

The next morning, Jimmy decides to go hunting, so I’m left alone.

It’s supposed to be a rest day, but Jimmy says he feels like doing something and he’ll be back before lunch. He enjoys hunting, so it’s more recreation than work for him.

There’s no reason he shouldn’t go, so I don’t resent his going.

I putter around the house for a few hours, straightening things up and doing some mending, and then I go lie in the sun to relax since it’s an unusually warm morning for March.

When I hear motion in the woods, I assume it’s Jimmy returning. I’m pleased that he wasn’t gone for very long and sit up to greet him.

But it’s not Jimmy who steps out of the woods.

It’s a stranger. A man. Big and rough-looking. Intimidating. I can’t tell for sure since I didn’t look very closely last night, but I think it’s one of those guys we encountered on the walk back home in the dark.

I freeze, sitting halfway up on the blanket I spread out on the deck. I’m wearing my long brown skirt and a loose white top. I don’t have my pistol or any sort of weapon close by. Or anywhere in reach.

The man grins when he sees me.

“There you are,” he drawls. As if we know each other. “Wondered where such a hot little number been hidin’.”

I gulp. My stomach churns. I try to make my brain work since I’ve got to react to obvious danger, but it’s a blank, emptied out from fear and shock.

The man strides closer—still looking relaxed and dangerous at the same time. “Saw your man out in the woods earlier so figured this was my shot.”

I almost choke. My hands and feet go cold.

It takes every ounce of will I possess to push myself to my feet. I look around, but there’s nothing—nothing—anywhere close with which I can defend myself.

Jimmy’s not here. He’s nowhere close. I could scream, but he wouldn’t hear me.

No one would hear me. I’m all alone.

The only person here who can even attempt to defend me is me .

This thought solidifies in my head at the same moment I turn around and run toward the house. I move as fast as I can, but the man is taller. Bigger. With much longer legs. He runs after me and quickly overtakes me.

I haven’t yet reached the door when he grabs for me. I tug my arm out of his grip, but his fingers tighten on my top instead, yanking me to a stop.

I scream in outrage more than fear that he’s got his damn hand on my shirt, and I throw my body away from his.

The fabric rips. Half of my shirt ends up in his hand, but at least he’s no longer touching me.

I can’t reach my pistol. There’s no way. It’s inside, and the man is after me again, right on my heels. But I see the hammer Jimmy was using yesterday to repair a few loose boards in the chicken coop.

He should have put it up, but he didn’t. I grab for it and swing it around, blindly aiming for the man’s head and screaming again with the force of my blow.

He’s much, much taller than me, so I hit his shoulder with the hammer instead.

It’s not as effective as it should have been, but it does make an impact. He grunts in pain and swings out with his hand, punching me on the side of the head.

It’s so hard and it hurts so bad I fall back onto the deck. He’s angry now as he climbs on top of me, holding me down with the weight of his body.

His smell is strong. Terrible. So much worse than Jimmy ever smells, even at his sweatiest. I struggle with all my strength, managing to yank a handful of his greasy hair.

But I can’t get away. He’s way too big.

I scream again—one more time before my throat completely clamps up in terror—and the scream takes the form of Jimmy’s name. But I don’t expect any help to come.

Jimmy would help if he was close enough. I know he would. He would protect me even if it meant he got hurt himself.

But he’s not here. There’s no one here.

No one but me and this terrible, much larger man.

“Hey!” The voice isn’t mine. And it isn’t my attacker’s. It’s distant, but I can still tell it sounds rawly outraged. “Get the fuck off her!”

The man must process the voice because he grows still, but he doesn’t get off me. He looks surprised more than anything else.

Then it’s too late for surprise. Or anything else. I hear a gunshot. A deafening crack.

The man goes limp and falls on top of me.

I squeal as I feel his full weight collapse on me, the scent of him overwhelming and sickening. I squirm frantically, attempting to push him off.

But I’m dizzy from the hard blow on the head and stunned by the fast sequence of events. I can’t get him off.

“Chloe!” It’s Jimmy. I recognize his voice now. “Chloe, baby. Oh my fucking God.” Then he’s there. He hauls the man’s limp body off me and tosses it to the side.

He crouches down beside me, running his hands up and down my body like he’s looking for injury.

“I’m okay,” I manage to whimper. “I’m okay.”

I sit up and blink at him, trying to wrap my mind around what just happened.

My face is too cold. My hands and knees are trembling. My stomach starts to heave.

I was about to be raped, but now I’m not.

It’s like my brain and body can’t catch up.

9

JIMMY HAS KNELT DOWN on the deck and is using both hands to examine the blow to the side of my head. I don’t think it’s bleeding, but I might not know if it was.

He’s making a lot of anxious, wordless sounds, and for some reason they make the whole thing worse.

They make it clear how horrible what happened actually is if even quiet, stoic Jimmy can’t control his voice.

I glance over toward the bent body of the man who attacked me. It’s a mistake. Jimmy shot him in the head.

With a surge of panic, I push away Jimmy’s hands and lean away from the wood of the deck to vomit in choked, painful wretches.

It’s mortifying—the final indignity—and I start to sob when I’ve finally emptied my stomach.

Making more of those gruff sounds of protest, Jimmy adjusts his position so he can gather me up in his arms and carry me into the house.

I’m glad to get inside. It feels safer there. I’m still crying when he puts me down on the couch. I curl up on my side in the fetal position.

He stares down at me like he’s frozen for several seconds. Then he goes and wets a kitchen towel and brings it over to wipe down my face and neck, concentrating on the spot where I was hit. He moves my hand and positions it to hold the cool, wet towel around what will definitely become a bruise.

We have no ice since it hasn’t been below freezing even at night in the past couple of weeks. We have no cold pack or frozen vegetables to help reduce swelling. At the moment even that reality feels tragic to me.

Jimmy stares at me again, once more trapped in what might be indecision. Then he walks away from the couch.

This time I don’t know what he’s doing until he returns with one of his old T-shirts, one I’d recently moved out of regular rotation because it was so thin and worn. I was saving it to tear into rags.

It must be the first item of clothing he saw. He lifts me up to remove the torn remnants of my shirt and pulls the T-shirt over my head instead.

His hands move down to my skirt. I’m not sure what he’s doing. He fiddles with the fabric.

Finally he rasps out, “Did he…? Did he…?” His face twists dramatically. He can’t finish the question.

He doesn’t need to. “No.” I’m vaguely surprised my voice still works. It’s achingly sore from screaming. “He didn’t rape me. He… He… tried.”

“I know he did. Oh my God, Chloe.” He frames my face with both big hands, his touch incredibly gentle. “Are you okay?”

“I… I think so.” I pull back from him slightly, not because I don’t like his strong presence but because it’s making me feel even weaker. “I left my gun in the house. I should have had—”

“No.” He’s kneeling next to the couch. He reaches out like he might touch me again, but he stops himself. “No, no, no.”

“I didn’t expect it.” I’m starting to cry again, but I make myself talk through it. “I was home, so I… so I thought… I should have had my gun. I’m so sorry.”

“No!” he says more fiercely now. “You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. You were at home. You should have been safe.”

He’s never called me baby before today. While it sounds tender and entirely unconscious on his part, I’d rather him call me girlie like he sometimes does when he’s in a good mood.

Baby makes me feel small and young, and I already feel like that most of the time. I’ve been trying so hard not to be that.

I want to be strong, but I’m not. I guess I’ll always be helpless. Need protection.

I hug my arms to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut, shaking as I stifle more sobs.

He makes another throaty sound of objection and moves to the couch, pulling me against him and wrapping his arms around me. “Listen to me, Chloe. It’s not your fault. It’s not. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should have had my—”

“You should feel safe in your own home. And if you don’t, it’s my fault, not yours.”

I whimper and pull back. “It’s not—”

“Yes, it is.” His face and dark eyes are dead serious. “It’s my job to keep you safe. I’m supposed to do that, and I didn’t.”

“You did! You got here. You killed him before he could… before he… You did keep me safe, Jimmy. I’m really okay.” I make myself stop crying since I can see the guilt and responsibility in his expression, in his stiff posture. “I’m sorry I fell apart, but I’m really okay.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” he mutters, reaching out to pull me toward him again. “You didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”

“Neither did you.” I should be stronger if only to prove to Jimmy that I’m really okay, but I don’t have it in me at the moment. I need his arms around me. His big, solid body. His familiar scent. The feeling vibrating just beneath the surface of his presence.

It’s making me feel better, and I need it.

I say against the flannel shirt he’s wearing, “Thank you for getting here in time.”

We stay on the couch for a while. He hugs me tightly, rocking us slightly until I’ve finally stopped crying.

He looks relieved when I ask if I can have a bath—probably because it gives him something concrete to do—and he gets busy drawing water and heating up a pot to fill up the tub.

I get in and soak for a long time, eventually using the soap and washcloth to scrub every inch of my body.

I still feel panicky when I remember that man on top of me. I’m still queasy when I imagine what might have happened. But I breathe slowly, purposefully, and calm my mind, convincing myself to hold it together.

Jimmy obviously feels bad, feels guilty, and wants to make it better, but I still have responsibilities as his woman. I can’t fall apart so much I can no longer do my job.

When I finally get out, the water in the tub is cool and I’ve regained my composure. I put Jimmy’s old T-shirt back on and a pair of knit shorts I found at the bottom of a box in the storage room since I don’t feel like wearing real clothes.

“I’m all done,” I say, going to the back door and sticking my head out. “Did you want to take a bath too since we have the tub filled?”

He visibly hesitates, and I understand why.

“I’m really okay. I’ll go lie down in the bedroom. There’s no reason to waste all that water. I heated up another pot for you.”

That evidently decides him. “Okay. You stay inside.”

“I will.” I swallow hard, wondering how this is ever going to work. While I have no desire to be outside by myself right now, obviously that can’t be a permanent situation. I’m sure I’ll be able to overcome my nerves, but Jimmy is acting very protective. Hopefully he’ll relax after he recovers too because he can’t defend me every second of every day.

We both have work to do—work that often takes us away from each other.

I don’t put any of those thoughts into words. His overreaction is probably similar to my continued shakiness. I curl up on our bed while he takes his bath, and I’m still there when he finishes and joins me in the room.

I’m curled up on my side, facing the wall, so I can’t see him, but I can sense him. Hear him. Smell him as he walks over to the bed.

“You okay?” he asks thickly when I don’t turn over.

“Yeah.”

He climbs onto the bed and scoots over so his big body is pressed against my back, spooning me from behind. He wraps his arms around me.

I sigh and want to cry again but manage to restrain the impulse.

For a long time, neither one of us speaks. He holds me, and I hug one of his forearms to my chest.

“Was he…?” I haven’t spoken in so long that my voice doesn’t want to work. Plus it’s still raw from all that screaming. “Was he one of those guys from last night?”

“Yeah.”

“It sounded like he was… he was looking for me.”

“He saw you walkin’ back with me two different Saturday nights. I guess he figured out the general area where we live.”

“But why would he…? Why would he…?” I can’t even wrap my head around why he would go to so much trouble.

“’Cause he’s a fuckin’ asshole who thinks he can take anythin’ he wants. There were always people like that, but they got free rein after Impact. Why d’you think the gangs still control so much territory? There’s still too many assholes out there.”

“I guess.” I pause, my mind still whirling. “I thought they didn’t come over this way much.”

“They shouldn’t. They haven’t in a long time.” He lets out a long exhale, his breath blowing my hair. “Seem to be crossin’ over more lately. So far just a few strays, but a few strays is all it takes to make our area unsafe. Gonna have to do somethin’ about it.”

“What can we do?”

“Not sure yet. But gotta figure out somethin’.”

Our conversation trails off after that. He holds me for a long time until his stomach gives a loud growl.

It surprises me so much I giggle.

“Sorry ’bout that.”

“It’s way past lunch. I’ll fix you something.” I start to scoot toward the edge of the bed, but he doesn’t let me.

“Uh-uh. I’ll do lunch. What do you feel like?”

“I’m not hungry. But I really don’t mind making you something.”

“No way. You stay here and rest. I’ll grab somethin’ quick.”

“I shouldn’t stay in bed all—”

“Yes, you should. Stop arguin’, girlie, and do what you’re told.”

I give a little huff, but I’m almost smiling as I roll back over to face the wall.

I spent most of the afternoon in bed, but I do manage to rouse myself before dinner. Despite Jimmy’s insistence that I’m allowed to take it easy all day, I’m in fit condition to make us omelets and toast and wash the dishes and clean up afterward.

My whole cheek is throbbing with pain, and I don’t look in the mirror for more than a few seconds at a time. It’s all bruised and swollen. He really hit me hard.

But if that’s the extent of my injury, I count myself lucky. It could have been so much worse.

Jimmy dragged the man’s body into the woods earlier and covered it with leaves and dead foliage. There’s nothing else we can do with it. We have no idea who the man’s people are, and we couldn’t trust them anyway.

We definitely don’t want any more of them to know where our cabin is, isolated out here in the woods.

I never gave much thought to the community of dangerous sorts who live on the border of The Wild, except for the occasional day when it’s Jimmy’s turn to walk the patrol. I knew they were there. They killed Grandpa. But they always felt a long way away—distant from this protected valley of farmland and hardworking, neighborly folk.

But they’re well within range to reach us. Just because they’ve gone years without paying any attention to us doesn’t mean they never will.

Jimmy told me once that they had a bunch of violent skirmishes early on, but they always ended up as stalemates. Everyone has kept to their own territories ever since. Despite our resources here, they don’t try to take what we have by force because they don’t want to do all the hard work it takes to sustain it. Farms are no good to folk unless they actually work them, and those gangs prefer to live off the dregs of the old world rather than build a new world for themselves.

The stalemate has felt safe to me, but maybe it’s not.

After dinner, Jimmy does the outdoor chores while I wipe down the kitchen. I’ve rested all afternoon, but I still feel exhausted now that it’s time for bed.

Maybe tomorrow will feel different. Maybe there’ll be some needed distance between me and the unexpected trauma of today.

Jimmy stands at the back door with his shotgun while I use the outhouse. He’s never done that before, but I don’t question it. I give him a little smile as he steps out of the way for me to walk back inside.

I’m still wearing his big, raggedy T-shirt, but I take it and my shorts and panties off before I wash up and brush my teeth.

He finishes locking up and comes to the bedroom as I’m walking across the room toward the bed.

He clearly understands the significance of my being naked. He jerks to a stop and says, “We don’t gotta have sex tonight.”

I turn around. “You don’t want to?”

His eyes make a quick, automatic trip up and down my body but then focus urgently on my face. “I thought you wouldn’t want to after what happened.”

“Oh.” I think about that. We always have sex. I can count on four fingers the number of evenings we haven’t, and those were when I accidentally fell asleep before Jimmy came to bed or when I really felt bad from my period. “I… I don’t know.”

“Okay.” He stares some more. Shifts from foot to foot. “Well, we’re not doin’ it unless you really want it.”

I nod, taking his muttered declaration seriously.

The truth is I have absolutely no idea what I want.

I enjoy having sex with Jimmy more than almost anything else in my life. I don’t have recreation like I used to as a kid—time spent purely to have fun. I work and eat and rest when I can and go through the basic routines of life. Sometimes they’re hard. Sometimes they’re tedious. Most of the time there’s a satisfaction to fulfilling the role that’s been given to me—that I’ve chosen—to the best of my ability. But, since we’re not trying for children, sex is the only part of this life that’s main purpose is for us to feel good.

But I understand why he’s surprised. I was violated physically. Not all the way. Not as completely as I could have been. But still… Maybe the expected response for a woman in my position is to protect her body from opening up to anyone—even her man, the one she trusts.

I really don’t know how I feel as I get into bed, stretching out with my head on my pillow and pulling the covers up over me.

Jimmy makes quick work of washing up since he took a bath earlier and comes to bed wearing his boxers.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, turning his head to look at me over his shoulder for a minute. Then he reaches for the lantern, leaving the bedroom in darkness.

He lies down. Turns over on his side to face me. “You okay?” he asks very softly.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“You don’t gotta bury it away somewhere. I’m not expectin’ you to jump right back to normal.”

“I know you’re not.” I stare in his direction, but it’s too dark to see much of his face yet. “Do you feel bad about having to kill that man?”

There’s a kind of surprise in his silence. “Why would I feel bad? He hurt you. He was gonna hurt you even worse.”

“I know. I’m glad you killed him. Thank you for doing it. I just meant is it… Is it hard having to kill anyone ?”

“Oh.” This time he’s silent because he’s thinking. “It was at first. Before Impact when the world went to shit, I never killed anyone. I was… I was just a farm boy. I got a job in HVAC—fixing and installing heat pumps and furnaces.”

“I didn’t know that.” I actually know very little about his life before now. He’s never told me, and I’ve always been nervous to ask for fear of sounding nosy or intrusive.

“Yeah. I coulda worked for my dad, but I wanted some… independence. So I did my own thing. I made okay money. Me and Mary had a house about thirty miles away. Didn’t move here until things got bad before Impact. Anyway, I’ve hunted all my life, but I’d never killed a person. Not until we had to start holdin’ off attacks. And by then it all felt so… so necessary that it didn’t tear me up too bad. If they’re gonna hurt or kill my people, I’m gonna kill them.”

“That makes sense.” I reach out and stroke his beard lightly. “I think I’d probably feel the same way. But Grandpa kept me away from all that. He never wanted me to be around violence. He wouldn’t even let me hold a gun.”

“I can see that.” He reaches up to cover my hand, which is still playing with his beard. “You shouldn’t have to deal with all that.”

“Everyone does now. Why shouldn’t I deal with it too? It’s not like I’m different or special.”

He’s breathing heavily, holding on to my hand. He doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t…” I clear my throat and start again, speaking very softly. “I don’t want to be babied.”

“I get that. I’m not gonna treat you like a kid. But you’re not on your own anymore. You’re my woman now. That means it’s my job to protect you. You gotta let me do that.”

His words aren’t emotional or romantic or even particularly intimate. They’re blunt and matter-of-fact.

But they make my insides clench anyway. They make me want to wriggle and squirm. “I… I know.”

My answer seems to satisfy him. He lets out a sigh and reaches out to pull me against him. When I burrow into him, he must sense my neediness because he tightens his arms and pulls me over so I’m lying on top of him.

We stay in the urgent embrace for a long time until the anxious fluttering inside me finally settles. By then Jimmy’s cock has hardened against my middle. He’s not making any moves. He’s clearly assumed we’re not having sex tonight. But the feel of his erection sparks a different kind of neediness inside me.

I start to kiss my way down his chest, but he stops me by pulling me up and rolling us both over so he’s on top.

“What are you doing?” I ask, confused and flustered by the sudden move. “I was going to—”

“I know what you were gonna do, but we’re not doin’ that tonight.”

“Why not?” I’m honestly not sure if it means we’re not doing the blow job we normally start with or if we’re not having sex at all.

“If you want me to fuck you, we can do it this way.” He’s shifted so he’s positioned between my legs, which have fallen open automatically to make room for him.

“Okay.” I don’t have to understand in order to accept his decision. If there’s anything he doesn’t want to do in the bedroom, I’ll never try to push or pressure him into it.

I know he loves for me to suck his cock, so whatever is happening right now is not a slight against the way I please him. He wants something different tonight.

And I just want to feel him inside me.

He teases my breasts until my pussy is wet and pliant and then edges his cock inside me, holding himself up on his forearms so his full weight isn’t resting on top of me.

He stares down at me as he starts to thrust. It feels good. Safe. Familiar.

He’s Jimmy, and he belongs on top of me, inside me, against me. He belongs here. No one else does.

“Is this okay?” he asks, already slightly breathless. His pelvis is rocking, steady and gentle—not pumping fast and hard like he sometimes does.

“Yeah.” I bend my knees up around his hips. One of my hands is clutching at his hair, and the other is hooked around the back of his neck. “This is good. This is what I need.”

He makes a throaty sound and jerks his head to the side. His thrusting speeds up for a few seconds before he slows it back down.

He’s big and solid above me. Strong and warm and human. He’s breathing in fast pants now. He’s tensing up, already close to coming.

I squeeze around him with my pussy, making him huff. “You can come, Jimmy. I’m not going to get there.”

It’s true. I’m filled with good feelings, but none of them are an orgasm. It’s more about feeling safe and sheltered and cared for.

“I can wait.” He slows himself down again, his features twisting in effort.

“You don’t need to wait. I don’t want to come tonight. I can’t… I can’t focus enough. I just wanted this, and you gave it to me. So now you can come.”

He holds out for another couple of minutes but then falls out of rhythm with a rough groan. He yanks his cock out of my pussy at the very last moment and then squeezes it between our bodies as he comes.

He always pulls out. Every single time, even the nights of my period when there’s little chance of my getting pregnant. Tonight is the first time he seems to have barely managed it in time.

I love the helplessness of his shaking. The way he gasps and moans as he works through the spasms of his release. The way he loses his strength afterward and falls on top of me before he can manage to roll us over on his side.

I hold on to him for a long time and feel better than I have all day.

Eventually Jimmy says, “You really okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay now.”

“Feels like I was kinda selfish just now.”

“You weren’t. You gave me what I needed. What I asked for.”

“You’re sure?” He wraps both arms around me, not squeezing now, just holding me close to him.

“I’m sure. Thank you.” I press a little kiss on his shoulder.

It stills him. Silences him. He lets out a long breath.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence.

“Me too. I’m glad you’re here.”

I feel better—more like myself—the next morning.

My cheek is still deeply bruised and achy. It actually looks worse today than it did yesterday. But in every other way I feel more in control, confident that I can get back to normal.

The problem is Jimmy isn’t.

He won’t let me out of his sight.

I understand that this is probably the aftermath of the events of yesterday. He got really scared that he’d left me alone without protection for that stranger to victimize. He feels somehow responsible no matter how irrational it is.

I can understand all that, and I’m prepared to have patience. But he’s being absolutely ridiculous.

It’s Monday. He’s supposed to go back to his folks’ to help with the work there, while I’m supposed to stay here and do laundry, which has become my main Monday chore.

But he absolutely refuses to leave me alone.

At first it’s a normal discussion of our plans for the day. We do it every morning over breakfast. So I tell him I’m going to work on laundry all day, and he says no.

No.

He tells me no.

I can’t stay here on my own. I can’t be going in and out of the house throughout the day when he’s not around. It doesn’t matter if I promise to carry my gun with me every single moment, I’m still not allowed to go about my day.

I’m not allowed .

That’s what he tells me.

At first I counter his irrational responses as sweetly and patiently as I normally communicate with him when he’s being grumpy or stubborn. I understand why he’s worried, but I’m going to be a lot more careful from now on. He’s lived here for years without strangers lurking behind every tree. One random incident doesn’t define the entire future.

But he won’t listen. He won’t agree. He keeps saying no, and there’s absolutely no budging him.

So I give up before I start to snap at him and tell him to stop being stupid.

He probably just needs another day or so to get over it. He won’t continue to be so ludicrously defensive.

I go with him to his parents’ house and help Greta with the kitchen work while he works with his dad outside.

I’m annoyed all day, and it’s made worse because everyone who sees me is shocked by the sight of my face. I have to tell the same story over and over again and then have almost everyone believe that I’m the one too scared to stay by myself. That coming here was my idea and not Jimmy’s.

I wouldn’t dream of talking bad about Jimmy to anyone even though I’m more and more frustrated with him as the day passes. I gently correct people’s assumptions, explaining that Jimmy was worried and wanted me to come along.

I’m not sure if anyone believes me, and it makes me feel even more weak and helpless than usual.

So by the time Jimmy finally drags himself from his work, dirty and exhausted, I’m not feeling particularly soft or sympathetic toward him.

I don’t say a word about my feelings as I help him clean up, and then we say goodbye to his parents. I smile and interact in my normal manner and don’t pull away from Jimmy when he puts a hand on my back as we leave the house.

We walk in silence for several minutes.

He’s tired—I know he is. He’s done hard manual labor all day. I’m not going to lay into him right now just because I’ve been holding back my annoyance all day.

“You mad?” he asks at last, giving me a long sidelong look.

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re actin’ mad.”

I take a deep breath and release it. “I’m not acting mad in any way.”

“Well, you’re pretendin’ not to be. You’re always real sweet and givin’ and polite. But usually you mean it, and right now you don’t. You think I can’t tell the difference?”

I was hoping he couldn’t. I swallow hard and force a smile up at him, using the last of my restraint not to blow up at him.

“Shit, woman, you might as well just let me have it. That’s the scariest smile I ever seen in my life.”

He probably means what he’s saying, but there’s also a teasing note underlying the words. He’s trying to lighten the mood. He’s trying to make me laugh.

And that just makes me even angrier.

“This isn’t a joke to me,” I grit out, staring ahead of us as we walk because the sight of him is annoying me even more.

“Okay. I get it.”

“No, I really don’t think you do.”

He comes to an abrupt stop and reaches for my shoulders to turn me around to face him. When I stare at his dirty, sweaty shirt, he lifts my chin to make me meet his eyes. “So tell me. If I don’t get it, then tell me!”

My cheeks are blazing. I’m shuddering with reined-in feelings. I’m amazed I’m able to keep my voice as cool and clipped as it is when I reply, “I don’t like how you’re treating me.”

