with a purpose, and he was as efficient in his use of words as if he had a set allotment for each day and didn’t want to use them all up. She didn’t care. She was a quiet person herself, so she was comfortable with not talking. He could be completely silent if he wanted, and she’d still be happy simply being with him.
Reality said they would soon have to leave the house, though; Barb and Olivia could probably use a break from Carol duty, and Ben would have things to do with the community patrol—and he had his own place to see to, his own chores. She didn’t ask, but she imagined he might go by the Livingstons’ to take them more food and check on the dog.
To hang on to the last minute, though, she made more hot chocolate for them and they settled at her table with their mugs. As she sipped she had the sudden odd feeling that she might never sit here again, that she was a stranger in her own home. Her life had changed, shifted; she didn’t know what was coming, only that things were different now. She had changed. More than anything she hoped that Ben would be a part of that difference—
Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps on the back deck. The curtains had all been pulled closed to help keep out the cold, so she couldn’t see who the visitor was. Ben was on his feet and her .22 rifle, which she had stood in a corner, was in his hand before she could push back her chair.
There was a knock on the French door and a woman’s voice called, “Sela!”
Sela pushed the edge of the curtain aside and peeked out. “It’s Mike’s wife,” she said to Ben, and opened the door. “Leigh! Is anything wrong?” She and Leigh were friendly but not close, ruling out a neighborly visit.
Leigh took a half step inside, spotted Ben with the rifle in his hand. She halted, surprise widening her eyes. “Ah . . . yes, but no one’s sick or hurt. Ted Parsons showed up a few minutes ago and Mike wants you to come hear what he has to say. It’s important, he said. I can’t tell you more, because I was busy in the back and didn’t hear what they were talking about.”
Sela bit back a groan. She didn’t want to deal with Ted, particularly now. She wanted to be alone with Ben, to explore this thing between them; she was happy and content, in a world that was increasingly dangerous and happiness could be precarious and rare. Just thinking about Ted could ruin her mood. The worst of it was, she felt guilty for giving him the finger.
Likely he’d gone to Mike to complain about her behavior. Maybe he was trying to file an official complaint, though the idea of anything “official” these days was ludicrous. What sort of violation would he be thinking of? “Conduct unbecoming,” she supposed, and at this point, she could only hope that she’d be found guilty and forcibly removed from her volunteer position. There was always so much to be done, and now she had Ben and while she didn’t know for sure where this was going he would definitely require some time and commitment, which she was more than happy to give. She was not only willing but anxious to step aside.
If, that is, there was someone competent to step into her shoes. That wasn’t Ted Parsons, and Carol was far from ready to jump back in.
She supposed she’d have to face the music, and stand her ground, and any other cliché she could think of.
“Let’s go,” Ben said, reaching for their coats. She noticed that he kept the rifle in his hand. “We’ll take my truck.”
“Through the back is quicker,” Sela said, and they went out the deck door with Leigh. The route took them through the backyards of their neighbors, none of whom seemed to be watching because no one hailed them as they walked past. When they reached the Kilgore house they went up the steps of a deck Mike had built himself just last year, to the Kilgore back door, similar to the way Sela’s back deck was situated. Ben held her rifle in one hand and her arm with the other, making sure she didn’t slip on the thin layer of snow, which was melting and turning slick. She loved the feel of that big rough hand,