want to try to capture a little of your spirit on canvas.'
'Well…' Bella looked as if she had been asked to try on a two-piece bathing suit. 'I guess it would be all right.'
'We could have tea while I work,' Anna offered.
'With some of them butter cookies you called biscuits?' Bella asked.
'Of course. It will be such fun for me to paint something besides flowers and landscapes.'
'Well, all right. I could come when I finish with Zack's place ever' week.'
When Anna closed the door, she smiled. It would not be so sad that she had to take all her paintings to the back room now that Bella would sit for her. She could clean her own house, and Carlo would never know.
Just after dark, she took all but one of the paintings down before Carlo returned to the house. He looked as if he had been drinking, but Anna knew better than to say anything. Davis's death and the extra responsibility had weighed heavily on her brother.
Carlo wanted her to sign some papers. When she asked about them, he angrily replied, 'It's just the payroll!' Then he changed the subject to the remaining painting.
She signed the papers in frustration and stood, planning to tell him this was her house and the painting would stay.
Only a few words were out before she felt the broad side of his hand against her face. The blow would have knocked her off her feet if she had not grabbed the table.
Anna stepped away from him, shocked. Despite all their arguments, he had never struck her. The sting on her face was nothing compared to the blow against her pride.
He seemed as shocked as she. 'I did not mean to do that,' he mumbled and headed toward the door. By the time he stood in the doorway, he had regained some of his control. 'Have the painting gone before I return. Davis would not have wanted it there. Whenever he talked of your work, it was always to joke.'
Anna stared at the closed door for several minutes. How could she have ever hoped her life might be better without Davis? Carlo moved into power one step at a time. And she had let him, Anna realized. She stood by silently, as always, without fighting. She hid away. Even before Davis was in the ground, Carlo had taken the reins of running the ranch and her life.
Anna walked the house for hours trying to think of some way out. But in the end, she knew she could do nothing. First her father, then Davis and now Carlo. All her life she had been trained to stay in the background and say nothing. And now, when she might have stood alone, she realized she was too weak.
As the night aged, Anna felt more anger against herself than Carlo. The thought that he would now control her frightened her more than she wanted to admit. She would fight him in little ways that he would never know. Her mother had done the same thing with their father. Anna never saw her challenge him directly, but she moved behind his back, cutting away at his authority, sabotaging his plans.
Anna stared out into the night at the lone light shining from the north. Carlo would not repress her. Not completely.
She grabbed her coat and walked out the patio door. The ground was frozen, but the moon offered enough light to see. Silently, she moved toward Larson's ranch.
When she reached the walkover, she was almost running. Tonight, she would move into the light of his porch and demand the hug he had offered a month ago.
Snow crunched under her feet as she crossed the road and stepped into the light.
Zack Larson leaned against the door frame with a cup in his hand. She knew he watched her even when she moved in the shadows.
Anna waited. Ready to run.
He did not look surprised. If he made fun of her, or made a joke, her soul would shatter into a million slivers. If he asked her one question, she knew she would stutter too badly to answer.
He leaned inside, and when he straightened, his hand held a coat instead of the cup. He walked onto the porch, putting his coat on as he neared.
Anna did not move. It was too late to turn back. Too late to explain her many reasons for being here.
She expected him to walk toward her, but he just stepped off the porch and waited.
Her heart tried to break through her ribs. She narrowed the distance between them, trying to think of something to say. Wishing she had not come. Wishing he had not been waiting.
'I…' When she was four feet from him, she shoved her hands in her pockets. Warm tears stung her icy cheeks.
'I know,' he whispered and opened his arms.
Anna was not sure how she crossed the last few feet. Had he moved? Had she? All she knew was that suddenly she was in his arms, and he was hugging her against him as if their lives depended on it.
Tears came then. She leaned her face into his suede jacket and cried as he circled her with his warmth.
He did not say a word when he lifted her up and carried her to the wooden swing on the porch. With a quilt wrapped around them both, he held her close.
She cried for a while, then rested her head against his damp jacket and closed her eyes, enjoying the slow motion of the swing. The whispered sounds of the wind made it seem like they were totally alone on the planet. Their breath was smoky with frost but she was not cold. Off into the night, she heard the breeze cracking ice from the branches of mesquite trees.
She cuddled closer.
When finally, she stood to leave, he made no protest, but kept his arm across her back as he walked her to the fence.
'Th-thank you,' she said as she climbed up the ladder.
'Any time,' he whispered.
She was almost home when she turned around and saw him still standing at the walkover. His outline was tall and lean. She could not help but smile. Zack Larson had kept his word. No strings. No questions. Just a hug.
A hug that warmed her still.
November 14
Most of the time he felt like an alien life-form that had crashed to earth and primitive humans were trying to discover what to do with him. Their methods were painful and heavy-handed at best. At worst, the marrow in his bones still smoldered from the long dead fire.
His vocabulary increased to include words like eschar. He'd heard one of the nurses explain to Crystal that eschar is a nonviable tissue that forms after a burn injury. It has no blood supply therefore antibodies can't reach it. So, eschar makes a fertile breeding ground for bacteria.
He was lost in the hell of an old Twilight Zone episode. Before long, they'd stash him in the basement and grow mushrooms off his charred skin.
Even the spray baths they gave him weren't called baths, but wound debridement. Twice a day a nurse would up his pain medicine enough so he could endure the process, then she'd clean him, removing dead tissue. Only she called the black infected skin devitalized tissue, as if calling it dead might be too personal.
His bodily functions became the small talk of the people around him. Folks used to ask about the weather or the news, but now they told each other of his urine output for the day.
The constant risk of hypothermia loomed like the plague and worried everyone until he wanted to scream.
He longed to escape, to run away where the talk was of other things. But even when he dreamed, the nightmare of his reality crept in, just beneath the surface, waiting to shatter any peace he might find.
Crystal was always around, asking questions until he wanted to jump from the bed and choke her, even if it cost him his last thread-hold on life. She started a notebook of details, so every time a bag was changed she was there, like a reporter, recording amounts and dates.
Sometimes he ignored her completely, acting as if he didn't hear her talking to him or touching his hand.