“I’m just tryin’ to get you to talk to me!”

“I don’t mean right now. I mean today. I don’t like it. It upsets me.”

His face twists. Surprise and reluctance both. “You’re serious? You’re still pissed that I wouldn’t leave you alone all day with no protection?”

I pull myself out of the hand he’s still holding my shoulder with. “Yes. I’m still pissed. Did you think it was a little thing?”

“What the hell do you expect after what happened yesterday?”

“I expect you to be reasonable! To let me live my life. To do my job. You taught me how to use my gun, so I expect you not to treat me like some sort of child who’s incapable of taking care of herself.”

He’s gaping at me, clearly stunned and outraged by my passionate declaration. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yes, I’m serious! I can’t believe you’re actually surprised. I get that this world is dangerous, but everyone else is managing to make do. So why do I need to be hauled around like a helpless baby? Why can’t I be treated like everyone else?”

“Because you’re not everyone else,” he rasps out. “How the fuck can you think I’d ever treat you like everyone else?”

I hug my arms to my chest, squeezing tight, trying desperately to hold in sobs. If I want to be treated like a capable adult, the last thing I need to do is burst into tears. “I know I used to be mostly useless, but I’ve learned a lot since then. I’ve been working really hard. I don’t think I’m so useless any—”

“Course you aren’t useless!” He sounds angrier now. Indignant. Not quite so stunned. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

“But you’re treating me—”

“I’m takin’ care of you. I’m protecting you. I told you over and over that it’s my job and you gotta let me do it.”

“I understand that, and I appreciate it. But you’re going overboard. You can’t watch over me every second of every day! It will never work. We’ve both got work we have to do, so if we’re ever going to manage having a life together, you’re going to have to trust me on my own sometimes.”

“I do trust you.” He seems to have pulled back into himself. Stifled the fierce feeling he was expressing before. He mumbles as he continues, “But I’m not lettin’ you get hurt again.”

“I don’t want to get hurt either, but you can’t control everything. We’re going to have to figure something out. I don’t think I’m a foolish person. I’ve never run headlong into danger. But I do have to be left alone occasionally unless you’re prepared to hire a bodyguard or something.”

My last words are dry and sardonic, but I see his expression shift like he’s actually considering options.

“Argh!” I burst out, completely at my wit’s end. It’s like trying to reason with a stone cliff face. “You’re being ridiculous! You can’t overreact this way.”

He narrows his eyes, breathing heavily. He’s definitely angry in a way I’ve almost never seen him.

“I’m sorry,” I add, moderating my tone. “I know yesterday was hard for both of us. But we’re living in this world, and there’s no way to ensure anyone is perfectly safe. So maybe tomorrow you go to help your folks again like you planned, and I’ll stay and work on laundry. I’ll keep my gun with me at all times.”

It’s what I suggested very gently this morning and was immediately dismissed.

It is again now.

“No,” he grits out.

“You can’t just say no like that!”

“Yes, I can. I’m saying no. The discussion is over.”

It feels like the whole world is throbbing around me. That’s how outraged and shaky I am. “The discussion can’t be over until—”

“It’s over!” he snaps out. “The decision is made.”

He’s not loud, but he’s curt. Authoritative. I’ve never heard him like that before.

His tone immediately silences me, leaving me still shaky but hurt instead of indignant.

I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this.

I can’t believe he’s treating me this way.

Not like a partner at all.

I want to cry, but I don’t let myself. I fall into step with him as he starts walking again, and I can’t unclench enough to say a single word on the entire trip back home.

10

THE SILENCE CONTINUES throughout the evening.

I make an effort to act natural. I ask him if he wants some eggs to go with the ham Greta gave us and then reach into the root cellar to grab a jar of canned sliced potatoes so I can dry them off and fry them up with our meal.

Dinner turns out delicious. I haven’t had fried potatoes of any kind since Impact, and the taste and texture evoke an aching nostalgia that clashes with the simmering resentment in my chest. Jimmy eats everything without conversation and without even his normal sounds of appreciation. He does mumble thanks when he’s cleaned his plate, but it’s not the same.

While I’m still stewing with anger and hurt, I’m prepared to cram the feelings into a corner of my mind and pretend everything is normal. Jimmy, however, refuses to be his usual self. He stares at me a lot but not in a normal way. I’m used to him peering in scrutiny or gazing with hot hunger or looking with a kind of amused bafflement.

This is different. This is bleak and exhausted, and nothing I say or do can change it.

It actually makes me feel guilty. Which pisses me off even more.

He’s the one overreacting. He’s the one being completely unreasonable. He’s the one who refuses to budge or compromise even a little. He’s the one who used a rough command to end our argument as if I’m his subordinate rather than his partner.

Maybe he assumes I am.

Maybe it’s me who’s wrong.

None of these circular thoughts provide me resolution or peace. I’m spinning desperately all evening, searching for any sign of softening from him and finding exactly none.

All in all, it’s not a good evening. I read on the couch after dinner while Jimmy cleans his guns and sharpens his knives. When he stands up and rubs his hands through his hair, I know he’s ready for bed.

I close my book and head to the outhouse while Jimmy stands in the doorway with his shotgun.

While he goes to the bathroom and locks up, I get ready for bed and climb in to wait for him.

He usually gets softer after sex. Maybe we can talk again then. Maybe he’ll actually listen to me.

I’m hopeful as he comes into the room to undress and wash up. When he finally lies down, I move over him like normal, angling low on his body so I can give him a blow job.

He grabs for my shoulders and holds me still. “What the hell, Chloe?”

I freeze, bewildered and hurt yet again. “I was going to—”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” He stares like I’ve grown a second head. “No fucking way.”

I retreat immediately, shaking as the rejection slices through my chest, the pain flooding the rest of my body. “Oh. I thought…”

I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t.

It doesn’t matter what I thought.

He doesn’t want me to touch him tonight. He’s utterly horrified at the idea.

He must be so angry with me.

I barely manage to choke back a sob as I curl up tightly on my side, facing the wall.

He turns off the lantern, so the room goes dark. It feels like he’s got his head turned in my direction, still watching me.

I don’t like it. He needs to stop.

If he doesn’t want to have sex, he should close his eyes and go to sleep so I can get a little privacy.

So I can cry.

Mentally reviewing what’s happened today, I dissect every word I said to Jimmy.

I still don’t think I did anything that bad. I did raise my voice a little, but I never yelled or screamed. I didn’t burst into tears or throw a fit or act like a child. I tried to understand his perspective and express my own. Yes, I got frustrated, but I’m not sure how anyone in my position could avoid that.

Jimmy, however, took my behavior as some sort of rebellion. Like I was undermining his authority.

He doesn’t want me to assert myself in any way. He doesn’t want me to have a backbone. Disagree with him. Be even a little bit stronger.

He wants me more like I was at the very beginning—scared and anxious and eager to please, trying desperately to predict what he wants and give it to him perfectly.

Our relationship is transactional after all. I knew it from the beginning and have been reminded of it time after time.

He takes care of me, and I make him happy.

He’s not happy right now.

I must have gotten too comfortable. I must have felt too safe and secure. Not only regarding outside threats but regarding my place here in his house.

It might feel like my home now, but it’s not. Not really. Not as much as it’s Jimmy’s. He can kick me out whenever he wants and leave me to fend for myself in a hostile world.

He’s the one providing me a roof over my head and food on my plate and any degree of security.

I have to keep him satisfied in every way. I don’t have any other real choice.

Grandpa taught me well to never bite the hand that feeds you, to never put yourself at risk for nothing more than pounding on an impervious wall.

You have to do what must be done to survive. That’s always been true, and it’s truer now than ever.

I can do it.

I made a mistake, but I can fix it.

I can make Jimmy happy again.

I have to. Otherwise I’ll lose everything I’ve worked so hard to get.

The next morning, I’m resolved to do better. To be better.

I sit up as soon as Jimmy’s feet hit the floor at dawn, smoothing down my messy hair and smiling at him. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’.” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. His boxers have slid so low I can see the top of his butt crack. His hair was slightly damp from the water he splashed on his face when he went to sleep last night, so it’s sticking up in chaotic kinks today.

He’s still a little tense, eyeing me warily as I crawl over and stand up. I’m still naked since I never put my gown on last night. His eyes dip down in an instinctive once-over before focusing back on my face.

I raise a hand to my cheek when I realize he’s looking at the bruise. It’s not throbbing this morning, so I almost forgot about it. The skin is tender when I push on it.

I hate it. It reminds Jimmy of how helpless I am.

He’s still sitting on the bed when I go to the dresser to grab my panties. I smile at him again as I step into them and pull them up my legs.

“You feel okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m fine. How about you?”

“I’m okay.” He won’t stop peering at me, and it’s getting on my nerves. But I’ve resolved today to do better, so I’m not going to express any sort of impatience or annoyance.

I find a T-shirt and pull it on before I wash my face and brush my teeth.

He’s unnerving me by still sitting there staring, but I ignore it as I dry my face with my towel.

“You’re not still mad at me?” he finally asks.

I pause in the middle of fitting myself into my jeans. I’m eating so much more now that I’ve gained a little weight. My jeans are tighter than they used to be. “Of course I’m not mad.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Are you still mad?”

“I wasn’t—” He cuts off the protestation he couldn’t possibly think I’d believe. “I’m not mad.”

“Okay, good.” Upset and confusion is still shuddering in a tight ball inside me, but I refuse to cater to those feelings. I manage another sweet smile. “I’m sorry I was moody and stubborn yesterday.”

His eyebrows pull together. “I’m sorry I sounded mean and hurt your feelings. You wanna talk about it some more?”

I do want to talk about it. Everything inside me wants to explode with it. Get the whole thing out. But I know for sure that if I start that conversation again, I’ll begin arguing to get my point across. I’ll get upset when he doesn’t listen. It will turn into the same mess as yesterday.

And that’s what I need to avoid.

“Nah, it’s fine.” I grab my sweatshirt because it’s chilly in the room. Since the nights have been milder lately, Jimmy hasn’t kept the fire in the woodstove roaring all night. “I’m good. Unless there’s more you want to say?”

He holds my eyes but evidently doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for there. He jerks his head to the side, frowning at the wall.

“Okay,” I say, managing one more smile. “It’s cold in here, so I’m going to get the fire going. I’ll wait until you’re up and ready before I go to the bathroom.”

The escape to the kitchen is a relief. I add a piece of wood and stoke a fire in the stove. Jimmy shows up, dressed now, after a few minutes, and he waits in the doorway as I use the outhouse.

He does his chores. I make fried eggs with some leftover ham for breakfast. We discuss our plan for the day as we eat. I’ll go with Jimmy to his parents’ today, and he’ll stay home tomorrow so I can finally do the laundry that’s piling up.

It still feels wrong to me. I’m still sure it’s an overreaction on Jimmy’s part to a random, unpredictable incident. It makes absolutely no sense if I have any hope of my fulfilling all my responsibilities here.

But he made it clear. This is his decision.

And I have to go along with it.

Maybe I’ll get used to it. Maybe it won’t always bug me the way it does right now.

I wash the dishes and wipe the sink and counter. Then I pack one of my loaves of bread to take with us. I have extra from last week because we’ve spent so much time at the Carlsons’, and it will get stale before we have the chance to eat it.

I’m ready when Jimmy is, and we make the trek to his parents’ farm.

With effort, I find light, easy topics of conversation for the walk. He’s kind of stiff, but he responds when conversation requires it, so at least it’s better than yesterday.

Today is Greta’s baking day, so I help her and Paula in the kitchen.

Laura is working outside with the men. I’m not sure what exactly she’s doing, but she’s obviously stronger and more competent than me. She’s able to help in ways I’m not.

Jimmy might have been happier if he’d chosen her.

It’s the first time since I moved in with him that I’ve felt insecure about Laura. It nags at me. Pesters me for hours, even when I try not to indulge it.

Jimmy hasn’t had a bad time since we’ve been together. He’s acted perfectly content with me up until Sunday. There’s no reason to assume he’d prefer another woman. He simply didn’t like my attitude yesterday, and that’s something I can fix.

I usually like baking, but the morning still drags on forever. At one point, Greta gives me an encouraging talk about how, despite the trauma of the attack, I’ll eventually learn to stay by myself again.

It’s like someone is clawing away my skin. Her assumption is that I’m the problem, I’m the one too scared to stay at home on my own. Yesterday I attempted to set her straight, but it obviously didn’t stick.

I don’t even try today. It might annoy Jimmy, and I’m determined not to do that again.

So I swallow it all down.

Life isn’t always fair. In fact, it almost never is. Righteous vindication rarely happens, and it’s not the most important thing anyway.

I need to survive. I need a safe space in the world. Jimmy is my only decent option for that, so his happiness has to be my priority.

I’ve had four really good months with him. There’s no reason I can’t have that again. All I need to do is get over this one hurdle.

Today they finish up the work in the fields by midafternoon. Greta wants us to stay for dinner, but Jimmy says we’ve got work to do at home.

I do anyway.

Today is the day of the week I always clean the outhouse, so I should have time to do that when we get back. That way I won’t get even further behind on my chores.

When we get home, Jimmy is so incredibly filthy that I ask if he wants to take a bath.

He appears surprised by the offer, but he can’t deny the fact of his dirtiness. He agrees, dragging in the tub so I can start filling it up while he goes outside to check on the chickens and pigs. They haven’t been happy with our long absence for the past couple of days.

I get my bucket, cleaner, and scrub brush together and go clean the outhouse while Jimmy takes a bath.

He’s done, stretched out on the couch wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, when I return after giving the outhouse a relatively quick clean.

Jimmy’s eyes are closed. He’s exhausted.

The work he’s doing with his dad is a lot more intense than most of the work he does around here.

My heart clenches just a little as I look down at him. The last thing he needs is to deal with me being obstinate. I need to support him better.

No wonder he hasn’t been happy these past few days.

“Y’okay?” he mumbles without even opening his eyes. He must somehow have sensed me standing here, looking down at him.

“Yeah. You want me to get you some clothes?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”

He’s still sprawled on the couch when I return, but his eyes are open so he can see what I’m doing. Most of his clothes are dirty since laundry was delayed, but I found his old gray sweats that have only been worn inside and an ancient T-shirt with a football logo on it and a tear in the seam of one sleeve.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, softer and thicker than before. He’s trying to see into my soul again. He just won’t stop.

“I’m good.” I smile down at him, suddenly getting inspired. I reach for his towel and gently unwind it, pulling the fabric away from his pelvis.

He’s not aroused when I open the towel, but by the time I kneel beside the couch and reach for his cock, he’s starting to harden.

“Whatcha doin’?” He shifts slightly on the couch.

“What do you think?” I stroke and squeeze until he’s hard in my hands. Then I lower my head so I can slide my lips down the tip of him.

He groans long and low and rolls his hips. “Chloe, baby. You sure? You really want—?” He breaks off the question when I suck hard.

His cock is filling my mouth. His muscles are all tensing up as I hollow out my cheeks and rhythmically bob my head. He takes my head in both hands and holds it in place, easing it up and down as I work.

I’m pleased and excited and deeply relieved as his body responds the way it always has. He’s starting to thrust now, involuntary shallow bucks as he loses control.

He gets so into it. He’s moaning and grunting uninhibitedly, getting louder and louder as he mounts toward climax. I’m making him feel so good, and it’s a deep source of satisfaction.

When he finally reaches the peak, he cries out hoarsely and clenches his fingers in my hair. His cock shudders as he releases. Instead of sliding him out of my mouth, I let him come in my mouth, focusing hard so I can swallow his semen without choking on it.

I do a pretty good job. He’s breathing raggedly as he falls back limply on the couch. He hasn’t let go of my head yet. His fingertips are stroking my scalp.

“So good,” he’s murmuring. “You’re so good. You make me feel so good.”

The encouragement wafts over me in a hot wave of pleasure.

He’s holding my ponytail loosely as I straighten up, flushed and kind of fluttery.

“Thank you,” he says hoarsely, sliding his hand forward to cup my jaw. “Thank you for doing that for me.”

“You’re welcome. I enjoy doing it.” Thrilled that things are getting back on track between us, I stand up, steadying my trembly knees. When I’ve stabilized myself, I step away from the couch and toward the kitchen. I need to start working on dinner.

“Hey,” Jimmy says with a frown in his voice. “Where you goin’?”

“It’s getting toward dinnertime. Is something wrong?”

“Yes, somethin’ is wrong. You’re not gonna let me do you too?”

My eyes widen dramatically, and my face flushes more hotly. “Oh. I didn’t realize—”

“You thought I wouldn’t wanna take care of you too?”

“No, no! Not like that. You just don’t have to do anything for me right now. I mean, I’m fine. I just wanted to do it for you.”

He’s sitting up, pulling on the sweats and shirt I brought in earlier for him. He’s breathing fast and raspy and glowering up at me. “So you’re not even gonna give me the chance?”

I’ve somehow messed things up again. I have no idea why and how I keep doing so. He was so soft and relaxed just a minute ago, but now he’s really upset again.

“I’m sorry. It’s not that I didn’t want to give you the chance. I just didn’t realize… I mean, I wanted to… You’re tired. It’s been a long day for you. You really don’t have to go through the trouble.”

“You still think I’m a selfish asshole who just wants to take from you,” he says in almost a whisper. “Don’t you?”

“No! Of course I don’t think that! I never thought that.”

“Then why’re you acting like I’ll have to suffer through doin’ somethin’ for you instead of wantin’ to do it?”

I don’t have an answer for him. My head is spinning, and my knees and hands are openly trembling, and I’m so confused and overwhelmed I can’t get a single word out.

He adjusts his position, scooting forward to the edge of the couch seat and leaning toward me. “Tell me the truth, Chloe. Promise me you’ll tell me the truth.”

I nod urgently since my throat is still closed up.

“Have you been fakin’ it with me? Have I not been doin’ a good job pleasin’ you in bed?”

“No!” I’m so shocked by the question that the answer bursts out of me. “No!”

Some of the tension eases on his expression, but not all of it. “So you’ve been comin’ for real?”

“Yes! I’ve always come for real. You’ve always treated me really good in bed.”

“Is there some other reason you don’t like it when I make you come?” He doesn’t look so hurt anymore. It’s closer to that intense, peering scrutiny.

“I do like it! I’ve always liked it.”

“Then what the hell is the problem?” he demands in a more confident tone. “Why’re you always tryin’ to blow me and run?”

“I’m not trying to run.” I rub my face since my brain still isn’t working at full capacity and I need it to right now. “I just want to make sure you know how much I… I appreciate you. I like making you feel good.”

The room is silent for a long tense moment. Then, “And it’s never occurred to you that I might feel the exact same way?”

I freeze. Utterly motionless. Because the truth is obvious to me and probably to him.

It’s never once occurred to me that he might feel the same way about me. That he might appreciate everything I do for him—the life we’re living together—and want to go out of his way to express that to me. Want to make me feel good without expecting anything in return.

I know exactly how it feels when I want to please him and he won’t let me. When he rejects me.

Obliviously I’ve been doing that to him.

“I’m sorry,” I finally whisper. “I’m so sorry, Jimmy. I didn’t… I didn’t realize you… you felt that way.”

“Well, I do.”

“Okay. I’m really sorry. You work really hard to take care of us and help your family and the rest of the community. I see how hard you always work. I just never wanted to give you extra work to do.”

To my surprise, his expression changes, and he huffs out a soft laugh.

I giggle too—more in response to his mood change than anything else. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I do.” He smooths down his beard and leans back against the couch. “I know exactly what you mean. All this time you’ve thought you were a burden.”

“No, it’s not that! It’s more like—” He doesn’t interrupt me this time. I stop myself.

“It’s more like you thought you were a burden on me so you needed to make up for it instead of realizin’ you make my life way, way better.”

I didn’t expect that kind of declaration in the middle of this weird, awkward, intense conversation. I gasp. “Really?”

“Yes, really. You turned everythin’ around for me, Chloe. I honestly never thought my life could be this good again.”

I’m swaying slightly, rocked by waves of feeling. Which is why my vocabulary has narrowed down to only one word. “Really?”

He shakes with throaty laughter. “Yes, really.”

I hug myself. “Okay. Me too.”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re not just sayin’ that ’cause you know I wanna hear it?”

“No. It’s true. My life is so much better because of you.”

He smiles. Not broadly but for real. Then he slouches down slightly on the couch. “All right then. So now will you let me take care of you too?”

I don’t respond immediately as my mind catches up.

“You’re seriously gonna reject me again?”

“No! No, I’m not.” I move closer, not quite sure how he wants me to proceed.

“Good. So get naked and climb up here on my lap.”

I start to comply automatically, reaching for the bottom of my shirt to pull it off over my head. But I stop with it halfway up. “You want me to wash up first?”

“No, I don’t. Stop stalling, girlie, and take off your clothes.”

I’m bubbling with laughter as I pull my shirt off and then shimmy out of my jeans. My panties come with them, so I’m naked pretty quick. I move toward him, thinking he wants me to straddle him. But he pulls me on his lap so I’m leaning against him, sitting sideways with my legs stretched out on the middle couch cushion.

I feel unstable, held in position mostly by his arms and his body rather than mine.

He nuzzles the side of my face, his beard lightly scratching my skin. Then he stares down at me for a minute. Lowers his mouth to press his lips against mine in a very light kiss.

It’s featherlight and barely lasts two seconds, but it evokes the most intense shiver of pleasure down my spine, all the way to my pussy.

He pulls back, still watching my expression for a minute. When I don’t react, he nuzzles me again, adjusting his arm so I’m lying back a little farther. Then he bends his neck enough to suck on the fluttering pulse in my neck.

As he mouths me, his free hand moves to fondle my breasts. It can’t be a comfortable position for him, but he’s managing it. His touches are really working for me right now. Arousal clenches and builds as he continues until I’m panting unevenly and squirming in his lap.

I’m so desperate I breathe out, “Please.”

He moves a hand between my legs and teases until he finally slides one finger and then two inside me.

My pussy clings eagerly to the penetration. I let out a soft moan when he starts to thrust.

He fucks me with his hand until I reach a quick, hard climax, clutching his shirt and rocking and writhing in his lap, my helplessness somehow intensifying the sensations.

Warm satiation washes over me, and his hand slows as I come down. I curl up into a more secure position—still held on his lap with his arms—and mumble, “That was so good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But why would you think it was over?”

“What? Because I… I came.”

He uncurls me until I’m sprawled out shamelessly on his lap. He starts stroking my body again.

Despite the release I just had, I can’t help but moan again at the way he’s caressing my breasts and belly and thighs. My face and neck. Back down to my breasts. He rolls one of my nipples between his thumb and fingers, and my pelvis rocks involuntarily.

“See?” he murmurs thickly. “You’re not done yet. Your body knows what it needs.”

“Jimmy.” His name comes out as a little whimper.

“You’re likin’ this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I arch my back up into the hand he’s still using to tease my nipple. “Feels so good but driving me crazy at the same time.”

He chuckles and slides his fingers down to part my folds and rub my clit. “That’s how I always am with you.”

I like the sound of the words even though I’m too far gone to work out exactly what they mean. I grind myself against his finger, but too soon he moves it, stroking his fingertips back up to my breasts. He fondles one and then the other until I can’t stop whimpering. I lift one arm to hook around his neck, needing desperately to hold on.

“You’re doin’ just fine, baby. Just let me do this for you.”

I turn my head until my face is buried in his shirt. The fabric muffles a few loud sobs as the delicious torment intensifies.

“That’s right. You can take it. You can let me do this for you. You’re gonna like it so much.”

I mumble out “uh-huh” sounds against his shirt, doing my best not to writhe.

He finally moves his hand back down between my legs. He penetrates me with two fingers again. I’m as wet as I can remember ever being, and my inner muscles immediately clench possessively around his fingers.

“I can feel how much you need this. Your little pussy is grabbin’ on to me so hard.”

I arch my neck back and release a long, loud groan.

He must like how I’m responding. His body is tensing up. “That’s right. Let it out. You can be as loud as you need to be. Don’t hold nothin’ back.”

I moan again and roll my hips since he’s holding his fingers perfectly still. “Jimmy. I need… I need…”

“I know what you need. I’m gonna give it to you. You’re still tryin’ to fight it. Let me give it to you.”

It takes more control than I believed I possess, but I’m able to soften my body, fully relax, and grow still. It still feels like everything is shuddering inside, but the enforced letdown somehow makes it more powerful.

“That’s good. That’s perfect. Now you’re ready for more.”

“Jimmy, please.”

He finally starts thrusting his hand, starting slow and steady. I make myself keep my hips still so I don’t rush the momentum of the sensations. He’s still murmuring about how good I’m doing, how well I’m taking it, letting him give it to me. And the encouragement is like water in a drought.

Eventually he picks up his speed, hand fucking me harder and faster. It makes a wet, sloppy noise and jiggles my entire body. It feels better than anything ever has.

I’m making more of those embarrassing sounds, but there’s no way to hold them back now. I twist my neck so I can hide my face in his shirt again, but he doesn’t let me this time. He tells me to lie back again. Not to hide from him.

So I let him work me to the very edge of orgasm, and then I cry out loudly when I finally fall over the edge.

