Left for Wild - Harloe Rae Page 0,46
is quite a gem we’ve stumbled upon.”
“I guess Karma is listening to you. We’re going to be happy settling some very temporary roots in this spot. And guess what else?”
She gasps, extra loud for theatrical flair. “There’s more?”
I nod, allowing her shine to warm me from the inside out. “Your precious Skipper is going to help us with a lot more than floating on water. That rare find will be part of our shelter. Dual purpose.”
Her focus trails to the boat wedged between a boulder and the muddy shore. “Skipper gives a smooth ride and all, but I’m not sure there’s space to sleep. I’ll give you credit for creative thinking, though.”
With a chuckle, I hold my hands up and span them across our empty space. A vision forms in front of my eyes. “We can prop the canoe against that trunk at an angle as a blockage. The wind is only gaining speed, especially off the river. We’ll need protection to keep the heat trapped in.”
She squints, tipping her head at the place I’m referencing. “Are you an exterior decorator?”
I peer down at her. “Is that a thing? Do you mean landscape designer? Or maybe the correct term is architect. My brother used to work for some haughty company who probably made their job sound regal as fuck. They all just play in the dirt, right?” Blakely just gapes at me. I wipe over my mouth, checking for drool. “What?”
Her baby blues are glittering with a shade lighter than a cloudless sky. “You’re rambling, and it’s adorable.”
I scrub over my forehead to hide the burning sting. Since arriving at this gratifying site, a rejuvenating tilt seems to have shifted inside of me. Maybe I fed that switch too much leeway. “It’s completely your fault.”
“I gladly take full responsibility for the boost in your digressive meanderings. The goofy humor is good for morale.”
“As you should,” I mutter. “So, exterior design?”
“I said what I meant. You can start a new type of profession. We make our own rules in the wild.”
She earns a rumbling laugh for that. “You’re good for the soul, Blakely. I appreciate your free spirit.”
“Well, super good news! I’ll be glued to your side until further notice.”
Thank the Lord above for granting miracles to those not worthy. I dip my chin, kicking at a clump of snow beside me. “Yeah, that’s great.”
Blakely’s delicate fingers cinch my forearm. The strength behind her grip is almost alarming. “Stop feeling guilty.”
That clipped command booms through my skull. I’m momentarily stunned from the impact. How can she read me so well already? “Am I that transparent?”
She bats at the plumes of steam escaping her mouth. “I prefer giving recognition to our sacred union. This poorly executed attempt to get rid of us is an epic fail. All they’ve succeeded in doing is binding us tighter than a Marine’s boot laces.”
“Promise?” The question slips out before I can consider the consequences.
Blakely doesn’t miss a beat. “Absolutely. Who will I talk to about this excursion otherwise? No one will understand. I doubt anyone will bother to try after the initial shock wears off. The powers that be will probably force us into therapy regardless.” Her throat trembles with a rough swallow. “Just to warn you.”
I groan at that daunting outcome. “They already tried sticking me with a shrink after being released.”
The tension creasing her brow eases. “Oh? I guess that’s not too surprising. How did the sessions go?”
“Never had a chance to meet with the head shrinker.” I shrug while internally smirking about evading that unwanted task of spilling my guts to a stranger.
She starts chewing on the corner of her lip. “Did you meet with others who were assigned to your team?”
“Just my probation officer.”
“I was supposed to work with you,” she blurts.
“Huh?” The shock on my face must be comical.
A small grin carves the dimple in her cheek. “They had initially contacted me during your parole proceedings to check my availability. I’m assuming they waited until all was set on your end before offering me the position.”
“No shit?” How different would our conversations be if that were the case? Our relationship would be strictly professional. A sour bite snaps at my gut. Talk about a buzz kill. I guess that’s one more bullet dodged in this sideways situation.
Blakely nudges me in the ribs. “You didn’t know?”
“I had a hunch you could be on the short list. Mostly because of your previous experience with prisoners.” And the undeniable slobbering I couldn’t hide from