It’s the hardest I ever remember coming. My body jerks and shakes as my pussy clamps down forcefully around his fingers in spasm after spasm.

He keeps talking me through it, sustaining the climax with both his hand and his voice, until at last there’s nothing left.

I fall back in a limp collapse, everything inside me emptied out in the intensity of the release. My body keeps twitching. Jimmy keeps stroking my pussy gently.

“See?” he murmurs at last, gathering me up until he’s cradling me in a tighter embrace. “That’s what I’ve been wantin’ to do for you. You gotta trust me enough to let me give you what you need.”

Something strange happens then. The physical release on top of the new revelation about how Jimmy sees me mingles with all my stress and upset from the past two days that still hasn’t been resolved or forgotten. All of it tightens into a hard swell of feeling that suddenly erupts into loud, helpless sobbing.

Actual sobbing. I burst into tears.

He makes a hoarse sound and pulls me closer, letting me cry frantically into his shirt.

I have no idea where it’s all even coming from, but I can’t seem to stop.

After a few minutes, he starts to murmur, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You can let go. Let it all out. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

It’s exactly what I need to hear, and it makes me cry even more. This isn’t like me at all. I’ve totally fallen apart.

It takes a long time, but I eventually work through the worst of the tears. I’m still clinging to him, completely naked and still whimpering and sniffing. He’s still holding me tight. I can’t stand the thought of him letting go.

When I’ve finally fallen still and silent other than a few last snuffles, he strokes my back. Moves his hand up to cup the back of my head. “Seems like you needed that pretty bad.”

“I… I don’t know why.”

“’Cause you’ve been upset and kept pretendin’ you weren’t.”

“I—”

“Don’t try to argue with me about that. I’m not totally clueless, you know.”

I lie against him, exhausted. Boneless. “I didn’t want you to get mad at me again.”

“I wasn’t mad at you, Chloe. I was mad at the situation.”

“It seemed like you were mad at me. Like you didn’t want to hear what I was trying to say. Like you just wanted me to shut up and let you make all the decisions.”

I’m not sure where I get the courage to admit that so bluntly. It’s such a huge risk.

He breathes thickly a few times. “I did hear you.”

“But you—”

“I know what I did. I’m real sorry about that. I was… I’m scared shitless, baby. I keep tryin’ to move past it, but it keeps comin’ back to me. How it felt when I heard you screamin’ and came runnin’ only to see that… that monster on top of you. I thought… I was sure I’d… lost you.”

He’s opening up in a real way. A way he almost never does. I straighten up and pull back enough to see his face. “I understand. I get why that’s hard to get over.”

“But see, I know I’m makin’ it about me when you’re the one who was…” His face twists painfully. “I know it’s my problem. But I’m still not sure I got it in me to leave you by yourself and vulnerable again.”

I nod, feeling better than I have since Sunday morning. “I really do understand.”

“But I’m gonna work on it. I think I can get there. I heard you about treatin’ you like a child. I’m not gonna do that. I know if I expect you to trust me, I got to work on trusting you too.”

Blowing out a long exhale, I brush away a few new tears. “I’m going to keep practicing with the gun. I’ll practice real hard. I can get better. I’m sure I can.”

“I know you can.” He strokes down my ponytail very lightly. “I can help you. And I’ll keep working on my own issues. It might take a little time, but I’m sure I can get there. I know it’s ludicrous to think we can make this work if I’m never able to leave you alone. You were right about all that. I was wrong. I was stubborn and stupidly possessive and irrational and just plain wrong. Not sure I can do it right away, but I’m gonna work on getting to the point where I can.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him, rubbing my cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Might not happen this week,” he murmurs, an edge of dry humor in his tone.

I giggle. “That’s okay. I can live with that.”

He wraps his arms around me, and we stay in the needy embrace for a few more minutes.

Then I’m finally able to get up, get dressed, and get on with my life, starting with fixing dinner.

But I feel better. Entirely better.

Like a new world has opened up for me. One that might keep getting better.

What we have might always be more practical than anything else. A transactional agreement. But maybe we can learn to trust each other.

And maybe he genuinely values me—a lot more than I realized before.

11

TWO MONTHS LATER, I take out my last two loaves of bread for the day.

I’ve made ten loaves in total today, and it’s taken from first thing this morning to midafternoon. It’s been a lot of work but hasn’t been a bad Friday.

Baking is still my favorite chore.

Plus today is even better because Jimmy will finally come home.

He’s been gone since Monday. It’s early harvest for the greens and root vegetables at the Santiagos’ farm. While it’s not nearly as intense as August and September, which everyone says are the most exhausting, rigorous months of the year, it’s still a lot of work because of the size of the fields. After the harvesting, new crops have to be planted, so the Santiagos need extra hands for the entire week.

Jimmy, as one of the most able-bodied men in the community, always gets called in to work first.

I don’t resent that fact in any way. After all, we get to reap the benefits of the produce from our neighbors, so it’s only fair we help with the work. I sent him with ten extra loaves of bread to help Maria feed all the laborers during the week, and now I’m going to bring ten more so everyone will have at least one to take back home for the coming week. It’s the least I can do.

My primary sacrifice, as far as I’m concerned, is being without Jimmy for the week.

He’s gotten better about leaving me on my own. He can leave for a day now without much anxiety, and a couple of weeks ago, he stayed overnight at his folks’ to assist them build a new outbuilding. It helps that I’ve been practicing with my gun, and I’m a lot more capable of defending myself than I used to be.

But five days is a long time, and he kept talking in circles about what he’d do—landing on the ridiculous suggestion of trying to come home every night—until I finally suggested that maybe Amelia Hurley could stay with me for the week.

She still lives at home, and while she obviously helps out, their household doesn’t rely on her labor. She’s stronger and more competent than me, and she’s become my best friend.

Jimmy was deeply relieved when this plan worked out, and honestly so was I.

I could do it. I’m sure I can. But I wasn’t looking forward to a week entirely on my own.

The week has been kind of slow, but it hasn’t been bad. Amelia and I have been able to do both my chores and Jimmy’s while still having plenty of time to hang out and chat. I never feel as safe away from Jimmy, but I haven’t been particularly nervous with Amelia here, even at night.

But I miss Jimmy. I want him to come home. The house hasn’t been the same without him.

“God, that smells so good,” Amelia says, coming back into the house from the yard, where she was checking on the animals. “Are you sure we can’t crack into one of those and chow down? I could probably eat a whole loaf right now.”

I laugh, pleased with the offhand compliment. My bread is getting better and better until it’s become a source of real pride. “If we did that, we’d have to make more, and I think I’ve done enough breadmaking for the week.”

“That’s for sure. Making one batch is enough for me. I don’t know how you’ve managed so many.” Amelia is grinning as she collapses back onto the couch. She’s tall and long-legged with dark skin, hair, and eyes. “I guess I’m ready to go home.”

I peer at her from the kitchen. “You’re not sure?”

“I don’t know. This has been kind of nice—being away from my parents. I mean, I’m twenty-four. In the old world I would have graduated college and started a career of my own by now. But nope, not now. Instead, I’m stuck living at home, milking a hundred thousand cows a day.”

A giggle escapes me, and I’m relieved to see that she laughs too. “I guess our choices are pretty limited nowadays. Both men and women.”

“Yep. We’ve got to do what it takes to survive, which means do the work that survival requires.”

“Life here is a lot better than I had before. I loved Grandpa, but I didn’t have anything else. At least here I’ve got things to do that feel worthwhile even if they’re hard. And I’ve had the chance to have friends and be a part of a community. I didn’t have that before. Life is pretty good here, at least compared to the way a lot of other people live after Impact.”

“I know. I promise I’m not really complaining.” She sighs and closes her eyes. “Maybe it would feel different if I had a home of my own.”

“Couldn’t you fix yourself up a little house?”

“Maybe?” She makes a face. “But I’m not sure it would be all that safe living by myself, and keeping a house is a lot of work for one person.”

“That’s what Jimmy always says. He could barely make it on his own. His folks wanted him to move back home after Mary died, but he didn’t want to give up this place.”

“I get that. It’s his home.”

I give the other woman a quick, questioning look. “Has there never been a man you were interested in?”

“Sure. Back before Impact I had crushes on guys in my classes, and a few years after Impact I did have a boyfriend. But we were still so young we couldn’t really set up house together. And he ended up dying anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You never mentioned him before. What happened?”

“He got sick from some virus that was going around and never got better.” She sounds resigned. Not close to tears. “It was the same one that killed Laura’s parents. If he’d lived, I probably would have eventually moved in with him and set up a home. But since him, there really hasn’t been anyone. There just aren’t a lot of unattached men around.”

“There are single guys who help out on the farms, aren’t there?”

“Yeah. A bunch of them have shown interest but…” She shrugs. “Am I supposed to hook up with anyone just to have a man?”

I think about that for a long time. It makes me feel strange and squirmy. Because the truth is that’s exactly what I did. Jimmy was basically anyone to me, and I hooked up with him merely because he offered.

“It was different with you,” Amelia says, eyeing me closely and obviously seeing some of my reflections on my face. “If I didn’t have a decent home, I would have done the same thing as you. Plus Jimmy isn’t any sort of participation prize. He’s been the hot commodity around here since Mary died.”

“You weren’t interested in him?”

“No. No way.” She gives her head a hard shake. “He’s a great guy, of course, but I grew up knowing him, and I was like twelve when he got married. He’s just never been on the eligible list for me.”

“And there really hasn’t been anyone who caught your interest since your boyfriend died?”

Amelia’s mouth tightens in a particular way.

I come over and sit on the leather chair, leaning toward her. “There is someone! Why didn’t you tell me? Who is it?”

“Just a passing interest. There was never any hope things could work out.”

“Who cares about that? Who is it?”

She sits up on the couch. “A couple of years ago, a group of folk traveled through this area. They lived over around Kentucky or something, and they made a trip to check out what was out west of them.”

“Oh wow. How far did they get?”

“They couldn’t get past The Wild. They got stuck at the border like everyone else. We told them the only way to get farther west was to go north until they reach the end of The Wild, but of course no one here could tell them how far north that is. There were only four of them. They did have a vehicle, but they decided it was too much of a risk to push any farther. They were just exploring, so they didn’t have any pressing need to risk their lives or run out of gas and get stuck. Anyway, they stayed here for a couple of weeks. They don’t have cows in their communities, so they wanted to negotiate a trade with my parents. But they’ll need a lot of cows to get them established there, and they didn’t have enough to offer us in trade.”

“Oh, interesting. So there was a guy you liked?”

“Yeah. His name was Mack.” She smiles at an empty spot in the air. “Such a beautiful, warmhearted man. He had a woman with him the first time, so I figured he was already taken. But he came back last year to talk more about the cow situation, and he was with just one other guy this time. When I asked about his woman, he said they weren’t together.”

“Did you let him know you were interested?”

“Yes. He was super nice about it, but he turned me down.” Amelia sighs and leans back against the couch. “Those are the breaks, I guess. We can’t have everyone who catches our eye.”

“No. I guess not.” I’m kind of upset for her. She’s beautiful and intelligent and competent and funny and generous. What man wouldn’t want her? “Well, someone will come along eventually.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It wasn’t a sure thing in the old world, and it’s probably less of a chance of finding someone who suits you perfectly now. Most people just make do.”

I sit very still.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” she adds quickly.

I laugh. “I know you weren’t. Although I guess I did kind of make do. But I got really lucky to stumble on someone as good as Jimmy.”

“You did get lucky. But he got lucky too. I knew it on that very first day he brought you home. You’re so pretty and have this kind of soft, angelic look, and he was gazing at you like his dreams had come to life.”

“No, he was not!”

“Yeah, he was. You just didn’t know him before, so you didn’t recognize it. He lucked out with you in a major way, and he’s been so happy since you moved in. Happier than I can remember seeing him.”

I shift in my chair, trying not to look too embarrassed. “Well, I’m glad it worked out for us. These practical arrangements probably have just as much a chance of flopping as succeeding.”

“Yeah. A lot of the ones I’ve seen haven’t even lasted a year. Life is too hard to rely only on attraction. There’s got to be more to it to make it work.”

“I guess so.”

Jimmy and I haven’t even been together seven months yet. We haven’t come close to a year. There’s no telling whether we’ll make it or not. But things have gone well so far, so I’m hopeful.

“Anyway,” Amelia says, pushing herself to her feet. “I guess I better get my stuff packed up if we want to make the walk to the Santiagos before dinner.”

“Yeah. I’ll pack up the bread.”

I’m excited now. Amelia and I will walk to the Santiagos’ farm. Jimmy will be there. We’ll have dinner, and then Jimmy and I will head back home while Amelia returns to her parents’.

The week is almost over. Jimmy will be home soon.

I can’t wait.

Amelia and I have a cheerful walk to the Santiagos’ farm. We keep our guns at the ready because there’s been more sightings of gang presence beyond the border, but we don’t encounter anyone other than a few passing deer.

When we reach the Santiagos’ farmhouse, I’m disappointed to discover that Jimmy is still working in the fields with the others.

It’s ridiculous. I’ve gone since Monday morning without seeing him, but I was ready to see him now—right now—and instead, I have to wait.

I spot him immediately, even from a distance. I recognize the lines of his big body, the length of his hair and beard, the confident, efficient way he moves.

They’re reaching the end of the final field, Maria Santiago tells me, so they shouldn’t be more than another thirty minutes.

That’s too long as far as I’m concerned.

I’ve done fine this week. Just fine. So it’s silly that I’ve become so impatient right at the very end. I’m honestly not even sure what I’m impatient for. Sure, it will be nice to have sex again. Because Jimmy and I still have sex nearly every night, my body has become accustomed to the release, so I’ve been restless and jittery without it. But it’s got to be more than that.

I miss being close to him—in bed and out of it. I guess I’ve been with him long enough now that his company feels natural. I love Amelia, but it’s just not the same.

Obviously, it would be unforgivably rude to pout because I can’t talk to Jimmy immediately, so I smile and make polite small talk with Maria and Amelia. She accepts my bread gratefully, explaining she’s been so busy keeping the extra workers fed this week she hasn’t gotten any baking or laundry done. Amelia and I help her get started on dinner, and soon we’ve got a stew in a big pot to simmer.

As we’re finishing up, the workers start coming back in from the field. We greet them after they’ve given themselves a cursory wash in a rain barrel—all of them are dirty and exhausted—but they’re clearly too tired for long conversation.

Jimmy is still working. I see him out there. Of course he’d be the very last one to stop working. Surely he knows I’m here waiting for him.

Finally, when everyone else has come in and the preparations for dinner are in full force, I go outside to see what he’s keeping him.

He’s still crouched in the dirt. Doing something . Instead of finishing up and coming to see me at last.

As I wait, I irrationally get more and more hurt and irritated. There’s not any good reason for it, but the feeling tightens into a knot in my gut. My best guess is that his slowness is confirmation that he’s not nearly as excited to see me as I am to see him.

He probably didn’t miss me at all.

And if he did, it was only the sex.

Jerk. He could at least pretend to care about me. I’m well aware that he’s not nearly as dependent on me as I am on him. That’s the result of the vast differences between us in terms of resources and physical strength. He’s made it clear that he likes having me around. I make his life better. In fact, ever since that emotional breakdown I had after being attacked two months ago, he seems to have made an extra effort to let me know that he appreciates everything I do for him.

He hasn’t done anything wrong, and I shouldn’t expect him to need me to always be around the way I need him. But still…

He could have at least pretended to miss me.

I wait ten minutes outside by myself on the back patio of the house. Everyone else is talking and laughing inside.

And Jimmy—damn him—is still out there working.

I’ve been stewing on it for long enough that I’m outright angry, although I keep trying to swallow down the feeling because I know it’s mostly irrational.

I don’t want to be a silly, melodramatic woman who makes a big deal about little things.

But this is not little to me.

Finally, finally, he straightens up. He’s too far away for me to see many details, but from the motion of his head, I assume he’s analyzing the rows of planting that were just complete.

If he starts working again, I’m literally going to scream.

To my relief, he shakes out his arms and finally turns around toward the house.

I’m not sure if he sees me or not, but his pace quickens as he gets closer.

I’m standing there watching him and trying not to glare too obviously.

When he’s close enough for me to see his face, I can tell that his eyes are focused on me. He’s moving in my direction with his long, fast strides. Before he reaches me, however, he makes an abrupt detour.

I huff in indignation even though I almost immediately realize he’s going to a rain barrel to splash water on his hands, face, and arms.

I watch him do the quick, sloppy cleanup. He ends up with water all over his T-shirt. When combined with perspiration, it soaks all the way through the fabric. There aren’t any towels outside, so he can’t dry off. He just shakes himself off like a wet dog and then turns around to stride back to me.

He’s not smiling, and neither am I.

“About time you came in,” I say. There’s more bite in my tone than I ever use. I’m not normally a sharp, sassy person, but I’m definitely pissed. “I thought you might work all the way through dinner.”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t acknowledge my words in any way. When he reaches me, he grabs my hand and starts pulling me after him as he walks toward the right.

“What are you doing?” I demand, coming with him automatically. His grip on my hand is firm, but I have no doubt I could pull away. I just don’t want to. “Dinner is in less than ten minutes.”

“This won’t take more than five,” he says thickly.

“What? What is going on, Jimmy?” He’s walking so fast I have to jog to keep up with him. “If you want something, you could use your words like a civilized person instead of dragging me with you like some sort of caveman. I was out there waiting for you instead of enjoying myself inside with everyone else, so the least you can do is—”

My long, outraged ramble is interrupted by Jimmy swinging me around so my back is against the wall of the outbuilding that stores all the equipment. He takes my head in both his hands and stares at me intensely for a few seconds until he leans down and kisses me hard.

He doesn’t kiss me all that often. Ever since that first kiss when I was on his lap after my breakdown, he’ll do it occasionally. Usually when he’s soft and groggy after sex, but sometimes out of bed too. Kissing was never part of our relationship from the beginning, and we still hardly do it.

I really like when he kisses me, but I wouldn’t dream of complaining about the lack. Kissing is connected to romance, and that’s not what we have. I’ve always been determined not to tell myself lies or build hopes around flimsy delusions.

What Jimmy and I have is good, but it’s not love. And that’s fine. It doesn’t have to be.

So of course we don’t kiss a lot.

His kiss now really surprises me. It’s deep and hard and demanding, and his tongue moves all the way into my mouth. My lips part automatically, and my arms reach up around his neck. My heart is pounding so loud it’s unnerving. I’m sure Jimmy must be able to hear it.

He has to lean over pretty far to reach my mouth since he’s quite a bit taller than me. It’s fine for me but must be uncomfortable for him because it’s not long before he grabs me by the bottom and lifts me up, holding me against the wall at a better height for him to reach.

The move throws me off-balance even more. I wrap my legs around his middle more from self-preservation than from any intentionally sexy move. I’m wearing one of my long, cotton skirts today because I wanted to look pretty for Jimmy, so I have to awkwardly bunch it up to get my legs twined.

He’s making hungry sounds into the kiss. He smells of dirt and sweat, but for some reason it’s not as unpleasant as it should be.

He’s raw. Natural. Almost primitive. And something inside me wants it.

He’s panting when he finally breaks the kiss. I stare at him speechlessly, my cheeks blazing and my mouth so sensitized it might even be swollen. “What… what are you doing?”

“What do you think?” His voice is lower and huskier than normal.

“But… but dinner…”

“We’ll be done in just a few minutes.”

For some reason, that makes me giggle.

His expression softens slightly as he gazes at me. He’s still holding me against the wall, and he must be completely worn out from a full day of hard work, but my weight doesn’t appear to be a problem for him.

“You really want to have sex right here behind the garage? What if someone sees us?”

“You said they were all inside for dinner.”

“They are. I guess we can as long as it’s quick. How should we—?”

Once again, my words are cut off by Jimmy’s abrupt actions. He slides me down to my feet, yanks off my panties and undoes his jeans, pulling his cock out of his boxers.

“Oh.” My eyes are wide, and I’m so excited I can barely catch my breath. I’ve never seen Jimmy like this before—on the edge of control.

“You need some foreplay?”

I shake my head. The swell of feeling has had an effect on my body. I might not be as wet as I get when he has the time for extended foreplay, but I’m definitely wet enough for comfortable sex.

“Hold up your skirt.”

I do as he says, bunching it up toward my hips.

“Now part your legs a little more.”

When I’ve repositioned, he bends his knees enough to line himself up at my entrance and then pushes me up the wall as he edges himself inside me.

It’s intense, startling, even though I knew it was going to happen. He feels big and tight and there inside me, and I’m panting as I wrap my legs around him and hold on to his neck.

He’s got me pressed against the wall of the building, and it isn’t exactly comfortable. The texture is rough against my skin, even through the fabric of my clothes, and I feel the impact as he makes his first thrust.

But I don’t care. I’m on a weird, visceral high, and I want it to carry me away.

“Fuck,” he mutters, ducking his face against the crook of my neck as he thrusts his hips with a fast, primal rhythm. “Fuck, baby. I need this. I needed —” His words are interrupted by a long, hoarse groan as I start squeezing around him in my enthusiasm.

I’m not groaning, but I’m making weird little whimpers with every instroke. My eyes are blurring, and my head is overly full. I’m off-balance and overwhelmed and at the mercy of so many emotions and sensations that the world is spinning around me.

“That’s so good,” he murmurs when he’s capable of speech again. His motion is getting faster and harder. “You’re already so tight for me. You’ve been needing this too. Haven’t you? Haven’t you?”

I’m going to end up with a bruise on my back for sure, but I don’t even care right now. Nothing has ever felt as intensely right as this. “Yeah. Yeah! Jimmy, yes!” That’s the extent of my available vocabulary at the moment.

“Are you gonna come for me, baby?”

“Y-yeah!” I feel the climax mounting already. My pussy is fluttering in anticipation, and I tense up and squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to reach it. “Jimmy, I need it.”

He’s grunting roughly, the sound somehow matching his motion. He pushes into me until the coil of pressure finally releases at my center.

I choke on a cry as the orgasm overwhelms me. He comes right after, yanking his cock out at the last moment and squeezing it between our bodies as he climaxes. He smothers his exclamation of release against my shoulder.

It’s over just as quickly as it started. My body is humming with satisfaction—and is also sore and shaky—and he gently puts me down on my feet. I have to cling to him to keep my knees from buckling.

We stand like that for a minute, until we’ve caught our breath and recovered our balance. Then I smooth down my skirt, and he tucks his cock back into his boxers and zips up his jeans.

I giggle, suddenly self-conscious. I have no idea why that just happened or what it might mean.

He smiles and strokes my hot cheek with his knuckles.

“I thought you’d be exhausted after all that work,” I finally say.

“I am. But some things are more important.” He slants a look at me. “I did miss you, Chloe.”

I’m so happy I beam up at him. “I missed you too.”

“I thought you were annoyed by me taking too long.”

“Oh.” Momentarily stumped, I decide how to handle it. “I was. You were being very slow, and I was tired of waiting for you.”

“I was tryin’ to finish the row. I hate leavin’ things unfinished.”

“I know you do. But still…” I give a little sniff, mostly pretending to hold on to my hurt feelings.

“Do I need to fuck you again to prove how much I missed you?” He asks the question in a teasing growl.

It works. I laugh again. He puts a hand on my back as we walk around the outbuilding and toward the back door of the main house. We’re going to need to act normal when we head in for dinner or someone will suspect what we just did.

We both wash up before joining the others. Jimmy got dirt and sweat on me, and it’s no longer imbued with that primitive significance, so I want to get it off.

Dinner is good. We chat with the others, and no one says a word that indicates they suspect we snuck off to have sex.

I’m in a good mood as the meal ends and Jimmy and I start back home.

I have no reason not to be.

Jimmy is coming home, and he admitted he missed me. He made it clear how much. And maybe a little insecure voice inside me has to acknowledge that the main thing he seems to have missed is sex—that’s what he was immediately focused on, that’s the thing he needed to act on—but that still doesn’t mean anything problematic.

Of course the main thing he misses about our relationship is sex. That’s one of the primary things I offer him. That and keeping his house. He cares about me. He wants to protect me. I have real value to him. And he misses me when we’re apart.

The ways that I missed him weren’t really about those things—they were deeper, more intimate—but that doesn’t have to matter in the long run. We’ve both gotten what we wanted out of this arrangement. It’s worked for us—better than we could have ever imagined—and I’m not going to mess things up by expecting something that will never happen.

Romance isn’t in the cards for me, and that’s fine. It’s never been the most important thing. We can still build a satisfying, lifelong relationship without it.

So I’m going to be happy with what I have.

12

TWO WEEKS LATER, I wake up feeling sick.

Not feverish or in pain or anything debilitating—just slightly dizzy and nauseated enough to feel icky.

It’s probably something I ate. While I try to be as careful as possible, we don’t have the same kind of food protection and sanitation that was common in the old world, so it’s not at all unusual for people to get sick from something they ate.

Last month, a woman in her sixties died after getting very sick from eating meat that had started to spoil.

I’m not aware of eating anything risky. In fact, I’ve eaten exactly the same things that Jimmy has this week. But sometimes germs will hit different people in different ways. I’m not sick enough to stay in bed, so I try to ignore the queasiness.

Jimmy has been working like a fiend on our own garden this week, trying to get the most intensive tasks taken care of before he’s called to help out somewhere else. We’ve got greens and potatoes and carrots and asparagus and scallions and celery and herbs and even some tomato plants in our sunniest spot. He’s tried some other vegetables, but in the woods as we are, we’ve got too much shade for the more sun-hungry options.

Greta has given me some training and the supplies necessary for me to can some of our produce so that we won’t have to rely solely on our neighbors for vegetables during the winter. But it’s hard and stressful because I’m still not very confident with the process. Yesterday Jimmy brought in big batches of asparagus and tomatoes. Way too much for us to eat before they go bad.

I’ve got to try to can as much of them as possible today so they don’t go to waste.

The sight of the big basket of vegetables on the kitchen floor makes me feel even sicker than before. My stomach roils, and I take a few deep breaths before I scramble a couple of eggs for Jimmy’s breakfast. I’ll stick to only toast this morning to be safe.

When Jimmy comes in from outside, he smells like the woods and morning air. It’s warm enough now that he’s given up his flannel shirts and is wearing just an old black T-shirt with his jeans.

He frowns as he washes his hands. “You okay?”

I’m not sure what he saw in me that makes him ask. He’s barely even looking at me.

“Yeah. I’m fine. How’s the Boss this morning?”

One of our hens is loud and bossy and always trying to supervise the others. We’ve started calling her the Boss, and yesterday she was quiet and listless, which worried me a lot.

“She’s perked up. Gave the others a long lecture about getting too close.”

“Oh, that’s good. I’ll check on her a few times today to make sure she’s okay.” As I speak, I put Jimmy’s eggs and toast on the table in front of him and then sit down with my toast and water.

He frowns at me again. “That all you’re eatin’?”

“Yeah. I’m not hungry.”

He narrows his eyes like he doesn’t approve, but he doesn’t continue the topic.

After a few minutes, he’s nearly emptied his plate. He asks, “You workin’ on all that today?” He nods toward the basket of vegetables.

“Yes. I’m going to try to get as much canned as I can.”

“All right. Good. Be a shame to waste it all. Those tomatoes turned out real good this year.” He scrapes his fork on the plate, getting the last of his eggs.

The sound grates on me. I make an effort not to cringe. “I’ll do my best.”

He’s peering at me again, and it’s getting on my nerves. I get up to grab his empty plate and take it to the sink.

“You in a bad mood today?” he asks to my back.

“No,” I say in a crisp, overly controlled voice. “I’m not in a bad mood.”

“Seems like you’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m not.” I turn back around with a forced smile.

“Yikes.” He’s shaking his head as he stands up. “You know I hate that smile. What did I do to piss you off?”

I have to bite back a groan of frustration. He’s usually quiet in the mornings, focused on preparing for work and only discussing the particulars of the day. I don’t know why he’s decided that now’s the time for a long, annoying conversation about my mood. “You didn’t do anything. I’m sorry if I’m being crabby. I guess I’m kind of tired today.”

“Okay.” He’s frowning again but in his thoughtful, observant way rather than his bad-tempered way. He steps over so he’s closer to me. “You don’t gotta to do all that canning today. They’re not gonna go bad overnight.”

“I know. I’ve got it.” I try a smile again, and this time it must not come across so fake and frightening.

Jimmy’s mouth softens. “You gettin’ sick?”

“No. I’m really fine.”

“Okay.” He stares down at me, and for a minute I think he’s going to kiss me or something.

He doesn’t. He gives his head a little shake. “I better get workin’ while it’s still cool.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get to work too.”

He gives me one more quick glance over his shoulder before he walks out the back door.

The day doesn’t get better. I do eventually start feeling less queasy, but the canning doesn’t go well. At all.

It doesn’t help that I’m absolutely terrified of messing it up and poisoning both of us with botulism. I end up ruining three batches of tomatoes before I manage to get three jars canned effectively. I do better with the asparagus, but I’m sweating, messy, and dead on my feet when I finally have to admit I’m done for the day.

I feel sick over the amount of tomatoes I wasted until I realize I can make a big pot of vegetable stew for dinner to use them up. That doesn’t sound particularly appetizing to me at the moment, but it will be better than throwing them all away.

Jimmy comes in briefly for a sandwich for lunch but doesn’t linger, which is just as well because the kitchen is an absolute mess. After I’ve cleaned and put away all the canning equipment, I fall down onto the couch to catch my breath and revive my energy.

It’s not laundry day or baking day or even cleaning the outhouse day, so I don’t have another major chore that needs to be done. I mentally estimate how much time it will take me to clean and chop the other vegetables for the stew and decide I have at least a couple of hours to rest. I don’t know why I’m so exhausted. Yes, the canning was a major task, but it shouldn’t have wiped me out so completely.

With that decided, I summon the strength to heft myself off the couch and go out back to toss the chickens some feed and check on the Boss. She’s definitely back to her full, supervisory form today, so that makes me happy.

I wander over to say hello to the pigs as well. They come snorting over enthusiastically for greetings and a little snack.

My animal duties complete, I’m looking forward to a short snooze on the couch, but first I check around the corner to see how Jimmy is doing in the garden.

He’s standing on the far side. Actually not really standing. Bending over strangely. Stiffly. He’s not working in the dirt. He’s holding his back with both hands.

Something is wrong. I know it immediately.

“Jimmy?” I run over, carefully avoiding the new planting as I go. “Are you okay?”

He’s trying to straighten up when I reach him. His features are twisted in obvious pain. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not! What on earth happened?”

“Nothing. Just overdid it on my back. I’ll be fine.” He’s still cringing as he attempts to straighten his spine. “Damn it.”

Slammed with a wave of utter helplessness, I sway on my feet, torn between reaching out to support him and keeping my distance to not make anything worse. “What do you need?”

“I just need a minute. It’ll stretch out soon and I’ll be fine.”

“If you keep working, it’s just going to get worse.”

“Don’t matter.” He eyes the unplanted rows of the garden. “Got to get the rest of this in this week.”

“Okay, but you have one more whole day. You don’t have to do it today.”

“I gotta—”

“Jimmy!” My voice is sharp. Much sharper than normal.

He blinks in obvious surprise, gaping at me.

“You’ve got to rest your back or you’re not going to be able to even get up. Then where will we be? You won’t be able to do anything around here, and you won’t be able to help anyone else. Don’t be stupid and stubborn about it.”

He takes a few raspy breaths, and I can see the conflict on his face as he internally debates his choices.

The problem is he has almost no choices. Both of us know it.

“Damn it,” he mutters again, staring at the ground, still bent over at a weird angle.

“I know. It’s terrible. But what else can you do? So let’s go in and you can maybe lie down for a little while. Do you think that will help?”

“Probably.” His mumble is decidedly reluctant, but he doesn’t resist when I gently turn him toward the house and help him limp his painful way inside.

I’ve got to take a washcloth and clean the dirt off his hands, arms, and face because he can’t get in the position to do it himself. I kneel down to pull off his shoes and socks, and it takes a huge effort to take off his sweaty clothes without jarring him in a way that hurts like hell.

I’m panting almost as much as he is when I’ve finally got him down to his boxers. He’s still not what anyone would consider clean, and he smells pretty ripe. But there’s no way he’s capable of further bathing at the moment.

“The bed will be better than the couch, right?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah. But the bed is too… too soft. I need to lie on the floor.”

“The floor? Are you sure?” I’m twisting my hands together nervously as he nods.

I don’t like this. At all. But this is entirely the wrong time to argue. So I quickly spread out an old blanket on the floor of the bedroom and help him limp over.

I grab his pillow while he’s lowering himself with slow, stiff movements, then fit it under his head as he stretches out with a long groan.

He keeps his legs bent up, breathing raggedly, staring up at the ceiling.

“Is this all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

He’s not fine. There’s no way in the world this is fine.

He’s falling apart, and now so am I.

“Has something like this happened to your back before?” I ask him after he’s managed to even out his breathing.

He moistens his lips. “Yeah.”

“And lying on the floor helped it?”

“It’s better than a soft bed.”

“Okay.” I grab a crocheted throw blanket and drape it over him, worried he’s going to get too cool in just his underwear. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m okay. I just need to lie here for a while.”

“How long did it take to feel better last time?” I ask, almost shaking in nerves about hearing the answer.

He hesitates for a long time before he admits, “Took a couple of days.”

Shit.

That’s what I was afraid of.

What the hell are we going to do?

The only way we can manage all the work at this time of year is for both of us to be in top form. If Jimmy is down for the count, it’s all going to rest on me.

And I’ve never been strong or competent or experienced at any of this stuff. Jimmy must be out of his mind with worry over how I’m going to handle it all.

He doesn’t even trust me to stay safe on my own. He’ll never be able to trust me to handle all his chores on top of mine.

I don’t even trust myself.

All that bombards me as I stare down at him. I manage to swallow down my panic enough to murmur, “Okay. We’ll do the best we can.”

When I glance at him again, his eyes are open and resting on my face. I have no idea what he’s thinking.

“I’ll probably be okay tomorrow,” he finally mumbles.

“Maybe so. Let’s just take it as it comes. I’m going to get you some water. You haven’t drunk much today, so you need to. Then you just rest, and I can take care of everything for the rest of the day.”

He licks his lips again, his eyes never leaving my face. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure. I know how to do all the chores for the animals. I’ll put up your gardening stuff, and we can figure out what to do about that tomorrow.”

“I needed to clean the chicken coop this evenin’.”

“I can do that. I know how.”

“You’re not feelin’ good today.”

“I feel fine now,” I say through my teeth. He must believe I’m absolutely useless if I can’t even handle the basics in a crisis. “I can do it.”

“Okay.” He takes a raspy breath as he shifts his hips slightly, obviously trying to ease the pressure on his back. “Thanks. Sorry ’bout this.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

I leave the bedroom after that. I go outside to retrieve his gardening tools and stow them in the shed. Then I figure I better clean out the coop now while I have some remaining adrenaline from the emergency.

Jimmy can usually get the chore done in thirty or forty minutes, but it takes me an hour and a half. When I’m done, I have no time for a break because I need to start chopping vegetables for dinner.

I work on the stew and let it simmer for a long time to break down the tomatoes and soften the other vegetables. Jimmy is still lying on the floor with his knees up. His eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. I ask him if he needs anything, and he says he’s fine.

He’s not fine, but there’s nothing I can do to change that.

I finally sit on the couch and rest for a little while, getting up occasionally to stir the stew.

When it’s done, I ask Jimmy if he wants to eat on the floor in there or if he’s able to get up.

He needs to pee, so he manages to get up with my help.

I tell him I can bring him something to pee in, but he insists that walking might help stretch out his muscles. I walk with him out of the house and across the walkway to the outhouse. He has to rest a few minutes after he goes until he’s able to walk back.

This time he sits in his seat at the table. He readjusts several times until he evidently finds a tolerable position. He’s silent and broody as he eats his stew and cheese toast.

I’m still not very hungry, so I only have a very small bowl and a piece of toast.

He notices the small amount I eat. I know he does, although he doesn’t say anything about it. When we’re done, I ask if he wants to try the bed, but he insists the floor will be better for now.

I’m not going to argue. I hold his pillow in position as he lowers himself down. His body visibly relaxes when the pressure is finally off his lower back.

“Okay,” I say, jittery and uncertain about this whole situation. “I’m going to clean up, take care of the animals, and get things ready for the night. Is there anything special I need to do tonight?”

“Nah. Just the normal. Thanks.”

I wash dishes and clean up the kitchen. Then I go outside to take care of Jimmy’s normal evening chores. It takes me twice as long as it takes him, so it’s fully dark by the time I get back inside and lock up.

I clean myself and change into my nightgown. “You’re okay on the floor like that for the whole night?”

“Yeah. Think it will be better.”

It doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, but I’ve never had my back go out like that, so what do I know? I don’t argue. Just give him an extra blanket so he won’t be cold and bring his toothbrush over with a cup so he can at least brush before bed.

When everything is done, I turn off the lantern next to our bed and climb under the covers. I scoot all the way over to my side even though Jimmy isn’t in bed with me.

We lie in silence in the dark. I occasionally hear him breathing. Moving around.

This whole situation sucks.

I can only pray it will be better tomorrow.

The next morning, I wake up while it’s still dark, feeling kind of sick to my stomach.

It’s probably nerves. I’m almost immediately anxious about how Jimmy did during the night and how he’s feeling this morning. I was so tired I slept all the way through without waking up even once.

I’ve only managed to swing my legs over the side of the bed before realizing that Jimmy is slowly sitting up too.

“How is it today?” I ask, slightly breathless.

He waits until he’s sitting upright before he responds. “Better, I think.”

“Oh good.” The words blow out with a rush of relief. I scramble over to crouch beside him. “Do you need help getting up?”

“I think I can do it.”

He does, although it’s a painfully slow process. He’s obviously not his normal self, but he does manage to stand up and straighten his back without cringing or groaning, which is definite improvement.

“I just need to stretch out some,” he mutters as I flutter beside him, trying to decide how he needs me to help him.

“Okay. That’s good.”

While he does some stretching, I quickly complete my morning ablutions and pull on clean underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt.

I’m hopeful when I come back from the outhouse, and I’m almost to the bedroom when I hear a sharp, pained exclamation from Jimmy.

His back must have grabbed again as he was trying to pull on his jeans.

“Damn it!” He gasps out the word, dropping his jeans back on the floor. He stands motionless for several seconds, his skin and lips looking dead white.

Terrified he’s about to fall over, I guide him over to sit on the side of the bed.

He’s breathing raggedly and planting both hands on either side of his hips, as if he’s trying to keep some of his weight off his back.

“Damn it,” he mutters again. “I was gonna get back in the garden again today.”

“That’s not happening right now.” I speak in a matter-of-fact rather than bossy way since I don’t want to rile up his stubborn streak. “You can see how you feel later on.”

I don’t say it, but I can’t see any possible way he’s going to be working in the garden today at all. Or even tomorrow. He needs to give his back time to get better.

“Damn it all to hell.” The words are soft and pained—like they’ve been pushed out of him by force.

“I’m sorry. But I don’t know what else we can do.”

“Gotta get it done this week,” he mutters, shifting his weight restlessly between his legs and his butt.

He’s irrationally fixated on that garden. Leaving the last rows another week or so aren’t likely to do major damage to our harvest. Even if they’re not planted at all, it will mean nothing more than fewer greens later this summer.

Not the end of the world.

He’s not in any fit state for a rational discussion right now, however, so I don’t even try.

“Do you think you can make it to the outhouse?” I ask him quietly. “I can bring something in here for you to—”

“No. I can do it.”

I don’t like the bite in his voice, but I make myself not react. Instead, I help him up, letting him lean on me a little as he limps out, goes to the bathroom, and then slowly comes back in.

I convince him to try out the bed, insisting it will be easier for him to get in and out of than the floor. Then I leave him stretched out on the sheet in a T-shirt and his boxers, panting and glaring up at the ceiling.

I go outside to feed and tend the animals first. Then fix a quick breakfast sandwich for Jimmy—something he can eat on the bed. I eat my toast as I clean up.

Today is Friday. Baking day. And I need to make four extra loaves since I promised Greta I’d bring her some when we go to dinner tomorrow.

Hopefully Jimmy will be okay to walk by then. He’ll never let me go by myself. And if we don’t show up, his parents will send someone out here to check on us.

So my plan for today was to focus on bread. But I keep thinking about those last rows of the garden that need planting.

There’s really not that many left. Jimmy said they would just take him an hour or so to complete. That sounds doable.

Surely I can do it.

I’ve never done much gardening, but I learned the basics that first month at the Carlsons’, and I’ve helped Jimmy with weeding and picking ripe tomatoes and greens.

There’s no reason I can’t finish the planting for him. It’s still early morning. I’m not feeling particularly energetic or invigorated, but my back is fine. It’s cool out right now. I can take a couple of hours to finish the garden before I start my baking.

Why shouldn’t I?

Then Jimmy won’t have to keep brooding about it or possibly make his back worse by returning to work too soon.

Having made a decision, I check on Jimmy one more time to make sure he doesn’t need anything.

He’s still on the bed, uncovered and doing a lot of snarling.

I leave him to it and head outside.

13

I DRASTICALLY UNDERESTIMATED the amount of time it would take me to finish Jimmy’s work in the garden. It doesn’t take me twice as long as him.

It takes me three times as long.

Three hours.

Three exhausting, muscle-straining hours.

No wonder his back went out. This is absolutely miserable, and I can’t figure out a way to position myself to make it easier on my thighs and back.

I work straight through, afraid if I stop for a break, I’ll never start up again.

Even though I force myself not to rush or move too fast, I’m still out of breath and way too hot not even an hour after I start.

When I finally get to the end, I drop the trowel and slowly straighten up. My thighs are sorer than my back is. I feel like I might melt away completely despite the mild air. And for some reason, focusing again on the broad landscape of the pond, house, and forest instead of a tight view on my task makes me dizzy.

Ridiculously dizzy.

I breathe in slow, deliberate inhales, trying to keep the world from spinning around me.

It doesn’t work.

I end up having to step out of the garden and throw up in a clump of long grass.

Fortunately, I feel better once I get it out. I’m still exhausted and sore but no longer dizzy. I manage to pick up the tools and put them back in the shed before I go inside.

I clean up before I check in on Jimmy so he won’t know what I’ve been doing and get all needlessly riled up.

He’s still grumpy and impatient, so I bring him a fresh glass of water and leave him alone.

It’s late morning now, and I haven’t even started on my baking. I’ve already done so much manual labor I’m at risk of falling over, but I push through and get the kitchen ready for baking.

Then I force myself to start on the familiar process. Mixing and kneading and leaving it to rise and pounding down and pulling and letting it rise again and then finally baking it in the oven.

Jimmy comes trudging out of the bedroom around lunchtime, still wearing the same T-shirt and boxers. He heads for the outhouse without a word, and I don’t go with him since he seems to be walking more steadily now.

Plus he’s annoying me.

“What the hell?” he demands as he bursts back in a few minutes later.

Shit. I forgot he’d see the garden.

“What?” I ask, blinking up at him innocently.

He grimaces. “What the fuck did you do in the garden?”

“I finished it.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Why the hell did you do that?”

“Because you were worried about it and I was capable of doing it. What exactly is your problem?”

My bad-tempered question appears to stump him. He’s silent for a moment, still frowning at me. “You didn’t have to do that,” he finally says in a milder tone.

“I know I didn’t have to. But I did it anyway. Are you seriously mad at me about it?”

“No. Not mad.” He’s relaxed now into the kind of mumbling he does when he’s self-conscious. “But I coulda done it. You mighta hurt yourself out there.”

I gasp, half-amused and half-indignant. “Why would I hurt myself? I’m not totally inept, you know.”

“I know that. But you got enough to do in here.” He nods toward my baking. “You’re gonna get too tired. You’re not feelin’ good.”

“I’m feeling fine.” He has no way of knowing that I’ve not been feeling great today or that I threw up earlier, and I’m certainly not going to inform him of that fact. So I’m not sure what he’s basing his assumption on. “Everything’s fine, Jimmy. I did okay.”

“Looks like you did real good,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes.

The understated compliment makes me blush in pleasure.

Since I’m busy baking, I fix us sandwiches again for lunch. We eat them at the table with a glass of milk. Afterward, I expect Jimmy to return to bed, but he doesn’t. He walks around some more, insisting that stretching his muscles will help. Then he camps out in the kitchen as I work.

He wants to help me with the bread, but the mixing and the kneading and the leaning over into the oven would all put strain on his back, so I don’t let him. Instead, I give him a pile of mending to do, telling him if he insists on working, he can do that.

He chuckles but immediately starts on the project. He knows how. He had to make do on his own for a long time. His fingers are a lot bigger than mine and not as nimble, so his stitches aren’t as small and straight, but it doesn’t matter. We just need to get the clothes with fabric that’s still good but that have torn seams to be wearable again.

His mood improves as the afternoon progresses and so does mine even as I get more and more tired. When the final two loaves get put in the oven, I sink into my chair with a groan.

“You done too much today,” he says disapprovingly.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yeah, you have. And you look kinda pale. You got a stomach bug or somethin’?”

“No! Why would you ask that?” Surely he doesn’t know I threw up earlier.

“You haven’t been eatin’ much. Somethin’s not right.”

“Everything is fine, but I am tired. It’s more work than I usually do. I really have no idea how you do so much all the time.”

As I hoped, buttering him up like that works to divert his attention. He drops his eyes and mumbles something incomprehensible in response.

After I clean up, Jimmy insists I rest for a while. He’s moving better—still stiffly but not wincing with pain at every step—so he goes outside to check on the animals while I stretch out on the couch.

I fall asleep before he gets back, and I don’t wake up until I smell ham frying.

Jimmy is making dinner.

Dinner is good. Jimmy is closer to his normal self, and the mood between us is pleasant and companionable. I’m a little embarrassed by my long nap, but I do feel quite a bit better now.

The evening passes quickly, and I’m relieved when Jimmy gets into bed after washing up and changing his boxers. He definitely didn’t need to sleep on the floor again.

I get the animals ready for the night and lock up the house after I go to the bathroom. Since I’m dirtier and sweatier than normal, I take longer than usual to clean up. I put my gown on since Jimmy’s back isn’t going to be up to having sex tonight.

He’s watching me as I come to bed.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks as I climb over him.

“Yes. Of course. Why?”

“Don’t know.” His eyebrows are pulled together. “Guess you’re real tired.”

“Not so bad now that I had that nap. How’s your back?”

“It’s better. Not great but better.”

“You want me to give you a back rub?”

“What?” He gapes at me.

“A back rub?” I frown as I sit on my folded legs beside his prone body. “I thought it might help because your muscles are all clenched up.”

“Oh.”

“If you don’t want it, it’s totally fi—”

“I want it!” He appears startled by his outburst. Chuckles slightly. “I mean, you don’t gotta do it just ’cause I’m all enfeebled. Don’t like you feelin’ sorry for me.”

I giggle at that. “I’m not feeling sorry for you. I just thought it might make you feel better.”

“It probably will.”

“Okay then. Can you turn over on your stomach?”

It takes him a minute to resituate his big body because moving too fast or at the wrong angle might cause his back to catch again. But he’s eventually settled on his stomach with his head turned in my direction. “You sure? You did a lot of work today, so you really don’t gotta coddle—” He breaks off his sentence with a gasp when I gently stroke down from his shoulders to the waistband of his boxers.

“Did that hurt?” I ask, a little nervous about making things worse.

“No. No way. Didn’t hurt at all.”

Relieved by this reassurance, I start massaging him with moderate pressure, starting at his shoulders and moving down. I’ve given him back rubs before when he’s overworked himself, but his back has never gone out like this before, so I don’t know how much pressure will be best.

Every single muscle in his back is clenched up. He’s got tons of knots and trigger points I try to release by pushing into. He gasps and moans with increasing shamelessness as I work my way down his back.

His lower back is the worst. That’s the source of most of the pain. I do my best to rub the tight muscles but not overdo it.

He’s a lot more relaxed when I’ve reached his boxers. He’s still making those low, extended groans that prove how much he’s enjoying it.

His responsiveness makes me feel good, causes something deep and heavy to clench below my belly, like all my female parts are trying to grab him.

It’s an odd and intimate feeling, and I’m not sure what to make of it.

I rub his butt through the fabric of his boxers. Those muscles are really clenched up too, so I gently pull down his underwear.

He’s turned on. I realize it when he lifts up so I can pull the waistband down over his groin.

I don’t mention his erection. Instead, I massage the tight muscles of his ass and then slide my hands down to the back of his thighs.

He moans his way through it, occasionally forming guttural words. “Yes. Chloe. So good. Right there. I need it right there. Chloe, baby, you make me feel so good.”

My whole body is buzzing with arousal and an even deeper kind of possessiveness when I finally withdraw my hands.

Jimmy lies motionless, breathing raggedly.

“Can you turn over?” I ask, my voice cracking strangely.

He does as I ask immediately, moving slower than normal so he doesn’t jar his back.

He’s completely naked now. His erection is big and hard, resting upward against his lower belly. He’s deeply flushed, and his eyes are on my face.

I know what he needs, so I give it to him. I reposition myself so I can lean over and slide my mouth around the head of his cock.

He starts groaning again immediately, taking my head in both his hands, combing his fingers through my loose hair. “Yes, baby. That’s what I need. Take me all the way in your hot little mouth.”

I love it when he talks to me as I do this for him. He doesn’t always. It’s only when he’s particularly relaxed or in a certain possessive mood that he talks a lot. But whenever he does, it makes me feel safe and protected. Undeniably proud to hear how much he enjoys what I do for him.

I try to relax my throat muscles so my gag reflex doesn’t trigger. Some nights I take him in farther than others, and I manage to do pretty well tonight.

“That’s right,” he’s muttering, guiding the speed and rhythm of the bobbing of my head with his strong hands. “You’re always so sweet and hot and good. You always know just how to get me there.”

I’m mumbling out sounds of pleasure around the thick substance of his cock in my mouth. I’m ridiculously turned on already. I often get going just from sucking him off, but not usually this much this quickly. My hips are rocking involuntarily to match the rhythm of my hard sucks.

“Look at how good you’re doin’ tonight,” he goes on, his fingers tightening into fists in my hair. His stomach and thigh muscles are tensing up. “You’re really gettin’ into it. You’re really likin’ doin’ this for me, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, fighting the instinct to lift my bottom into the air. “Mm-hmm.”

My body is growing impatient, but the rest of me wants this to last for as long as possible since it’s making me feel so good. So I don’t reach down to massage his balls like I normally do. I keep sucking rhythmically, responding to the urging of his hands as I slide my mouth up and down on his cock.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps, arching his back slightly as his body clenches up even more. “It’s feelin’ so good. I’m gettin’ so close. You’re gonna take me all the way, aren’t you? And that’s gonna make you feel so good. You love bein’ so good at takin’ care of me this way, don’t you?”

“Mm-hmm.” I’m not sure how he’s able to read my mind so clearly, but he’s somehow landed on exactly what I’m feeling. I keep hollowing out my cheeks and sucking as hard as I can.

He lets out a loud exclamation, and his whole body jerks. His hands accelerate the speed of my head motion. “Yes, baby. Just like that. Need it just like that.”

His hips are rocking slightly. I know he tries hard not to thrust into my throat because he doesn’t want to choke me, but his body can’t seem to help to make that primal motion into my mouth.

I love it. I love all of it. I’m washed with pleasure and pride and deep need and white-hot assurance.

I’m making wet, humming sounds around his cock when it finally starts to pulse in my mouth. His body jerks and his hips lift up off the bed as he releases a loud, long cry of pure satisfaction.

He’s still holding my head as he comes into my mouth. I’m ready for it, want to swallow all of him down tonight.

I’m hot and sweaty and shaky as I suck him through the duration of his climax, then finally let my lips slide up to the tip and release him.

He’s collapsed back on the pillow, his arms and legs limp and his eyes closed. I stroke his cock for a minute as it softens. Then I caress his chest and belly until his breathing has slowed.

He pulls me down so I’m curled at his side in the crook of his arm. “That was mind-blowin’, baby.”

I kiss his chest lightly. “Good.”

“You really got into it, didn’t you? Looked like you were gettin’ turned on.”

“I was. I don’t know why.” I’m squirmy and embarrassed by the admission. “But I don’t think we should risk real sex. I’m not going to hurt your back again.”

“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully. “Not sure how much I’d be up for. And you took me so far tonight might be a while for me to get hard again anyway. But I can still do something for you.”

He trails his hand down my arm and my hip and my thigh until he’s edging his way between my thighs. “Shit, you’re real wet tonight, aren’t you?”

“I told you I got turned on.”

He’s smiling. “Didn’t know how much. Let’s see. I better not change positions so I don’t hurt my back. That blow job you gave me was about all I can handle tonight. But I’m still gonna do you good. Why don’t you get on your hands and knees and point your little ass toward me?”

I gasp, startled and excited at the same time. “What?”

“You heard me. I’m gonna take care of you real good. So hands and knees. Right now.”

I swallow hard as I do as he instructs, positioning myself on my hands and knees with my bottom near his hand. “Like this?”

“Yeah, that’s real good. But lower your shoulders so you’re at a better angle.”

I do as he says, folding my arms and resting my cheek on the mattress with my bottom in the air. It’s embarrassing and sexy as hell at the exact same time. The new angle opens my pussy up to him more fully, and I can feel the cool air of the room against my aroused flesh.

“That’s good. Look how round and soft that little ass is. You like showin’ it to me like this?”

“Y-yeah,” I admit. “I don’t even know why.”

“I know why.” He rubs my butt with slow, firm strokes, eventually moving down to the cleft between my thighs. He finds my clit and pushes into it.

I whimper at the shock of sensation.

“I love seein’ you like this,” he murmurs, sliding two fingers into my wet pussy and scissoring them to stretch my inner walls. “Givin’ yourself to me so sweetly. Opening up all the way for me.”

It’s already feeling so good I’m beyond words. I’m having to smother my whines and moans of pleasure against the bedding.

He pulls his hand back and penetrates me again, with three fingers this time. He curls them, rubbing my G-spot and then pumping in and out in fast strokes.

I’m making all kinds of sloppy, helpless sounds and pushing my bottom back against his hand.

“Don’t hide your face from me. I want to see and hear how much you’re feelin’.”

I turn my head to the side to free my mouth. I’m so far gone already that I feel saliva at the corner of my lips and my eyes are blurred over.

“That’s right. Let me see you come.” He speeds up the rhythm of his hand-fuck. He’s pushing into me vigorously now with a slapping noise and the sound of wet suction. I make shameless sobs as my climax mounts and mounts but doesn’t break.

“You’re almost there now. I’m gonna give you everything you need.”

I have no idea what to expect when I suddenly feel a sharp slap on one of my butt cheeks. The slice of sensation stabs through my cresting tension and breaks it. I cry out loudly as my body shakes through a hard orgasm.

“There you go. That pussy keeps grabbin’ my fingers so tight. I can feel how hard you’re comin’. But you’re not done yet.”

Before I’ve come down even a little, he spanks me again, pushing me into another orgasm so suddenly that I cry out even louder.

He keeps it up for what feels like a long time. Every time he gives me a little spank, my body reacts like it’s been revved into overdrive. It’s either a series of orgasms or one that lasts a ridiculously long time. I don’t know which, and it doesn’t even matter.

I’m finally so exhausted that I beg him to stop. He slows his fingers’ pumping and caresses my hot bottom instead of swatting it again.

“You did so good,” he murmurs hoarsely. “Never seen you let go this much before.”

“I kn-know.” I’m still gasping. Completely wiped out. My body is buzzing, pulsing, throbbing with lingering pleasure and bone-deep satisfaction. “I can’t believe I came so hard.”

“You did real good.” He strokes me some more until he finally gives my butt one more soft pat and then helps me get back into position at his side. “I’m real proud of you.”

I half giggle and half sob, ridiculously touched by the words even though they embarrass me. When I’m nestled against him, I suddenly remember something. “Oh no. Your back! Did you hurt it?”

“Course not. Barely moved except for my arms. I’m pretty proud of myself too for doin’ all that for you without even getting up off my back.”

I dissolve into more giggles, but I don’t have the energy for more conversation. He strokes my hair gently, and soon I’m sound asleep in the crook of his arm.

It’s not until I wake up feeling queasy again the following morning that it occurs to me that something else might be making me feel sick.

14

I FEEL sickish every morning for the next week. Once the thought entered my mind, I started counting days backward and realize my period is almost two weeks late.

It’s absolutely terrifying.

Not once have Jimmy and I talked about having a baby. He pulls out before ejaculation every single time we have sex, including during my period, so it’s quite clear to me that he doesn’t want to get me pregnant. I don’t want it either. I haven’t made it even one year into this relationship, and while it’s been working well for both of us, I’m still not at all confident about either my ability to fulfill his expectations or about his feelings and commitment to me.

He’s been good to me. No question about that. And he’s made changes based on the few times I’ve expressed upset or unhappiness. So I’m sure he wants this to work as much as I do.

But that doesn’t mean it will.

Bringing a baby into it—one neither of us were looking for—seems a surefire way to blow up the tenuous foundation we’ve been building.

I keep praying it’s some sort of long-lasting stomach bug and not morning sickness, but every day I wake up queasy, and my period still doesn’t come.

Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t worry about that. For years my period was irregular, either from stress or from limited food. It’s been more consistent since I moved in with Jimmy, but that doesn’t mean it will always be. But still… I keep waiting for cramps that just don’t come.

The churning anxiety becomes my constant companion, and it makes me feel even sicker.

Because I don’t feel good and am so nervous all the time, my instinct is to be prickly with Jimmy. To snap at him when he asks innocent questions about how I’m feeling and why I’m not eating like I used to and to shy away from him in the mornings when I’m nauseated because sometimes the scent of him or the heat of him makes me feel worse.

I know he recognizes it. I know it’s bothering him. His back improved significantly after a few days, and now he’s back to his normal physical condition. But he’s getting quieter and broodier than he’s been since the first month or two after we got together. We go through our normal routines smoothly enough and talk about whatever comes up, but it’s starting to feel different. We have sex every night just as we always have, and it’s not bad or anything. But it’s what I’ve always considered our “basic” sex. The default. He still lets me start by going down on him, but he usually stops me before he comes. Then he’ll fuck me doggie style until I orgasm since that’s the position where’s it’s easiest for me to get there. Then he comes too. The two nights he can’t hold back his climax during the blow job, we don’t have intercourse at all. Instead, he makes me come afterward with his mouth on my breasts and his fingers in my pussy.

Physically, it’s perfectly satisfying. I get the release I need to relax and sleep well, and so does he. But he’s been quiet in bed, grunting when he’s close but not talking me through it like he sometimes does and never kissing me at all.

It’s not his fault. He’s reacting to the change in me. He’s confused and probably annoyed. I’m not acting the way I’m supposed to, and he doesn’t like it. So each day I resolve to do better, to act sweeter, more normal.

To make him happy again.

Not for even a moment do I consider telling him I might be pregnant. It’s not close to a definite thing at this point, and even if I am pregnant, there’s a strong possibility I’ll lose it in the first trimester. It happens to women now even more than it used to, and it’s always been a common occurrence.

The whole situation might resolve itself without Jimmy ever knowing about it, so there’s no reason to throw our relationship into such upheaval for no purpose.

Not yet.

I have no idea what I’ll do if this pregnancy is real and it lasts.

On the Saturday morning a week after it first occurred to me I might be pregnant, I wake up feeling sick again but also resolved to act better, more natural. If I can just push my worries into that dark corner of my mind, maybe I can focus on Jimmy again.

That’s what he wants from me. The sweet, soft, generous, supportive, accommodating partner I’ve always been to him. The one who tries hard to predict his needs. The one who has very few prickles or combative moods. The one who never pushes him away.

I’ve got to be her again or the worst might happen. He’ll not want me anymore. I might end up pregnant and homeless and entirely on my own.

Fueled by new determination, I open my eyes and discover it’s still dark in the room. Jimmy is stretched out under the covers beside me. I sit up, breathing deeply to dispel the nausea. I can’t let it get in my way today. Other things are a lot more important.

Jimmy shifts his head slightly on the pillow. His breath catches. He’s waking up. He nearly always does when I sit up or start to climb out of the bed.

“Y’okay?” he mumbles.

“Yes. I’m fine. Sorry to wake you up.”

“’Bout time anyway, isn’t it?” He’s opened his eyes now and moves his arms out from under the covers. He’s blinking up at me in the dark room.

“Not quite time yet.” It’s not even dawn. We’ve got a little time before we need to get up.

That gives me an idea. A way to prove I’m the same person I always was with him.

“Then lie back down, baby, and get more sleep. You been tired lately.” He’s still got that sleepy mumble going, and for some reason it makes my heart clench.

“I’m not tired this morning.”

“You’re not?” He sounds different. More awake.

“No. I was thinking of something better than sleeping, unless you want to doze off again.” As I speak, I pull my gown off over my head. My breasts jiggle slightly from the motion.

There’s not much light in the room, but my eyes have adjusted, and I assume his have too. He stares at my naked chest. I hear his breathing speed up. “You sure?”

He sounds hoarse and aroused but also slightly surprised. And it’s the surprise that makes me realize how much I’ve messed up in the past week.

He should never be surprised that I want to do something sexy with him. We don’t usually have full-on sex in the morning since we have to get going so early, but I give him quick morning blow jobs fairly regularly.

But he’s surprised I want to today.

I’ve definitely got to do better.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I lean over, pressing a kiss on his beard. Then lower on the side of his neck. Then on his shoulder. Then on his right nipple. I draw down the covers to bare his big body. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of thin cotton boxers, and his cock is already tenting the fabric.

I don’t spend a lot of time on preliminaries because I’m queasy despite my firm resolutions. I pull down his underwear. Stroke him with my hands until his cock is firm and upright, then bend over so I can take him fully in my mouth.

It’s worse than I thought—the nausea on top of the thick substance of his erection in my mouth.

He groans loudly and arches his spine up at my first long suck, which is a good sign. He’s not going to last very long.

He uses both hands to guide my head the way he always does, but the gentle pressure of his fingers, holding me in place at his groin, is deeply disturbing this morning. It makes me feel trapped. I might vomit and not be able to get away.

Fighting against the panic since this is so important, I fumble under my chin until I can get one hand on his sac. I massage it as I sustain the hard, rhythmic sucks.

He’s making rough, helpless grunts and groans—all of them wordless—and keeps holding my head in place as he rocks his hips up into my mouth.

My mind whirls. My heart races frantically. I feel hot and cold in quick succession and break out in a clammy sweat.

On the very edge, I move my hand to push hard against the sensitive spot behind his balls.

He comes with a loud sound that’s almost a bellow. His body shakes frantically. There’s no way I can swallow his semen right now. I lift my head and take several gaspy breaths as I squeeze him through the spurts of his climax. He comes all over my breasts, and the smell makes me feel even sicker.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he rasps when he’s finally relaxed back on the pillow. He looks sated and sleepy. “You do me so good.”

I force a smile. Surely in his postorgasmic daze, he won’t be able to tell that it’s fake. “I love doing that for you. And you deserve a good morning. I’m sorry I’ve been kind of prickly lately. I think it was hormones or something, but I’m feeling better now.”

He reaches up to cup my cheek, his eyes heavy and a little smile on his face. “Good. Been worried ’bout you.”

It’s sweet. And incredibly upsetting. I lean down to brush my lips against his mouth and straighten up before he can hold my head down to lengthen the kiss.

The whole world feels like it’s spinning wildly. I’m still being slammed by waves of hot and cold. I climb over his body and off the bed in an urgent rush.

“Hey! Where you goin’? I was gonna do you too.”

“I don’t want anything this morning,” I tell him, smiling so he will hear it in my voice. “I just wanted to do that for you. And now I really need to go to the bathroom!”

“Okay,” he calls after me. “But I’m gonna make up for it later!”

I barely hear him. Definitely can’t answer.

I run toward the back door. Gurgle when I have to take the time to unlock and unbar it. Then I finally make it to the outhouse in an awkward sprint.

I vomit with painful mostly dry heaves and then burst into tears.

I must have done a better job hiding my anxiety and queasiness this morning than I feared. Jimmy is relaxed and smiling when he appears fully dressed a few minutes later as I’m washing my hands and face in the kitchen sink.

He comes over as I’m drying off with a towel and wraps his arms around me, pressing his body into my back. He leans down to kiss my cheek. “Thank you, Chloe.”

“You’re welcome,” I say into my towel. “It was a good way to start a Saturday.”

“You can say that again.” He’s still holding me against his front. He tilts his head down to nuzzle my neck and jaw with his beard.

Normally I’d appreciate the affectionate gesture, but today it’s really disturbing me. I can’t let him see that I was just really sick and still a little shaky.

But I can’t pull away. I can’t .

“We don’t got that much to do today. Thought maybe we could do some fishin’.”

“That sounds good.” It does. Sitting with a fishing pole sounds a lot more restful than almost anything else I might be doing.

“Then sometime today I’m gonna take care of you the way you did me. Don’t think I’m gonna forget about it.”

“I know you won’t.” I turn back to smile at him over my shoulder.

He takes advantage of the position to press a kiss against my lips.

I’ve done well. I’ve made him feel better. He’s back to his old self and even warmer than usual, probably because he’s relieved that I’ve returned to my typical sweet self.

There’s no way I can blow it all out of the water by yanking myself out of his arms, but I really want to.

Instead, I giggle and duck my head as if I’m feeling shy. “Don’t you have chores to do before breakfast, mister?”

He gives a mock groan. Kisses my cheek again. Finally lets me go. “Fine. I’ll go do my damn chores. Be a lot more fun cuddlin’ with you.”

I laugh again, my cheeks blazing, and then slump when he exits the house.

Shit. It’s almost more effort faking things for Jimmy than all the work I’ve poured into making this household run.

We fish in the morning, and then I have to fake falling asleep on the couch so he doesn’t get any ideas about sex that afternoon. I usually feel better as the day progresses and normally wouldn’t be opposed to sex when we have spare time during the day. A few months back, during the last snow of the season, we were snowed in for a day and a half and ended up having sex four times the first day and twice the following morning since after shoveling a path to the animals, there wasn’t anything else we could do.

But today I’m too emotionally shaky to risk letting go enough to have a long afternoon sex session with Jimmy. So I pretend to drift off in a nap. He covers me with a blanket and then leaves me alone. After a while, I fall asleep for real.

He wakes me up a few hours later to ask if I want a bath before we go to dinner at his folks’.

I do. Physically, I feel a lot better after the rest, and emotionally nothing is going to change for me until I find out for sure if I’m pregnant.

He lets me bathe first, and then we pour in some more hot water before he gets in after me. He always washes his hair while he’s in the bath. Usually he does it himself, but a few times, when I’m feeling particularly soft, I’ve done it for him.

I do it for him again today, taking a lot of time to massage his scalp as I work in the shampoo. He sighs deeply as his body relaxes in the warm water. I know he enjoys it.

I realize my mistake after he rinses, gets out, and dries off. He’s got a particular hot look in his eyes that’s impossible not to recognize.

“We don’t have time for what you’re thinking,” I tell him in an intentionally playful tone.

“Sure we do. I got this mornin’ to make up for.”

“You can make up for it at bedtime.”

“Maybe I wanna make up for it now.”

I’m torn. Rationally, I know I should let him, but emotionally I’m terrified that one more blow against my tentative control will cause me to fall apart completely. I’ll crumple into a messy heap and blurt out everything to him.

Everything will change. Nothing will be what it was.

And that’s a risk I just can’t take. Not until I have no choice.

So I force down the flutters of fear and give him a teasing smile. “Well, if you think you can be quick.”

“Quick? You want me to be quick ?” He’s got a warm chuckle in his tone.

“We don’t want to be late for dinner.”

Still naked, he takes a few strides toward me and scoops me up into his arms. “We won’t be late.”

He carries me to bed and starts kissing and caressing down my body, spending a lot of time on my breasts because he knows that works best for me.

I was hoping he’d get me off with his hand the way he often does, but eventually he’s nuzzling between my legs, hooking my legs over his shoulders so he can really get to work on my pussy.

I don’t stop him. I don’t resist even though my heart is hammering frantically in fear as much as excitement. He uses his lips and his tongue and even his beard to work me up to the edge again and again without ever taking me all the way there.

I’m squirming and whimpering and huffing out pleasure and frustration. I keep fighting his hold on my hips in my urgency, but he doesn’t let me go. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he focuses down on my clit, hitting it hard with his tongue in fast strokes and then eventually closing his lips to apply suction.

I come hard and helpless and messy. I sob with the tidal waves of pleasure and writhe as the spasms overwhelm me. He keeps sucking, sustaining the release until I’m hoarse from my cries.

Then he finally lifts his head, lowering me gently back to the bed. I lie there in an embarrassing sprawl, naked and flushed down to my chest and utterly spent. Unable to take a full breath.

He strokes my quivering belly. “Now then. You should feel better. You really needed that, didn’t you? You always try to hold on to too much without letting it go.” He slides his hand up to my cheek. “You did real good, girlie.”

I burst into tears.

Loud, helpless tears. Right there. Naked on the bed after one of the most powerful sexual experiences of my life.

I can’t help it. I really can’t. Everything I’ve been fighting—and also holding on to—for the past week all comes gushing out with my sobs.

Jimmy is shocked. I know he is, even through my emotional storm. He shifts on the bed and pulls me up so I can cry against his chest. He holds me tight, rubbing my back and murmuring that he has me. That it’s going to be okay.

I don’t know that it’s going to be okay. I have absolutely no assurance of that despite his much-needed words.

Because nothing has changed today except I’ve fooled Jimmy into thinking I’m back to normal.

And nothing might ever be normal again.

Plus pretty soon I’m going to have to explain these tears to him. I have no idea what I can possibly say.

It’s maybe ten minutes later when I finally stop crying.

Jimmy hasn’t yet demanded an explanation. He’s held me and comforted me and waited for me to settle. But now he starts shifting slightly, adjusting his hips and his arms.

He’s going to ask. He’s going to draw me back so he can peer at my face. He’s not going to take no for an answer.

And I still have no good answer to give him that won’t blow everything we have apart.

Deciding the best option is a preemptive withdrawal, I pull out of his arms and move toward the side of the bed. “I’m sorry for the breakdown.” I keep my tone as casual as possible. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Hey!” He grabs for me, keeping me from making it off the bed. “Where you goin’?”

“I was just going to wash my face, clean up, and go to the bathroom.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me what the hell is goin’ on after that?” He sounds wary and vaguely hurt. His eyebrows are pulled together in a frown.

“There’s nothing going on. It was a random breakdown. Some sort of emotional release after all those orgasms. Probably just hormones or something. It didn’t mean anything.” I keep my eyes wide and my gaze steady. He has to believe me right now.

He doesn’t.

His frown deepens. “You’re sittin’ there lyin’ to me right now?”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are.” His posture has stiffened and his expression hardened almost imperceptibly. “Even after what we just… You’re still lyin’.”

“Jimmy—”

“I thought things were better. You were actin’ like we were okay again.” He rubs his fingertips against his scalp in an urgent gesture. “But you were just pretendin’. All day you’ve just been pretendin’.”

His breathing is growing louder. More ragged. He’s focused on a spot in the air past my shoulder.

“Jimmy, please, it’s not like that. Don’t make it sound so bad. I was just trying to do… to…”

“To do what?” He meets my gaze abruptly. Fiercely. “To fool me? To make me think things are fine when they’re not?”

“No! Things are fine.” I’m so upset by both his anger and the pain I sense beneath it that I’m close to tears again. “They’re good. I’m just extra emotional or something. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell do you expect me to be? I been goin’ along believing you while you been floppin’ me around like a puppet.”

“No!” The word comes bursting out. “No, Jimmy, it’s nothing like that. I’m not trying to use you. I’d never do that. I’m just trying to make you… make you…” For some reason, the final word won’t be spoken. Maybe I can predict his reaction to it.

He knows it anyway. “Make me happy? Is that what you been tryin’ to do? Pretend so I’ll be happy when it’s clear as day that you’re not?”

“I am—”

“Stop lyin’ to me!” He’s not shouting, but he’s loud and gruff. Authoritative.

The tone silences me as it always does. I’m still completely naked and I don’t like it, so I scramble off the bed to grab one of Jimmy’s big T-shirts to pull on.

Trembling helplessly, I stand next to the bed, hugging my arms to my chest. “Please don’t be mad.”

He’s searching my face and body with his eyes, desperately trying to figure out what I’m thinking. He must see something because his expression—his entire presence—freezes. He asks in a raspy whisper, “Are you scared of me, Chloe?”

The horror in his tone is too much for me. Tears spill out of my aching eyes. “No. No, of course not. I know you’d never hurt me.”

“But you’re scared of somethin’.” He’s still staring. Still motionless with that unspeakable frigidity that’s trapped him. “What are you scared of?”

I open my mouth to deny it, but no words come out. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t lie to him—not after how much my lies have hurt him. But I also can’t tell him the truth.

I’d lose everything.

“Oh my fucking God,” he rasps after a long, tense moment, a dark enlightenment dawning on his face. “You think I’m gonna kick you out.”

I hug myself tighter and make a whimpering sound. There’s no way I can hold it back.

He moves in an awkward rush to get out of the bed. He tries standing, but his legs don’t hold him up. He sits down with a jerk on the edge of the bed. “You think that, don’tcha? That if you don’t do everythin’ right and make me happy all the time, that I’m gonna just kick you out.” He’s dead white beneath his beard.

“It’s not like—” I cut off my own words because the truth is obvious.

That’s exactly what I’ve always believed.

And I’ve always believed it because it’s true. How could it be anything but true?

This self-evident truth slams down on me once again, and with it comes a rush of defensiveness and a flash of anger. “What else am I supposed to think? I’m not insulting you or talking mean about you. That’s what we’ve been from the beginning. That’s what this is. We aren’t some kind of romantic couple, and don’t pretend we are. We’re… This… It’s… a transaction . You give me food and shelter and protection, and I take care of the house and make you happy. Isn’t that what we are? Why are you suddenly so shocked and offended by it?”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by my challenging tone. He’s still pale and stunned. His gaze suddenly drops to the floor. “I thought… I thought…”

“You thought what?” My voice breaks on the last word because it almost—almost—feels like hope.

“I thought you liked me,” he mumbles. He’s still not meeting my eyes.

“I do like you! You’ve been so good to me, and I’ve tried to show you how much I appreciate you. But that doesn’t change how tenuous my situation is here. This is a good… a good arrangement. But you’ve got way more power in it than I do. This is your home. Your community. Your people. If this doesn’t work, who do you think is going to get kicked out into the cold?”

His eyes shoot up, urgent again but still pained. “You think I’m that kinda monster?”

“It’s not about being a monster. It’s always been part of the deal. And I’ve been trying as hard as I can to be who you want me to be so the arrangement keeps working. But you can’t be so shocked that sometimes that means not… not showing you every single part of me.”

I can’t believe I’ve said all that. That I’ve blurted out so much that’s always been unspoken between us.

But I’m not wrong. I know I’m not wrong.

Jimmy is the one being unreasonable. He can’t ask someone to be his woman in a practical deal and then act all sad and baffled when she finally puts that deal into words.

He stares some more. An excessively long time. Then some sort of understanding settles over him. I see it happen. But it’s not peace or acceptance. It’s a cold, bleak recognition.

“I see,” he mutters, dropping his gaze to the floor again. “I get it.”

I’ve messed up. I’ve really messed up.

He looks stiff. Closed off.

Broken.

And it’s my fault. Mine alone. He was never like this until I finally told him the truth.

I should have kept quiet. It’s always, always safer that way.

“Jimmy, I’m so sorry.” There’s a sob in my voice that doesn’t break. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know. I get it. I get it.”

“It’s nothing personal. You understand that, don’t you? I know you’re a good man, and you’ve been so good to me. But it’s not the same as… as…”

“As a real relationship. Yeah. I get it.” He won’t even look at me.

So damn it, I start crying again. “But you’re upset! The last thing I wanted to do was upset you. But you kept demanding that I tell you the truth, so I… I did. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He gives his head a weird jerk and clears his throat. “I wanted the truth and I got it. You don’t got anythin’ to be sorry about.”

“But—”

“You don’t gotta be scared. I’m not gonna kick you out. You’ve done your part in this… this arrangement and more. I’m not gonna kick you out.”

“But—”

Whatever I’m hoping to say that would miraculously fix the past fifteen minutes never gets said at all.

Because Jimmy walks out the door.

And me, I cry in painful, silent sobs until I have to run outside to throw up.

15

NEITHER ONE OF us has much time to recover and return to our normal composure because we have to leave for dinner at his parents’ farm about thirty minutes later.

I gather the extra bread I baked, and Jimmy hauls the cooler full of fish we caught that morning. We start off on the walk without speaking, and the bleak silence continues without reprieve.

We’ve reached the road with the farms and houses when the sound of an engine startles us. We hear it so seldom anymore that it takes a minute for the mechanical hum in the distance to even process in my mind.

I realize what it is at the same time as Jimmy. He puts a hand on my back to push me onto the grass on the side of the road, and I go willingly, my heart racing in fear.

No one has vehicles around here except the gangs. And even they only have a few.

This one isn’t a motorcycle. It’s an old pickup truck with a large livestock trailer rattling behind it. Both Jimmy and I have our guns out as it closes in on us. It pulls to a stop when it reaches us.

A man leans out of the open passenger window. He’s big and black and mostly bald and grinning. “Jimmy, isn’t it?” he asks, his eyes moving from Jimmy to me. His hands are empty and stretched out of the window in a gesture of peace.

Jimmy straightens up, clearly recognizing this man. “Mack,” he says, moving toward the truck and peering in at the other people. “Hey there. Y’all back in these parts?”

“Yeah. Hoping to trade for cows. Good to see you. Where y’all heading?”

Mack is obviously the man Amelia mentioned before, and I can immediately see what she appreciated about him. He’s strong and handsome but also genuinely friendly—like a warmth radiates out of him that’s impossible to contain.

Beyond him, behind the steering wheel, is a dark-haired, rough-looking white man whom Jimmy appears to recognize too. And between the two men is a small, pretty, green-eyed woman.

“We’re headin’ to my parents’,” Jimmy replies. “That’s the big farmhouse with the oaks lining the road, if you don’t remember. Most of the folks around here should be there this evening, so y’all should join us. The Hurleys’ll be there too. I’m sure my parents will let you stay with them like before.”

“Sounds good.” Mack leans out farther, focusing on me now. “I’m Mack,” he says pointedly.

Jimmy should have introduced me, but he didn’t.

“Chloe,” I say, smiling at him.

“You new around here?”

“Yeah. Just since last fall.”

“Nice to meet you, Chloe. This is Rachel beside me, and the guy driving is Cal. He’s not as mean as he looks.”

I’m glad to hear that because the other man is very intimidating. But I smile at both of the others. Rachel greets me, but Cal just nods.

“All right then,” Mack said. “We’ll see you over there. Guess you don’t need a ride the rest of the way there?”

“No, we’re good,” Jimmy tells him. “Thanks.” He keeps a hand on my back as the pickup starts up again, soon out of sight over the hill.

“Well,” I say as we still stand on the side of the road.

“Yeah,” Jimmy mumbles, applying gentle pressure with his hand on my back to get us walking again.

We don’t say anything else the rest of the way there.

Ever since the weather warmed up in the spring, the Carlsons’ Saturday dinners have been hosted outside.

Despite their large living room, there are simply too many people gathered for it to be comfortable when the weather is warm. So instead of being hot and crowded inside, we spread out in their backyard, settling at picnic tables or small chair groupings or spreading out blankets on the grass, depending on the weather and each individual’s physical condition.

Tonight the main course is smoked pork ribs and baked potatoes, but there are always a lot of side dishes depending on what others bring.

I’m not hungry at all, but I nibble at a couple of ribs and otherwise stick to bread.

No one appears to notice or care. Jimmy isn’t even sitting beside me. He’s sitting on an overturned crate near the big table.

Amelia’s not even here today. Her mom tells me she has bad period cramps. I’m disappointed on her account because I know she likes Mack, and I’m disappointed for myself too—if she were here, I’d have someone easy and secure to hang out with.

As it is, I end up gravitating toward Paula, who is always happy to talk to me. Unfortunately, Laura comes over to eat with us too, so I have to put up with a lot of underhanded, fake-sweet comments.

I tune them out. Try not to stare at Jimmy soulfully. Attempt to keep up the pretense of eating so no one will wonder whether I’m sick.

At one point, Paula asks if I’m feeling okay, but otherwise my mood goes unnoticed.

After all the food has been eaten, I help with the cleanup and dishwashing. Greta asks Laura to dump the compost, but Laura is predictably ready with an excuse about an ankle she twisted the other day.

Without a word, I reach for the kitchen compost pail and take it out myself.

I’ve done it before. Many times. The pail is large and heavy because it’s filled up to the rim right now. It’s also round with no handles, so the only way I can carry the weight is to hug it with both arms.

It’s disgusting. The effort and the smell nauseate me again.

I’m halfway there when strong hands take the pail out of my grip. I didn’t see a man come after me, and normally I would have assumed it was Jimmy. But I know it’s not.

It doesn’t smell like him. Or feel like him.

The man I see when I turn is Mack. He grins down at me. “This thing is almost as big as you are. Why’re they making you haul it?”

“I volunteered. I was doing okay.” I return his smile because he seems so genuine. Not remotely condescending, and neither flirtatious nor predatory.

Simply warm. Genuinely warm.

“You were doing great. You can have it back if you want.”

I huff. “No, thank you. I appreciate the help.”

Since he’s assisting in my chore, I walk with him the rest of the way to the compost heap—which is kept at a distance in a side yard so the smell won’t waft over into the house.

“Did you talk to the Hurleys about the cows?” I ask him.

“Yeah. They knew I’d be back this year, so they’ve already picked some out for us. They needed some time to breed more, and we needed time to get enough together to trade. Y’all are so self-sufficient here that our normal trades wouldn’t be of much interest to you.”

“So what did you end up offering?” The topic is distracting me from both my mournful mood and the return of my queasiness.

“Well, we’ve got an underground bunker in our community that was able to hold on to technology that the rest of us lost after Impact. So we were able to use solar batteries to build a few mechanized butter churns and flour mills. Good-sized ones that can handle a lot.”

I suck in a breath. “Wow! That could be life-changing. It takes so much manual labor to make this community work, and that could take a little of the load off.”

“That’s what we were thinking. Thought it might be a fair deal for the cows. We’ve done pretty good for ourselves, but all the farms around us lost their cows and we could never find any more. We’ve gone all this time without milk or butter or cheese or beef. Nothing but goats’ milk and goat cheese. Which just isn’t the same.”

“No. It’s not. I’m glad you’ll be able to get some, and hopefully eventually you’ll be able to breed a supply large enough for your whole community.”

“That’s what we’re hoping. Got to start somewhere.”

“Well, good luck to you. How long are you staying?”

“At least a few days. So I might see you around.”

I smile at him as we part ways. As soon as the conversation ends, the distraction dissipates and I’m heavy and blah again. I see Jimmy looking at me as I return to the group. I meet his eyes but don’t know what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t smile or make any sort of welcoming gesture, so I assume he still doesn’t want to be close to me.

Everyone is starting to gather around a firepit outside, as we’ve been doing nearly every Saturday since it’s gotten warmer.

The sun is low in the sky. It’s not fully dark yet, but the evening is full of shadows. Jimmy has turned away from me, so I sit on the corner of a blanket next to the Hurleys. Amelia’s mother is incredibly gracious and thoughtful, and she asks me several questions about my health and mood tonight.

I assure her that I’m just a little tired, and she leans over to give me a one-armed hug. “Okay, honey. But if you need anything—advice or help or anything—make sure you come to me. A good man can be a great partner, but they’re not all we need. Sometimes you need a woman to help you through things.”

Her kindness almost makes me cry. I nod and smile and mumble out thanks before she thankfully leaves me alone.

Jimmy’s dad brings out the guitar and hands it to Jimmy, who is sitting on a tree stump across the firepit from me. A couple of people suggest songs. Jimmy strums an easy accompaniment to the people who want to sing.

I don’t. I don’t know a lot of the songs, and I don’t have the energy anyway. But I’ve always liked to hear the music. My neighbors are lively—the visitors adding some excitement to our normal gathering—and some of them even start dancing.

I should be enjoying this, but I’m not.

I just want to go home, but then I’ll be all alone with a Jimmy who’s angry and disappointed in me.

And I still don’t entirely understand why.

Laura is sitting on the ground beside him, beaming up at him in a very obvious way.

He said he wasn’t going to kick me out, but there’s nothing stopping him from doing so. If I’m not who he wants me to be, he can find another woman.

Maybe he should have picked Laura. Maybe she could have done a better job, been who he wanted her to be.

The thought hurts like hell—like it’s literally ripping my heart out of my chest—so I try to file it away with other thoughts and reflections I’m not ready to deal with. But this one won’t go away. It sits in my mind and claws at me.

Wilson Turlington—a quiet, fortyish guy who lives in a small house down the way—got “divorced” from his wife a couple of years ago. Since there are no legal proceedings for it, it was simply declared. I’m not sure exactly how it happened—whether it was his choice or his neighbors’ expectations—but he didn’t turn his ex-wife out of his house. He still feeds and houses her even though he’s paired up with a different woman. They all live in the home together.

Maybe that’s what will happen to me. I’ll have to live in the tiny storage room while Jimmy moves on to a different woman and fucks her in our bed.

The possibility hits me with another wave of nausea. How will I ever survive that?

I decide right then and there that I won’t. I’ll never live like that. I’ll move back in with the Carlsons, or maybe the Hurleys will have me, and I’ll do everything I can to help out and support the household. I’ll never partner up with a man again.

Or else I’ll take the ATV we still have parked in our shed with its half a tank of gas and sneak back into The Wild. I’ll go back to Grandpa’s cabin.

I don’t care how desperate or helpless I am. I’ll never stick around to watch Jimmy live life with someone other than me.

I haven’t been listening to what’s happening with the music, but they must have recognized that Mack has a really good voice and asked him to sing. He sings a love song I remember from the radio as a child. It’s incredibly touching and poignant, and the random chatting in the background silences completely.

I can’t help but wonder if Mack loves someone and, if so, why he sounds so heartbroken about it.

Maybe it’s just the song. He gives us his typical grin when he ends the song.

Greta suggests he sing another, and Mack asks for requests.

I haven’t paid much attention to his companions—Cal and Rachel are their names—but they’re clearly a couple despite the age difference. They’re sitting on the ground together, leaning against a wall of the closest outbuilding. Cal’s got his arm around her. She’s leaning into him.

Rachel asks, “Can you sing something for Derek? He was—”

“Cal’s son.” Mack meets the other man’s eyes across the fire and nods. “I know.”

I don’t know any backstory here, but it seems pretty obvious. Cal had a son and lost him.

Everyone’s lost someone. Some of us have lost everyone.

It’s the reality of the world after Impact.

Mack clears his throat. Leans over and murmurs something to Jimmy. Then Jimmy plays the opening bars to a song I recognize but can’t immediately name because it’s been so long since I’ve heard it.

It’s “Amazing Grace.”

The words come back to me as soon as Mack begins to sing.

Some of the others sing with him more softly, but his pure, powerful baritone sounds over the other voices.

And it’s haunting. Beautiful. Shattering. In the shadows of the evening and the flickering firelight, the familiar words about love and hope—about rescue and healing—take on an almost bittersweet poignance.

It feels like it’s breaking my heart.

I can’t hold back the tears, and I’m not the only one. Mrs. Hurley is sniffing and dabbing her eyes. Rachel has tears on her cheeks as she grips Cal’s hands.

I’m not even sure how to describe how powerful the moment is. As if Mack’s warm, rich, soulful voice as he sings a song laden with faith and history somehow embodies the world as it is now. After Impact. The brokenness. The loss. The instability. And the faint thread of hope that still holds it together.

It’s too much for me. When he gets to the image of a bright, shining future in the last verse, I start to choke.

For a moment or two, I try to swallow it down, but I can’t. I can’t . I stumble to my feet and hurry away from the circle of firelight. When I’m far enough away, I finally break down in tears, but they wrack me. Utterly.

I choke again. Fall on my knees. Sob in painful spasms until I actually start vomiting again.

Partway through the heaves, I’m vaguely aware of someone else coming up behind me. Kneeling beside me. Pulling the loose strands of my hair back so I don’t throw up on them.

It’s Jimmy. I can’t see anything but the ground in front of me, but I know it’s him. When I’ve stopped vomiting at last, I fall into helpless tears.

He pulls me away from the place where I threw up and gathers me into his arms, on his lap. He holds me as I cough and sputter and weep all over his shirt.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Not until I’ve finally grown quiet and limp in his arms.

I need to sit up, but I’m not sure I can.

I’m so incredibly weak.

And devastated.

“Are you still sick?” he asks hoarsely, like his voice isn’t accustomed to being used. “I thought you were gettin’ better.”

“I’m not sick.” I start shaking again. Hide my face.

How much longer am I going to be able to hide what’s actually wrong with me?

“You threw up,” he murmurs, sounding worried and almost bewildered. “Was that just from bein’ upset?”

I can’t stop trembling. I can’t pull my face away from his T-shirt. The soft fabric and firm chest beneath it feel and smell so familiar.

After a minute, he gently pulls me away. Holds my head in both his hands and peers down at me. It’s not quite dark yet, but it’s close. But I know he can see me still. “Chloe, tell me what’s goin’ on. I know we had that fight, but there’s got to be more to it. You been sick for more than a week now. And you seem so tired, and you keep cryin’ and fallin’ apart when you never did before… and…” He sucks in a sharp gasp as he trails off.

I’m blinking up at him, so I can see a succession of emotions cross his face. Anxiety. Frustration. Recognition. Hope. Excitement. Confusion. A bewildered kind of pain. “Are you…? Chloe, are you…?”

I drop my eyes and nod. There’s no way I can keep this secret anymore.

“What… Why didn’t you tell me?” He’s even hoarser now. He sounds hurt.

“I didn’t know… I wasn’t sure how… I was scared.” I bite my lip, wishing I had a better answer.

“Why were you—?” He breaks off his own question. I sense the withdrawal inside him even before I see it in his posture and expression. “Oh. I get it. A baby wasn’t part of our deal, so you thought… What? That I’d kick you and the baby out?”

It’s absolutely true, but he makes it sound so terrible. He lets go of me, and I hug my arms tightly to my chest in an attempt to rein in my shaking.

“What was I supposed to think? You always pull out. You never said a word about us having a baby. You never said anything to make me think it was something you’d want. You never really open up to me even when I ask you about things. What was I supposed to think? Why are you acting like I betrayed you? All this time, I’ve just been trying to follow our deal.”

He stares at me a long time, breathing raggedly. Finally he jerks his head to the side, closes his eyes, and mutters, “You’re right. You followed our deal. You haven’t betrayed me. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“But you’re hurt! I hurt you!”

“I’m not hurt. I’m…” He lets out an almost bitter laugh. “Everything I’m feelin’ right now is all my own fault. It’s not yours. You haven’t done anythin’ wrong.” He pushes himself to his feet and then bends down to help me stand too.

I’m still shaky, but I manage to hold myself up. “I don’t want you to be hurt, Jimmy. I want you to be happy.”

“I know you do. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He reaches out to cup my cheek for just a few seconds, then lets his hand drop.

“What about…?” I rub my belly.

“You don’t have to worry about that. If the baby makes it, we’ll have a baby. We’ll be okay parents. Don’t you think?”

I nod, part of the tension finally relaxing inside me. “I think so.”

“Okay. Good. We’ll be all right. I just gotta… I gotta adjust my…” He clears his throat and gives his head a hard shake. “We’ll be fine.”

It doesn’t feel exactly fine to me. Something is still really wrong. But it’s better than it was before. At least I’m not terrified that I’ll lose everything that means anything to me. “Okay.”

He sighs and peers down at me. “Let’s head home. You look like you’re gonna fall over at any minute.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“Well, you’re clearly not feelin’ good, so let’s go home anyway.”

“Okay.” I’m still filled with fluttery anxiety, and I need to do something to calm it a little or I’ll never make it home. So, greatly daring, I reach over for Jimmy’s hand, gripping it needily.

He doesn’t pull his away, so I can keep holding on to his hand as we say goodbye to the others and then leave the farm to head home.

16

WE’RE STILL HOLDING hands when we’ve left the row of small farms and homes behind us but haven’t yet reached the woods.

Neither of us is saying much, but the silence doesn’t feel quite so bleak and despairing as it did before.

Things might not be great, but they’re also not terrible. Everything isn’t going to fall apart, and maybe slowly we’ll be able to fix this. Get back to where we were before.

Or maybe something even better.

I’m still terrified about the idea of being pregnant, but at least I no longer fear I’ll be left abandoned to try to keep a baby alive all by myself. I’m almost certain I saw a flicker of excitement on Jimmy’s face as he realized I was pregnant. It was quickly swallowed up with other feelings, but at least the core of it exists.

Maybe part of him likes the idea of being a father. Maybe we can actually do this.

Maybe.

All those thoughts are whirling inside my head when Jimmy suddenly jerks to a stop.

I stop too, gazing up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m real sorry, Chloe,” he bursts out.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Sorry for actin’ like this. For upsettin’ you so much. The confusion is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” If I’m sure of anything, it’s that I’m part of the blame for all this too. I’ve always been so scared and insecure. I’ve always felt so helpless. I’m probably too clingy. I’ve tried too hard to be exactly what he wants instead of being real with him.

He’s always made it clear he wants me to be real, but I’ve been too scared to do it.

“Yeah, it is,” he mutters. “At least most of it is. You’re right about our agreement. You didn’t get it wrong. That’s what I offered you. That’s all I offered. It’s not that I wasn’t hopin’ for more. But it all felt so… so weird. So it was easier to focus on the practical. I’ve never been good at relationships. Mary used to tell me all the time I got to say what I’m thinkin’ instead of always keepin’ it to myself. But I… I’m bad at that. So I assumed you knew. I kept hopin’ you were feelin’ what I was feelin’ so maybe I wouldn’t need to… to really open up.”

I stare at him, breathless and excited and shaking again. I don’t exactly know what he’s trying to say, but it’s something .

Something important.

He’s never talked like this to me before.

He clears his throat and drops his eyes the way he always does when he’s uncertain. “At first it was just the arrangement. I mean, I really needed a woman, and you were the prettiest thing I ever saw in my life. So I thought… well, maybe that’ll work.”

“I understood that. Not about the pretty thing, but about the rest of it. I was never expecting anything else.”

“I know. I see that now. You kept thinkin’ it while I was thinkin’ maybe we were… we were feelin’ more.”

I gasp. “You were feeling more?”

He shifts from foot to foot. Avoids my eyes for a few seconds before he finally holds my gaze. “Well, yeah. Didn’t you know that?”

“I thought we were just… just getting used to each other. Making the arrangement work.”

He nods. “Yeah. I get that. And I can see now what I couldn’t before—that you kept goin’ way out of your way to please me ’cause you were scared I’d change my mind. That’s why you hardly ever argue with me and you have sex no matter how you’re feelin’ and you work so hard to make our home so nice. And I feel like total shit right now ’cause I realize I been takin’ advantage of you. Of your fear.”

“No! No, it’s not like that at all!”

“Isn’t it?” His mouth twists ruefully. “So you’re sayin’ you did all that for me just ’cause you want it from the bottom of your heart?”

“Because I was trying to be a good partner to you! I didn’t think that was wrong.”

“It wasn’t wrong. But I shoulda… I shoulda seen it more clearly sooner. I kept tellin’ myself maybe you really do love givin’ blow jobs, but that wasn’t it, was it?”

“I do love giving—”

“So every time you’ve done that for me you’ve wanted it for yourself?” He sounds dry and tired and knowing.

Resigned.

I start to answer but can’t force the word out. Because it’s not true.

Of course every single time I haven’t wanted it just for me. Only this morning I forced myself to do it when I was feeling sick and then I made sure he wouldn’t recognize it.

I knew it wasn’t right. To either one of us. But I did it anyway because I was so scared.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I guess… I guess I should have trusted you more than that. But I—”

“But you had no reason to think it was anything more than our transactional agreement because I never opened my mouth to tell you.”

I nod since what he’s said is entirely true. “But the sex wasn’t all like that. I did… I did enjoy it.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I did.”

“You weren’t fakin’ everythin’ to make me happy?” His voice wavers just slightly, and it’s gut-wrenching.

“No! I hardly ever faked at all. Except… except today because I felt so sick and scared.”

He nods soberly. “I shoulda seen through it.”

We stand in silence for a moment, staring at each other.

“I…” I have to clear my throat before I can continue. “I’ve really liked being with you this year. The work has been hard, but I’ve… I’ve been able to tackle it, and I never knew I was strong enough to do that before. And being with you has been… has been really good. I’ve loved keeping house. I’ve loved taking care of you. I’ve loved trying to make you feel good and that you’ve been so serious about making me feel good too. It’s… it’s been one of the best years of my entire life, and the year isn’t even close to over. I did… I did believe this wasn’t supposed to be any more than we agreed, but it hasn’t felt like a burden to me.”

He’s breathing heavily again. He leans a little closer. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” he murmurs thickly, taking my head in both his hands again. “’Cause it’s been one of the best years of my life too.”

He’s about to kiss me. I know it for sure, and I want it desperately. But his lips get about an inch away from mine when there’s a sudden crack of sound.

A gunshot.

Jimmy’s body jerks and he slumps over, grabbing the back of his thigh with both hands.

I gasp and stare at the blood that’s starting to seep through the denim around his fingers.

He’s been shot. That’s my one clear thought before everything happens all at once.

We’re swarmed. That’s what it feels like. There are a lot of people all moving at us at the same time. They surround us before I can react or even move my hand to my gun.

Jimmy does grab for his holster, but someone knocks him all the way to the ground before he can pull out the weapon. They kick him. More than once.

His grunts are horrifying, and I would have screamed if my throat would work. It doesn’t. So I choke instead as a big, smelly guy grabs me, holding me trapped against his body with both arms around me.

I struggle. It’s instinct, and I can’t help it. But there’s no way I can pull out of his brutal grip.

Terrified and dizzy and stunned and nauseated yet again, I let him pull me backward toward an old camouflage-painted Jeep SUV parked on the grass away from the road.

We would have heard an engine approach, so I have no idea where it came from.

They’re dragging Jimmy too. He’s completely limp and unconscious.

He might be dead for all I know.

I’m slammed with more fear and dizziness as we get near the back of the vehicle. With a final spurt of strength, I push on one of the forearms holding me until I can lean down and sink my teeth into the flesh.

The man howls in pain and outrage and lets go with that arm. I shove him away and turn to run.

I can’t.

He grabs for my ponytail, yanking on it so hard I’m briefly afraid he’ll pull my hair out. He whirls me around and punches me.

The world darkens, and I fall down.

I don’t think I’m out for very long, but the next thing I’m aware of is Jimmy’s voice. Jimmy’s hands on my face, my body. “Chloe. Chloe, baby. Wake up. Can you wake up?”

I blink, my head pounding violently, my vision still blurred and darkened. Or maybe there’s not much light where we are. But it’s his face above me. I can tell that much. “Jimmy?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Can you sit up?”

I do what he asks because he asks it, even though the move makes my stomach churn dangerously. “Where… where are we?”

“They put us in the back of the Jeep.”

That must be why it feels like the whole world is rocking. We’re in the back of a moving vehicle.

“Can we get out?”

“Not easily. They got this whole thing reinforced like they use it to haul people around. We’d have to blow the lock off the back, but it’s movin’ too fast to be safe to jump anyway.”

“Okay.” I take a few deep breaths and try to clear my mind. “Then we’ll have to be ready for them when we stop.”

His gaze shifts to appreciation. Something like awe. “You think you’re up to helping?”

“Of course I am. I’ve been punched, but I’ve lived through that before. At least he didn’t hit me in the stomach.” I cup my belly protectively although it’s way too early for me to have even the slightest of bumps.

“Yeah. When you were out for so long, I was afraid…” He makes a guttural sound instead of finishing the sentence. “Anyway, I got a bullet in my thigh, and it’s bleedin’ pretty bad. I think you’re in better shape than me.”

“Oh no!” I remember now hearing the shot. Seeing the blood on his jeans. I pull off the thin little sweater I’m wearing and wrap it tightly around the wound in his leg. It’s not a great bandage, but it’s better than nothing.

Jimmy lets me tend to him, but then he says, “I can’t run, Chloe. Not sure I can even walk right now.”

I stare at him, speechless and confused.

“There’s gonna be a lot of ’em waiting when they open the door. If we wait until they get us to wherever they’re takin’ us, there’s no way even one of us is gonna get away. But if we make ’em stop sooner, we might have a chance. There were a bunch who attacked us, but only three got in the front of the Jeep.”

“How can we get them to stop?”

“They took the weapons off us they saw, but they were sloppy and missed the one at my ankle. So I got a gun. I can shoot the lock off the back and then try to blow one of the tires. They’ll have to stop then.”

“Do you think you can take all three of them after we stop?”

He gives a half shrug. He looks pale and sweaty and pained and weak. If our survival rests on Jimmy being able to stop a moving vehicle and then fight off three assailants, our chances are flimsy.

“I don’t know if I can get all three, but I can definitely clear a path for you to run.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna have to run. As soon as we slow down enough, you got to jump out and run as fast as you can.”

“But they’ll catch me. They’re bigger and fast—”

“I’m gonna keep ’em off you for as long as I can. You’ll have a head start. They won’t have the SUV to chase you, so they’re gonna have to run too. You gotta run for all you’re worth and not stop for anythin’.”

“But… but…” I can barely take a breath. Much less get a full sentence out.

“It’s the only way.”

“But they’ll kill you!”

“Maybe. But I don’t know. If they wanted me dead, they would’ve made that first shot a kill shot instead of goin’ for my leg. For some reason, they want both of us alive. So they might not kill me. But there’s no way in fuckin’ hell I’m gonna let ’em touch you. You gotta get away.”

“So I have to… to leave you?”

“Yes. Leave me.”

The bumpy rocking of the drive is making me sick—it doesn’t feel like we’re even on a road—but something far worse is roiling in my stomach and darkening my vision. “Jimmy,” I whisper hoarsely. “I can’t.”

He winces as he readjusts. Reaches over to take my face in both his hands. “Yes, you can.”

“I can’t leave you.” Tears are starting to spill out of my eyes. “They’ll kill you. I can’t .”

“Yes, you can,” he says again, sounding almost fierce now. “You can do this. You can do it for me.”

“But I’m not strong en—”

“Yes, you are!” He straightens up even more, leaning toward me. He’s breathing in fast, thick pants. “You’re stronger than you ever believed. Stronger than I ever gave you credit for. You can do this, Chloe. You have to.”

My shoulders shake, and my face contorts in an attempt to hold back sobs. “But—”

“Listen to me! I seen you tackle one hurdle after another since we got together. You lost everythin’ and you picked yourself right back up. You learned how to do all these tough jobs and do ’em all real good. You took care of me and kept me goin’ and made life worth livin’ for me again. You’ve been brave and sweet and generous and determined and resilient, and you been all that thinkin’ this was just a practical arrangement. Without even knowin’ how much I love you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, Chloe. You’re gonna be strong enough to do this too.”

I collapse into tears but only for a few seconds. I fight through the emotion to maintain control. “You love me?”

His face twists. There’s perspiration beaded on his forehead and streaming down his jaw. “Course I love you, girlie. I’ve loved you for ages. Just been too scared to tell you. Figured you musta known anyway.”

There’s too much going on inside me to even begin to process it all or sort it into understandable realities. I choke on tears and beam up at him. “I never knew.”

“Yeah. Figured that out this afternoon. That’s all my fault. Not yours. We don’t got time to work it all out right now. Don’t know how long before they get to where we’re goin’. So you ready to do this?”

I’m not ready for anything except collapsing into sobs on his chest. That’s out of the question, however, so instead, I sniff hard and nod.

“Okay. As soon as we slow down enough, you jump out and you run with everythin’ you got in you.” He points toward the back of the SUV. “You run in that direction. You don’t stop for anythin’. For anythin’ . No matter what they do to me. You got that?”

I don’t have that. I don’t have it at all.

“Okay,” I choke out.

“When you get back to our people, they’ll know what to do.”

“We’ll come back to get you.”

He doesn’t respond to that, and it feels significant.

Like he knows he’s not going to be around to rescue.

I can’t even begin to deal with that horrifying possibility, so I don’t let the thought penetrate my fear-clouded brain.

“Okay, girlie. You ready?”

I nod again. Try not to cry.

He leans over and gives me a hard kiss. It doesn’t last nearly long enough. Then he’s pulling away. Scooting close to the back hatch of the Jeep. Pulling out the small pistol from his ankle holster.

“Dummies didn’t even check for this one,” he mutters.

I move into a crouch, balancing myself on the side. As he’s aiming toward the lock, I say, “I love you too, Jimmy.”

He makes a weird, guttural sound as he fires.

It reverberates painfully in the enclosed space, and the hatch flies open.

I hold on against the rush of wind as Jimmy leans farther so he can extend his arm to shoot at one of the tires.

As soon as he does, the SUV jerks sharply, then slows down.

“Now!” Jimmy gives me a little push toward the open hatch, and I jump while the vehicle is still moving.

I fall. Tumble onto the grass. Hit my knee hard but ignore the pain as I jump to my feet and into a run.

I glance back once. I can’t help it.

Jimmy is hanging out of the rear of the vehicle, his right hand extended to hold his pistol in place.

But he gives me a little salute with his left hand.

The small gesture slices at my chest.

I ignore it. Accelerate into a sprint. There’s shouting behind me. Gunfire. I’m desperate to turn to see what’s happening, but that would slow me down.

Jimmy is counting on me. I’m the only possible way he’s getting out of this alive.

So my only priority is to run and keep running.

That’s what I do.

I’m not sure how long I run, but it’s longer than I’ve run in my entire life.

I’ve never been very good at it. My legs aren’t long, and my boobs are way too big. They flop around painfully since I don’t even have a bra to hold them in place.

Maybe those three bad guys came after me, but I don’t hear them after the first minute of muffled shouts and gunshots.

Maybe Jimmy was able to shoot them all. Unlikely but not impossible.

I hold on to that hope.

I can make it back to the Carlsons’ farmhouse. We can get a group together to go after Jimmy. He’ll still be there—wounded in the back of the Jeep. Alive and waiting for us to get him.

It could happen.

Why shouldn’t it happen?

He doesn’t have to be dead.

I sprint until my lungs burn and my head roars and my legs won’t work anymore. Finally I have to rest for a few minutes to catch my breath. Then I start running again at a more moderate pace.

I’m not being followed. I’m sure I’d know by now if I was. Those men’s legs are way longer than mine, so they could have easily caught up to me if they were really giving chase.

They’re not. But I still need to get to the Carlsons’ as soon as possible to save Jimmy, which means I can’t slow down.

I keep going in the same direction Jimmy indicated even though it seems to take forever. Hopefully I’ll eventually get to a landmark I recognize. It’s entirely possible I’ve angled wrong and will end up far off my intended destination, but surely eventually I’ll recognize something.

At one point, I have to stop to throw up and then spend a few minutes recovering. I slow down even more after that. My body simply won’t move any faster.

The moon is full and high in the sky when I finally see the road that takes us from our little cabin to the community of farms and houses where the Carlsons live. It’s almost exactly the spot where we were waylaid.

I sure hope more of those guys who attacked us aren’t lurking around to strike again. If they are, there’s nothing in the world I can do to hold them off.

I can barely stand up straight.

There’s no one else in sight when I reach the road. No sound except crickets and the far-off hoot of an owl.

I limp my way back down the road until I finally get to the Carlsons’ familiar farmhouse. I’m wheezing and bending over when I pound on the front door.

Greta opens it with a gun in her hand.

I can’t hold myself up anymore, so I fall into her arms.

17

LESS THAN THIRTY MINUTES LATER, I’m squeezed into the cab of Cal’s pickup truck, doing my best to remember where I left Jimmy so I can direct the others to the right spot.

Cal is driving, and Rachel is sitting beside him. Then me and Mack. Four of us is one too many for a comfortable ride on this bench seat. If I weren’t the only one who knows where to find Jimmy, I wouldn’t be invited along on this rescue at all.

It’s completely understandable. While Jimmy did teach me to use a gun, I’m not an expert by any definition, and I have exactly zero experience in gunfights. I’d be little help coming along no matter how much I would have insisted.

Ben and Greta even tried to get me to describe his location to them so I could stay at the house—they were anxious because they so clearly understood that Jimmy would want me to stay where it’s safe—but I was so exhausted and flustered and breathless that I couldn’t get out any clear explanations.

So I’m tagging along to give directions with a promise that I’ll stay out of sight unless things go bad and I’m needed for backup. Ben, Greta, Amelia, her father, and Cy Santiago are in the bed of the pickup.

We’re getting Jimmy back.

It’s a miracle Mack and the others are here at the right time for us to use their vehicle in the rescue. Otherwise it would take us much longer, and we might be too late.

The moon is still bright in the sky, and thank goodness the landscape comes back to me as we drive so I can give appropriate directions on how to find Jimmy.

I’m so nervous about what’s waiting for us that I can’t stop trembling, but none of the others in the cab appear remotely anxious. Cal is tense and silent, but that’s obviously his normal demeanor. Rachel is calm and matter-of-fact, and Mack is relaxed and encouraging, telling me that the numbers sound promising and that the bad guys won’t have had time to call for reinforcements and that Jimmy knows what he’s doing, so he was probably able to hold out.

It helps but not enough. There were more bad guys than just the three in the SUV, and I have no idea what happened to them. They could have found Jimmy already.

Anyway, nothing is going to fix me until I can see for myself that Jimmy is alive.

“Have you never done this before?” Mack asks after I direct Cal to skirt around a large cluster of trees and then ascend a grassy hill. I’m pretty sure I left Jimmy in the valley beyond it.

“Done what?” I’m still having trouble focusing after my extended physical exertion, and my throat is painfully scratchy. “Been in a gunfight?”

“Yeah.”

I shake my head. “I’ve never done anything like it. I didn’t even know how to fire a gun until Jimmy taught me earlier this year. I’m pretty useless.”

“You aren’t either.” Mack’s eyes are dark and kind. “You ran all the way back in record time, and you’re still holding it together. Damn impressive.”

I give him a wobbly smile. “Thanks for saying that. But I guarantee I’m not going to be any help once we get there.”

“That’s okay. You just crouch down on the floor here and stay low. Don’t get out or do anything stupid. If things go bad, we’ll need you to help then. But I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

I hope not. I pray silently to anyone who might hear that it won’t.

“It’s just over this hill, I think,” I tell Cal.

I sure hope I haven’t led everyone in the entirely wrong direction.

I didn’t. As soon as we crest the hill, the Jeep with the blown tire comes into view, exactly where I left it.

But nothing else looks the same.

There are a lot more men, positioned on various sides and all shooting at the SUV.

Jimmy is still in the back, but he must have at some point managed to get out to collect the weapons off the original three men whose bodies are now lying on the grass. He’s got an assault rifle and keeps ducking out from behind the back hatch to shoot toward the men attacking him.

He’s still alive. That’s my first clear recognition.

But he’s outnumbered by about ten.

The rest of the group who originally attacked us on the road must have been following on foot. They caught up before we could reach him and are scattered around, holding protected positions behind different trees and one big boulder. They must have just recently arrived because Jimmy couldn’t have held out against so many for very long.

I didn’t run fast enough.

In the five seconds it takes me to process all that, my body starts to shake even more.

“Get down now,” Mack murmurs, moving his legs so I can fit better. “You stay here unless someone calls for you to help.”

“Okay.” The response comes out as more of a gurgle as I crouch down beside Mack’s big work boots.

Because I’m curled up on the floor, I can’t see what’s happening. I can’t see anything, and it’s torture.

Cal stomps the gas of the pickup. Then it stops with a weird series of jerks and bumps. I wonder if he plowed into something intentionally.

Or someone.

I have no idea. All I know is that the others are all jumping out of the truck, and the night is filled with deafening gunshots. One after another.

Jimmy is in real danger. All these people—many I care for deeply—are in real danger.

And, me, I’m huddled uselessly on the floor of the pickup.

I’m desperate to peek out to see what’s happening, but I resist the foolish impulse. That would put me in danger too. It would make me a possible target and a distraction to the others.

The last thing they need is to be worried about me getting hurt.

So I hug my knees and I shudder and I pray and I wait for the shooting to end.

It feels like it lasts a long time. Forever. I’m in no fit state to accurately measure the passing of time. There’s a lot of shouting, but I can’t really tell where it’s coming from or make out the words.

Then I hear Rachel’s voice clearly from not too far away. She’s loud. Urgent. “Cal’s pinned down. Mack! Mack! ”

“I got it!” That’s Mack. His voice is unmistakable. There’s a bump and the truck rocks slightly like he might have jumped into the back.

Cal has a huge transfer tank for extra gas in the truck bed and also a large built-in toolbox that’s filled with weapons. It’s like an arsenal. I saw it when we were getting ready to leave.

Maybe he’s getting something out of there.

“Mack!” Rachel screams again. “We need to take out the guys behind that boulder. Shit, he’s hit! Mack! ”

“I got it! Heads down!”

I have no idea what’s happening. What Mack is about to do.

A few seconds pass, and then there’s an explosion that seems to rock the entire world.

Most of the gunshots stop after that. There are a few more, scattered with pauses between them.

Then a light tap on the window of the pickup startles me so much I gasp.

“We’re all good now.” Mack opens the passenger door and helps me out. “We got ’em all.”

I’m so disoriented and dizzy that I can’t even stand up. I lean against the seat after I get my feet on the ground. “What happened? What was that explosion?”

Mack glances over in what I assume is the direction it happened. “Threw a grenade. They had the better position, and we couldn’t get ’em out of there any other way.”

“So they’re all dead?”

“They’re all dead. Should be safe now.” Mack nods toward the Jeep with the blown-out tire. “Your man made it through. He’s still there.”

That piece of information consumes me so entirely that nothing else matters. I run as fast as my limping will allow until I reach the Jeep. The hatch is swinging haphazardly, barely holding on after being shot up so much.

Jimmy has fallen back in an awkward heap, a rifle resting on his belly and his fingers still hooked around the trigger.

One leg of his jeans is entirely soaked in blood, and there’s more on the side of his head.

I climb up, almost crying again. “Jimmy! Jimmy!”

With effort, he manages to open his eyes a slit. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not! What kind of thing is that to say? Did you get shot again?” I’m leaning over him now, trying to examine the wound on his head.

“Piece of metal ricocheted. Nothin’ to worry ’bout there. Just my damn leg.” He blinks up at me, his face softening when his eyes focus on my face. “Was that a fuckin’ grenade? Seems like you brought back a whole army to save me.”

“I did! Of course I did!”

“Musta run like the devil to get back to me so quick. You’re pregnant. Shouldn’t’ve had to do all that.” He sounds so weak, but he’s still smiling. So tender.

“Well, I shouldn’t have had to leave you at all, but I did. Are you really okay? You must have lost so much blood.”

“Think I did lose a lot, but don’t think the leg wound is as bad as it coulda been. If the damn thing’ll stop bleeding, I’ll be okay.”

I don’t know if he believes that or if he’s simply trying to make me feel better, but it works. I hug my arms to my chest and cry in relief.

He groans as he hefts himself up to a sitting position, leaning against one side. Then he says, “Come here, girlie.”

“I don’t want to hurt you more.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me. I need to hold you right now.”

I move closer, and he puts an arm around me. I burrow into his shirt and finally, finally feel safe.

Safe.

And home.

It’s a few minutes before I can focus on anything except Jimmy, but eventually I peer out to see what’s happening.

Jimmy’s parents come over to see how he is as soon as they can. His dad starts wrapping his leg with bandages we brought with us.

The others are checking on the bad guys and collecting their weapons. One of them must not have been dead yet because a scowling Cal shoots him in the head. Cal has blood all over one shoulder, but it must not be too serious because he’s up and moving around.

Eventually I focus on Mack, who’s now heading behind the boulder to where he threw the grenade. After a minute, I straighten up, leaning out more to see better.

“What is it?” Jimmy asks, turning away from the work his father is doing on his leg.

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with Mack.”

He’s just standing there now, staring down at the ground. Unmoving.

But something has changed about his demeanor. I can see it although I can’t explain it.

“Did he get shot?” Jimmy asks.

“I don’t think so,” Greta says, turning to peer at Mack too. “It’s a miracle we all made it out of this alive.”

“Cal got winged,” Ben says. “And Cy got grazed in the side. But nothing else.”

I’m still staring at Mack. Something is definitely wrong. I glance over at Jimmy. “Are you okay for now?”

“Yeah. Dad’s got this leg. Go check on him if you want.” He glances between Mack’s back and my face.

I lean over to kiss him before I climb out of the Jeep. I’m not all that great with blood and wounds, so it’s not like I’d do any good helping with Jimmy’s leg anyway.

I limp over to Mack.

“Is something wrong?” I ask before I reach him.

He’s still staring down at the ground.

When I’m standing beside him, I see why.

There are dead bodies on the ground. A couple are blasted to charred pieces, almost unrecognizable as human. But one must not have gotten hit with the full blast of the grenade because it’s more intact.

It’s dead. Definitely dead.

But it looks like a child.

A boy. It’s hard to tell the exact age because malnutrition is so prevalent, but I’d swear the boy was no more than eleven or twelve.

He must have been working with the bad guys, shooting from behind the boulder, and he’s dead now.

Mack killed him.

He was a child.

My stomach churns and I grow cold. “Oh no,” I breathe. “Oh no!”

Mack still doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares.

“You didn’t know,” I murmur hoarsely. “You didn’t have a choice. They were trying to kill us.”

Finally Mack wrenches his eyes away from the body. He meets my gaze, but his expression is empty.

Empty.

All the warmth has gone out.

He still doesn’t speak.

“You can’t blame yourself,” I say, grabbing his big arm in my urgency. “Mack, innocent people were in danger, and you were protecting them. You were protecting all of us.”

Still no answer.

No reaction at all.

I have no idea what to do. It feels like Mack is broken, and I’m the only one who recognizes it.

Where the hell are his friends? They need to help him through this.

I look around frantically until I find Cal and Rachel. He’s scowling as she’s trying to wrap up the wound on his shoulder.

Cal sees me staring. With a question on his face, he nudges Rachel, who looks over at me too.

I gesture toward them and then at Mack.

To my relief, they both come immediately. I don’t have to explain. They see it as clearly as I do—both in the boy’s dead body and in Mack’s frozen stance.

I like Mack. A lot. He seems like a genuinely great guy, and he might have saved all of us by throwing that grenade. But Cal and Rachel are his people. Not me.

I’ve got enough to do trying to take care of my own people.

Morning is dawning by the time we get back to the farm.

I’ve been awake all night—much of it spent in sheer terror—and I also took that long, frantic run, which was probably the most strenuous activity of my entire life. I’m in the bed of the truck next to Jimmy on the ride back home, and the bumpy ride combined with my physical and mental state is not good for my stomach.

I throw up twice on the short ride.

Jimmy, who should be more worried about the bullet wound in his thigh, keeps trying to fuss over me the whole time. I tell him over and over again that I’m simply carsick, but I don’t know that for sure.

These seem like ideal circumstances for me to lose this baby.

There’s nothing I can do about it. I did what I had to do every step of the way tonight. But I’m relieved when we finally reach the Carlsons’ house.

Jimmy is given the single bed in a tiny storage area that’s often used as a sickroom. I want to stay with him, but he won’t let me squeeze in the minuscule space between his body and the wall, so I collapse instead on the bed in the big room that used to be mine.

Despite all my worries, I fall asleep almost immediately and don’t wake up until early afternoon.

Jimmy is restless when I go to his room, clearly in pain even as he tries to doze. He settles some when I pull a chair up beside him and grab his hand.

His wound isn’t serious. The bullet didn’t even hit bone. But if it gets infected, he could die from it anyway. We have no antibiotics.

The rest of the day passes in a kind of haze. I’m sore and still weak. I’ve got bruises and pulled muscles I wasn’t even aware of last night. And Jimmy is really out of it. He doesn’t have a fever, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get one. I keep brooding on nightmare scenarios as I wait for him to really wake up.

Eventually I fall asleep in my chair. I’m not sure how long I sleep—it couldn’t be very long—but when I open my eyes, Jimmy is awake and gazing at me.

I’ve never seen that particular expression in his eyes before. Nakedly tender.

“Hi,” I say groggily.

“Hi.”

We smile at each other for a minute until I remember that he’s still injured. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good considerin’. Damn leg hurts like hell, but that’s to be expected. But kind of on a high at the same time.”

“You’re on a high?” I giggle a little because his words are so surprising.

“Sure am.” He extends a hand, and I lean toward it automatically. He cups my cheek. “You did say you love me, didn’t you?”

My cheeks flush hot. Ridiculous but true. “Yes. I said that.”

“That’s what I thought you said. You love me, and we both survived when all odds were against us. Hard not to be thrilled out of my damn mind ’bout that.”

Laughter spills out of me. He sounds tired but not sick. He’s certainly still in pain, but he’s not sweating or feverish. Maybe he’ll be okay. “And you love me too, right?”

He gives me a disapproving frown that only lasts a few seconds. “Damn right I do. Loved you for a real long time.”

“You should have told me before.”

“I know. I shoulda opened my damn mouth. But I didn’t. I was scared.” He pauses for a minute before he continues in a different tone. “I did try to show you. It was easier to say stuff about it in bed, so that’s when I tried the most. But I been thinking ’bout that and can see that maybe you were assumin’ it was just the sex I was wantin’. When I was really wantin’ you . I shoulda done better. Put myself out there more. Guess I been operatin’ in self-protection mode lately.”

“I think all of us have been. I know I was too. I wouldn’t even consider the possibility that there might be more between us because I was so afraid of getting hurt and rejected.”

“Still… It was more my fault than yours that you couldn’t read my mind like I was hopin’.”

I want to hug him but I’m afraid of hurting him, so I grab one of his hands instead. He uses the grip to pull me over onto the bed, scooting over so I can curl up beside him.

There’s not a lot of room, but I don’t care.

Neither does he.

He wraps an arm around me. He smells pretty strong—he really needs a bath. But I don’t care even a little bit right now. I probably don’t smell all that fresh either.

“I did…” I pause so I can kiss his bare chest. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers right now. “I did hope sometimes you were feeling more for me. You made it clear that you wanted me to be happy too—that it wasn’t supposed to be all one-sided. But every time I tried to… to encourage you to open up, you didn’t. So I kept assuming that was the limit. I got to share your life and your body and your… your responsibility, but I didn’t get to share your heart.”

He’s obviously thinking as he’s silent for several seconds. “When did you try to get me to open up?”

“Lots of times.”

“Like when?”

“I’d ask you about Mary or whatever, and you wouldn’t answer except to say you loved her.”

“Oh.” He’s frowning and staring up at the ceiling. “I always felt weird talking ’bout her.”

“Why?”

“’Cause me and her were married. It was a normal relationship. I loved her. Course I did. But what we have—you and me—is… is different. It always felt weird. We aren’t married. Weren’t even supposed to be in love. And I always felt awkward and guilty ’bout makin’ comparisons.”

“Guilty toward me or toward Mary?”

“Both, I think. I don’t really know how to describe it. Just that it feels like I was a different person back then. That I was a different guy—the one who loved and married Mary and hoped to start a family with her. The man I am now is… is different. And that’s the man who somehow fell in love with you. The man who loves you more than anythin’ in the world.”

I kiss his chest again. Stretch up to nuzzle his beard.

He tilts his head to meet my lips, and we kiss slow and gentle and sweet for a long time.

When we finally pull away, he murmurs, “You think the baby is okay after all that last night?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I haven’t started bleeding yet. Although, to tell you the truth, we still don’t know for sure that I was pregnant to begin with.”

“Course you are. Why else are you throwin’ up all the time? And hasn’t it been like two months since you had your period?”

“Yes. Almost.” I take a long, deep breath. “Do you… do you think we’ll be okay? If I really do have this baby?”

“Yeah. We’ll be okay.”

Mary died because her baby came too early and there were complications. That has to be on his mind. How could it not be? Childbirth has always been dangerous—more so now than it used to be. But he doesn’t sound worried. He sounds happy.

Excited.

So maybe I can be excited too.

“You scared ’bout it?” he asks after a minute, twining his hand in my messy ponytail.

“A little. But now that it’s happened, I do want this baby. I’ll be…” I get choked up unexpectedly. “I’ll be sad if I lose it.”

“You might not. And either way, we can keep tryin’. I wanna have lots of babies with you.”

“Lots?” I’m giggling again. “Surely two or three will be enough.”

His mouth is twitching with a hidden smile. “We’ll see.”

An hour or so later, I come back into the little room to tell Jimmy that I’m leaving. Our animals won’t be okay if one of us doesn’t get back to feed and tend to them today, so I talked with the others to figure out a plan to take care of them until Jimmy gets well enough to go home.

“You sure ’bout it?” Jimmy asks, frowning and bristling slightly in that protective way he has. “We don’t know him all that well.”

“Jimmy, please. Mack saved your life. He saved all our lives. He’s a really good man, and accidentally killing that boy hurt him really bad. He hasn’t been himself since. He said a few days alone sounds great to him. So he can stay at our house for a little while and take care of our pigs and chickens. He said he’d do some work in the garden too. It will be fine.”

“Don’t they need to be getting home soon?”

“Rachel said they could stay another week. Hopefully by then we can get you home, assuming your leg is healing good.”

“Okay,” he mutters. He doesn’t appear thrilled, but he’s obviously not going to argue with what everyone else believes is an excellent plan. “It should work, I guess. Just don’t like another man in my house doin’ my work.” He narrows his eyes at me. “And don’t you be gettin’ any ideas ’bout him doin’ it better. I’m still your man even if I’m stuck in bed for a while.”

I burst into laughter at the final comment, and it evidently reassures Jimmy. His face softens.

“I know you’re my man.” I lean down to kiss him. “You’re the only man I ever want.”

“Good. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. So you’re goin’ with him?”

“Yes. We’ll walk there, but Amelia is coming too so I don’t have to be alone on the way back.”

“Okay, good.”

“And I was thinking I’d drive back the ATV. That way you can get home sooner since you won’t have to make the long walk.”

“Oh yeah. That’s a great idea. Maybe I could even go back tomorrow if I don’t gotta walk.”

“Not tomorrow. Don’t get ahead of yourself. But once it’s clear your leg is healing without infection, we can head back home.”

He mumbles to himself, but it’s mostly for show. He’s smiling when I get to the door and glance back over my shoulder.

“I love you, Jimmy,” I tell him.

“Love you too. Forever.”

18

FOUR DAYS LATER, I drive the ATV back to our cabin in the morning so I can get things ready for Jimmy to come back home and collect Mack.

The past days have been long. Tedious. Jimmy has been in a bad mood about being stuck in bed, and I’ve been impatient to get back to our own home, our own kitchen, our own animals, our own bed.

I love his parents, but I don’t want to live with them.

Jimmy’s leg is healing well. We’ve been extra careful with keeping the wound clean and dry, and there’s no sign of infection. He’s mostly recovered from the blood loss and weakness. Yesterday he was like a caged bear all day. I had to give him a very quiet blow job just to take the edge off his mood.

He was a little better after that.

But I’m not going to be able to get him to stay in bed for much longer, so Greta and I agreed that today is the day. I’ll go out this morning to get the house and bed ready and pick up Mack. Then Jimmy and I will drive back home in the afternoon.

I’m excited, and the familiar road through the woods and ascent to the cabin feel like the embrace of an old friend.

Mack hears me drive up and comes to the front to greet me. He’s obviously been working in the garden. He’s got dirt on his hands, arms, shoes, and knees.

I’ve been hoping he’ll be back to his old self after the time to recover alone, but he’s not. He’s polite. Helpful as always. But he’s quiet and subdued—like the warm fire inside him is still snuffed.

It worries me, but I’m not sure what I can possibly do to help.

After he cleans up, he helps me change the sheets on the bed and check the food so I’ll know what I need to bring with us this afternoon from Greta’s pantry.

When we’re done, Mack packs up his stuff and then sits on the front step outside to wait for me to run to the outhouse.

He looks hunched and tired when I return to him, so I sit on the step beside him. He’s staring at an empty spot in the air.

I wish I knew what I could say to encourage him, to lighten his load. But I don’t really know him very well, and some things simply can’t be fixed with anything but time.

“Didn’t it help?” I ask at last. “The time alone?”

“It did. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“But it wasn’t enough?”

He gives an exhausted shrug and stares down at the ground.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I murmur, knowing even as I say the words that they won’t change anything. “You didn’t know. You did what you had to do to save us.”

“I know.” He’s hoarse. Not pained exactly. Just so incredibly tired. “That’s what I do.”

That small comment enlightens me. Tells me something I didn’t know before. I turn to look at him, but he won’t meet my eyes. After a long stretch of silence, I ask, “How long has it been?”

He finally glances over with a silent question.

“How long have you been carrying a whole community on your back?”

My soft question gets to him. He makes a small sound in his throat and turns away. “Almost ten years.”

Ten years. Since before Impact. Probably ever since that terrible day when the approaching asteroid was announced to the world.

Since then, he’s been taking care of people. Protecting them. Holding them together. From what Cal and Rachel have mentioned in passing, Mack has been central to the safe, established communities that have been built and are growing in their part of the world.

Ten years he’s been doing it. Taking on their loads so they don’t have to carry them alone.

No wonder he’s on the brink of collapse.

“Have you never had a break in all that time?”

He gives another heavy shrug. “These past few days.”

“Can’t you get away for a little longer? Go somewhere on your own where you don’t have to hold everyone else together? It sounds like your community is doing pretty well now. Surely they won’t all fall apart without you for a while.”

“Where would I go?”

I straighten up. Widen my eyes. “I…” I hear my voice break, suddenly uncertain about the suggestion that’s just occurred to me.

He must know I have a thought because he finally straightens up too. “You have somewhere in mind?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. It might be crazy. But my grandpa and I lived in a cabin. In the middle of The Wild. He had it all fixed up with self-sustaining power and plumbing and everything. There’s still some prepper food there. If you think you can get across the border safely, I could give you directions on how to get there. I’m sure it’s still safe. There’s hardly anyone in The Wild, and no one knows where the cabin is.”

His mouth parts. For the first time since the gunfight, his expression relaxes. “You wouldn’t mind if I use it?”

“Of course not. It’s been sitting empty since the end of last year. No sense for it to be wasted. You would have to figure out a way to safely sneak across the border, but after that it should be easy. You could stay there as long as you want. It’s got at least a month or two left of food, and you could hunt and fish to supplement. You could… you could take care of no one except yourself for a little while.”

Mack takes a shaky breath.

“And when you’re ready to come back, there’s a truck and another ATV there with plenty of gas left. You could take whichever you prefer and then drive it all the way back to Kentucky. Whenever you’re ready to go home again.”

“You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. I’d be glad for what’s there to be of some use.” I reach over to touch his arm. “Mack, you risked your life for me and Jimmy. You had no reason to do that except the goodness of your heart. Goodness doesn’t always get rewarded, but it should be. It should be. So take time for yourself if you need it.”

He’s silent for a minute. I know he likes the idea. He wants to grab on to it. But there’s still something holding him back. “They’ll all think I abandoned them. Back home.”

I shake my head. “Maybe. Or maybe they’ll understand that after everything you’ve always done for other people, you finally needed to do something for yourself.”

And that does it.

He makes up his mind. Straightens his back and then lifts himself to his feet, extending his hand to help me up too. “Thank you, Chloe. I don’t know why what happened the other night hit me so hard. I’ve dealt with really rough stuff in the past and it didn’t faze me. But this did. I can’t seem to shake it. And this feels like a lifeline to me.”

I squeeze his hand before I let it go. “Then take it, Mack. Take it.”

Mack and I get back to the Carlsons’ farm before lunch, and shortly afterward I squeeze into the pickup’s cab with Cal, Rachel, and Mack so I can show them where to drop off Mack for a straight shot across the border and into The Wild.

In the pickup, we’re safe enough to get to the edge of the border and save Mack some walking in dangerous territory.

Cal and Rachel aren’t happy. In fact, they’re both visibly upset about Mack’s decision and are afraid it won’t be good for him.

But he’s made up his mind. He’s doing it. And so they drive him as far as they can to keep him safe.

It’s already been decided that two of the local farmhands—men without families or homes or roots here—are going to ride back to Kentucky with Cal, Rachel, and the cows to provide extra protection on the road. Those guys can return on their own time if they want, but it’s likely they’ll just stay in the communities there. Evidently there are more people there, so they’ll have a better chance of finding women and making homes for themselves.

So Mack isn’t needed to protect the cows on the way home. Cal and Rachel can take them, and Mack can return when he’s ready.

The logistics all work out fine, but Cal and Rachel still don’t like it.

I don’t blame them, but I figure Mack gets to decide what’s best for him.

The ride out toward the border is quiet and doesn’t take very long. When we get close, I look up at Mack. “Okay. If you pick up that trail at the old parking lot, it should be a clear route to get there. Just turn right at the fork where that old gas station was, and then take the dirt driveway past the creek crossing.”

“Okay. I got it.”

“And the key is under a loose rock at the bottom of that rock wall about ten feet from where it ends at the driveway.”

Mack nods. “Got it.”

I’ve told him all this before, but I’m suddenly nervous for him. “There should be plenty of food. And if you head east on the trail from the house, you’ll run into a lake where you can fish. And take either the truck or the ATV when you’re ready to come home. The keys are under the seats.”

“Thank you, Chloe. I got it. I’m going to be fine.”

I nod and swallow over any further impulse to babble.

“What do you want us to tell Anna?” Rachel asks softly.

Mack flinches very briefly. “Tell her… Tell her I’m fine.”

Cal puts the truck into park where I indicate. Mack will only have to cross the road and get through the old parking lot to pick up the overgrown trail through The Wild.

We all look in both directions for guards or vehicles or any other human beings.

There’s nothing but the crumbling road, a lot of long grass and weeds, and the thick darkness of the forest in front of us.

Mack gets out, heaving on his big pack and keeping his rifle at the ready. Cal and Rachel get out too.

Rachel says something and then hugs Mack. She looks like she’s about to cry, but she doesn’t. After an awkward moment during which Cal must have mumbled something, Mack hugs him too. Then he gives me a wave and a faint hint of his old smile.

He turns away and walks across the road as Cal stands, gun poised, still looking for any sign of the gangs who regularly patrol this area.

Mack keeps walking, making it to the parking lot that Grandpa and I stumbled on months ago.

Ages ago.

After another minute, Mack’s large, upright figure passes out of sight, disappearing into The Wild.

The sun has fully set that evening by the time I finish getting the chickens and pigs ready for the night, go to the bathroom, and lock up the house.

Jimmy was just as happy as me to get back home, but he’s gotten grumpier as the evening’s passed with me having to do all his chores.

His leg is healing, but it’s not anywhere close to completely better yet. And I refuse to let him risk it by overdoing his activity no matter how stubbornly he wants to get back to normal.

When I finally return to the bedroom, he’s lying in bed in his boxers with the sheet pushed down to his thighs. “I coulda done somethin’.”

“Whether you could have done something and whether you should have done something are two entirely different things.”

He scowls at me as I pour water in the basin and start cleaning myself up. “You shouldn’t have to do everythin’.”

“I won’t have to do everything for long. You need to have a little patience. Can’t you just enjoy the fact that we’re home?”

“I’m real happy ’bout that. But you’ve had a hard week and haven’t had much chance to recover because I’ve been stuck in bed all this time. And you’re pregnant on top of it all. You must be dead on your feet.”

I shimmy out of my jeans and panties and finish a quick washup before I pull on my nightgown and join him in bed. After turning off the lantern, I’m careful not to accidentally jar him or knee his bad leg as I climb over his body.

“I am pretty tired,” I admit as I fit myself at his side.

Wrapping an arm around me, he lets out a long breath, readjusting me so we’re both more comfortable. “You need to get some sleep. Let me do the mornin’ chores tomorrow and you can sleep in.”

“No way.”

“You got mornin’ sickness.”

“And you have a bullet wound in your leg.”

“I feel fine now.”

“No, you don’t. I feel fine.”

“No, you fuckin’ don’t.”

I can’t help but giggle at the silly argument and his ornery tone. “I guess we’re both not in tip-top shape, but we’ll get there.”

He relaxes. Tilts his head down so he can press a few kisses into my hair. “Yeah. We’ll get there.”

After a minute, I ask in a different tone, “What do you think they’re up to at the border?”

For the past several days, it’s been one of the main topics of conversation in the community. Why did they try to capture me and Jimmy? It was obviously an organized plot, not a spur-of-the-moment impulse. They were waiting for us. Ready for us. And we managed to stop their attempt and kill all the guys who tried it, but we still don’t understand what their motivation was to begin with.

“I really don’t know.” He shifts restlessly. “If they’d killed me and just took you, maybe I could see what they were after.”

A chill runs through me at the thought.

Jimmy continues, “But they wanted both of us. Alive. I got no idea.”

“Me either. Do you think it’s… it’s over?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. “I dunno. But somethin’ makes me think they’re not done. We’re steppin’ up on patrols and posting guards. Not sure what else we can do but wait and see.”

“Yeah.”

I don’t like it. It makes the world feel a little less safe than it was before. But in truth, my sense of safety before was based on ignorance rather than true security. This world—what it’s become—will never fully be safe.

But we defended ourselves once. We can do it again.

We’ll have to.

I’m so tired that, despite the worries, my eyes are already drifting closed. It’s been such a long evening, long day, long week, long year . But then I suddenly remember something. My eyes pop open. “Oh. Did you want me to give you a—”

“No!” He’s grumpy again. “You’re exhausted.”

“I could still—”

“No! We’re not doin’ that anymore.”

I’m so startled by the words that I peer down at him in the dark. “You don’t want blow jobs anymore?” My voice wobbles a little.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Course I want blow jobs,” he mumbles. “When you wanna do it and are in the mood. Not when you’re so tired you can barely keep your eyes open. I’m not gonna let you do it just ’cause you think you gotta—like it’s a job or somethin’. I only want it when you really want it too.”

My cheeks warm with a self-conscious kind of emotional pleasure. I curl up at his side again, wrapping one arm around his waist. His belly is the only part of him that isn’t firm. I love cuddling against him. “Okay. Usually I want to do it, but I am pretty tired tonight.”

“I know you are. So tonight we’re just gonna sleep. Believe it or not, I’m kind of tired too.”

I smile, closing my eyes. “But it is my job, you know.”

“What?”

“Taking care of you. Making you happy. It is my job. My responsibility and no one else’s. It always will be.”

He’s silent for a minute, but I feel his emotional response shuddering in the air of the room. Then he clears his throat. “As long as you don’t forget that it’s mutual. Taking care of you and making you happy is my job too.”

Four months later, it’s November, which means it’s been one full year since I met Jimmy. I wake up on a Wednesday morning, excited about the day.

The strenuous work of harvesttime is over. For a couple of months, Jimmy and I were working so hard and such long hours that we could barely move at the end of the days. He had to stay at his parents’ for days at a time to help with reaping, threshing, and winnowing the wheat. Amelia came and stayed with me whenever he was gone for more than a couple of days at a time.

All the time he was working somewhere else, I was responsible for all the work at home—not just the daily chores but also getting in the last produce from our garden and then canning as much of it as I could.

But the hardest work is done. There’s not much to be done in the winter except the basics of keeping us and the animals alive. The season might be cold and dark and wet and sometimes icy, but it also gives us a lot of time at home alone.

Today, however, we have an actual task. We need baby supplies. A few of the women are sewing us some baby clothes—I’m fine with mending but not good enough yet to make a garment from scratch—and Jimmy can build any furniture we need. But some things will be hard to make or improvise, and there’s an old discount store about twenty miles away that still has a lot of stuff buried in the rubble.

That’s where Jimmy has always gone to scavenge stuff we need. All the food and medication and emergency supplies were looted years ago, but there are other items still available with enough digging around. He’s uncovered some extra clothes and shoes for me. He’s found me stacks of mystery and romance books. He took me there once and let me pick out some pretty rugs and curtains and throw pillows for the house.

But today we’re going to look for baby stuff.

At our best guess, I’m not even six months along yet, but the last trimester will go quickly, and we want to be ready before the bad winter weather arrives.

So we’re going to sacrifice some of the gas in the ATV and drive there. (Cal and Rachel very generously filled it up with their extra supply before they headed back home, so we still have plenty of gas remaining.) Then we’ll come back with as many baby supplies as we can pull out of the rubble.

I’m excited. About the trip. About the baby stuff. And about the baby.

I have a noticeable bump now. And pretty soon we’ll have a son or daughter.

It still makes me nervous sometimes. Giving birth without a hospital or medication or equipment for emergencies. And I’m still anxious about the gangs on the border. They haven’t made any more direct attacks, but they’re pushing against the boundaries more than they used to, and it still feels like they’re up to something.

But the truth is I’m not as afraid as I would have expected. Most of the time, I’m incredibly happy in my life with Jimmy. At peace.

And there’s no reason not to hope for it to keep getting better.

After we’ve gotten dressed, done our morning chores, and eaten breakfast, I wander into our small second room while Jimmy uses the outhouse.

We’ve been working on the room for months now. Jimmy built a wall of shelves to put the extra supplies we’ve always kept in there and all my books, leaving plenty of room for the baby furniture. He’s already built a changing table with compartments beneath it for supplies. I’ve put pretty yellow curtains up on the window and a green, brown, and yellow area rug on the floor.

I rub my rounded belly and smile at the small space.

“You ready?” Jimmy asks as he comes behind me and wraps his arms around me, rubbing my belly in the same way I was before.

“Yeah. I’m ready. It will be nice in here once we get everything, won’t it?”

“Yep. It’ll be real nice and pretty. Gonna eventually have to think about what to do about space though.”

I frown and look back at him over my shoulder.

He kisses me. “When we have more than one baby.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I turn around and wrap my arms around his neck. He smells like Jimmy and he looks like Jimmy. My big, gruff, protective, warmhearted bear of a man. “We’ll start with one and see how it goes.”

“Yeah. That sounds good.” He leans down to kiss me. “But I gotta say it’s gonna be hard to go back to pulling out every time when we have sex. Gettin’ pretty spoiled lately.”

I giggle at that and bury my face in his flannel shirt. “You can do it. I have faith in you.”

He tightens his arms around me into a hard hug and murmurs, “Good. ’Cause I’m never gonna let you down.”

EPILOGUE

TODAY IS BAKING day so the whole cabin is filled with the warm scent of fresh bread. It hits me strongly as I come in from using the outhouse, and the familiar smell makes me happy.

Feels like home.

The newly baked loaves are cooling on the counter, and the kitchen is neat and clean. The windows are open to let in a breeze because it’s always stuffy in the house in July when I use the stove. I’m about to collapse on the couch with a book for a little while when I hear soft fussing from the nursery.

Sammy must have woken up from his nap.

It’s only been an hour, and he usually sleeps for at least two in the afternoon. I was hoping for another hour of rest. I wait for a minute to see if he settles himself back down to sleep, but when his fussing turns into crying, I walk into his small room and pick him up.

He takes after his father. He’s a big chunk of a fella with chubby cheeks and sober eyes that were gray at first but, at five months, are starting to shift to brown.

He babbles cheerfully when I carry him to the couch. Also like his dad, he’s always hungry and easy to make happy.

I’m wearing one of Jimmy’s cotton button-up shirts because it’s easy to open for breastfeeding. When I free my right breast and arrange Sammy in my lap, he latches on and begins sucking with more enthusiasm than grace.

I was terrified after I gave birth that I’d have trouble with nursing. It’s not like formula is readily available in this world, so if I couldn’t produce enough milk, then I couldn’t feed my own baby. One of the deepest reliefs of my life has been having a plentiful supply for Sammy and very little discomfort and frustration with the process.

Once the initial stress passed, I’ve actually enjoyed feeding him. The closeness. Being able to provide what my child needs in such an intimate way.

I’ve felt weak and needy for so much of my life that it’s genuinely satisfying. Sammy relies entirely on me, and I’m capable of giving him what he needs.

I’m wiping dribble off his chin when a noise from the back door makes me glance over. Jimmy has come in from outside smelling like summer air—a mingling of dirt and herbs and pine trees.

I smile as he washes his hands and face in the kitchen and then wanders over to slouch down on the other side of the couch.

He grins at us endearingly. “Kind of early for snack time, isn’t it?” We’ve worked hard to get Sammy on as regular a schedule as possible, and Jimmy knows it as well as I do.

“He woke up. Sometimes food is more important than sleep.”

“I can sympathize.”

“I know you can. Pretty soon he’s going to be competing with you in emptying his plate. He’s already acting interested in our food.”

“So when should we start him on regular food?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure. You’re mom suggested around six months, so he might still have another month. But she said that when he’s trying to reach for our food, then it’s reasonable to get started.”

“Well, he was sure grabbing for my eggs this morning.”

I giggle at the memory of Jimmy’s feigned outrage over his breakfast being poached by the baby. “Get anything from the garden this morning?”

“Yeah. Some tomatoes and a bunch of greens. Not too bad.”

Since Sammy has finished eating, I wipe off his face and my chest and then close my shirt and rearrange him in my arms so I can pat his back.

Jimmy watches with interest and offers his congratulations at the loud burp Sammy produces.

I cuddle the baby afterwards, and Jimmy leans over to kiss me and then kiss our son. “Guess I should find some more work to do.”

“Do you have anything important?” July isn’t the busiest time of the year—that will start next month—but he doesn’t have a lot of free time in the summer. At least this week he’s been able to stay home, and I want him to have as much downtime as possible while he can.

“Not really. The shed’s gotten to be a mess, so I was thinkin’ ’bout straightening it up.”

I shrug. “Maybe that can wait. Sammy’s about to go back to sleep.”

Jimmy doesn’t know what I’m hinting at. His brows pull together as he peers at me.

“If he’s taking a nap,” I add lightly, “then maybe we can have a nap too. Or something else nap-related.”

At my words, Jimmy perks up visibly. “Oh. In that case, the shed can definitely wait.”

I laugh again, feeling relaxed and affectionate and excited that both of us are finally feeling more like ourselves.

Jimmy was a nervous wreck for the entire third trimester of my pregnancy, since that was when Mary and their baby died. Eventually, he would barely leave my side and jumped at any stray twitch or groan I made. We got in quite a few arguments—far more than is normal for us—because he was hovering so incessantly.

Labor and delivery went as well as we could have hoped for. It was terribly painful—with no hospital or medication—but there were no complications, and I didn’t even have extra tearing to deal with afterwards since Sammy’s positioning was perfect, and Greta and Amelia’s mom were so experienced as midwives.

But I was incredibly sore afterwards, and it was a few months before I was comfortable with penetration again. I gave Jimmy plenty of blow jobs, but it’s only been the past month or two that our sex life has returned to something like normal.

For a while, I was afraid I’d never be as excited about sex as I used to be, but that’s definitely not the case.

After a few minutes, when Sammy falls back to sleep, Jimmy carries him to the nursery, changes his diaper, and settles him in for the rest of his nap.

Then he returns to the couch and climbs on top of me, smiling and nuzzling my neck. His beard tickles my skin.

I giggle and wrap my arms around him. He’s still big and warm and strong and gruff and so tender at the heart of him. And he’s mine.

All mine.

“I love you, Jimmy,” I tell him as he sucks on a sensitive spot at the base of my throat. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. You know that, right?”

He lifts his head, evidently understanding that I’m being serious. He meets my gaze, and I see in his eyes everything I’ve ever needed to know about his love and trust and commitment and absolute devotion. “I know,” he mutters with a lot of gravel in his voice. “I feel the exact same way ’bout you.”

He does. I know it for sure. I’m needed as much as I need him. Loved as much as I love.

For a moment, the emotion is so pure and strong that I’m afraid I might cry, but I manage to hold it together. Instead, I give him a teasing smile. “And I’m happy to have sex with you right now, but please remember to pull out. As much as I love Sammy, I’m not ready for another one yet.”

He chuckles and kisses me. “Got it. I’ll pull out. But just for now, right? Cause we’re just getting started, and we got a lot more babies to make.”

Author’s note : I’ve written an extra bonus epilogue for Homestead that’s set before this final one (while Chloe is very pregnant). I’ll be sending it out as a newsletter extra on May 20th , so make sure you’re subscribed to the newsletter before then to receive it. If you want to get the bonus epilogue after that date, just subscribe to the newsletter whenever you can, and you’ll be sent the epilogue (along with the other bonus content from the series) immediately on confirming your subscription. To subscribe, just fill out the form here: https:// www. noelle- adams. com/ newsletter .

The next Kindled book will be the final one—Beacon (about Mack and Anna). I am planning to start a spin-off series called The Wild starting early next year. If you’re new to the Kindled series, the best place to continue is Last Light , an introductory novel to this post-apocalyptic world. From there, jump back into the Kindled series with Haven . All the books in the series (except Sanctuary) can be read as standalones, but they’re probably more meaningful when read in sequence.

ABOUT CLAIRE KENT

Claire has been writing romance novels since she was twelve years old. After teaching English at the university level for several years, she started writing full-time under two different pen names. She lives in Virginia.

Her early books are sexy contemporary romances filled with heat and real emotion, but with the Hold series she transitioned to science fiction romance. Her current books are steamy post-apocalyptic romance set in the near future after a global catastrophe. They feature smart, resilient women trying to survive in a new chaotic world and falling in love with strong, gruff, taciturn men.

Claire also writes softer contemporary romances as Noelle Adams (noelle-adams.com ), and the best way to reach her is to send an email to her Noelle Adams address (noelle. s. adams@ gmail ). You can also follow Noelle on Facebook or join her reader group to get updates on her Claire Kent books. If you would like more information, please check out her website .

Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Copyright

About Homestead

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

About Claire Kent