Merry Christmas!
So, I wanted to write a short, fun, holiday themed one shot and this wound up being a two part? three part? one shot that's not even holiday themed lol. However, I think it's cute and it features a dynamic I wanted to try out. I'll post the second part next week. I hope everyone had an amazing holiday!
Thanks to Erin for editing!
He goes missing on the coldest day of the year.
I awake to silence. The sound of absolutely nothing as the sun tries to peek through heavy curtains, and the wind brushing against the house. His absence is noticeable after I rub my eyes a few times, pushing away a dream of magical teapots that can sing and dance, and the world comes into focus.
It's still dark. The door is shut, the curtains are drawn, and I'm hit with how cold my room is.
I slowly piece together that my father has not lit a fire this morning. When the rooster starts to crow, it's followed by angry mooing, and some irritated clucking. I sit upright, and my chest tightens because something is off. My father is always up early; he always starts a fire, and he always feeds the animals at sunrise. His whole routine revolved around getting the farm ready for the day. Afterwards, he'd make himself coffee, check on me, and start his day of prepping in the bakery.
"Daddy?"
I call out, fully expecting a response. Maybe he's tired. Maybe he's exhausted after baking all day yesterday, in preparation for today. Sundays are his day off, but he likes to help me, claiming it's quality time well spent. He'd show up after lunch, grinning as he washed his hands, and help me knead dough and portion out cake batter before sunset. Yesterday, he'd looked tired. Worn down and pale, and though still smiling, he definitely was not himself.
Life hadn't been easy these days.
It's always been him and me. I never knew my mother, and he rarely spoke of her. In the rarest of moments, he'd beam at me and tell me that she'd be so proud of who I've become. But nothing more. Nothing past that, never uttering her name or telling me where she was. I grew up thinking it was absolutely normal not to have her around; my father filled both roles. He did everything in his power to keep me safe, and he provided more than I could ever ask for.
As I got older, I realized our situation wasn't entirely unique. My friend Sophia's father left when she was ten, moving to a village hours away to marry the woman who owned most of the land there. Rylan's dad left when he was older, and he never took it very well. I didn't know him like I knew others in town, but I knew he liked to act out, and his mother was too overwhelmed to do much about it.
Everyone else had a family that seemed unbreakable. The parents never vanished in the middle of the night, and they never sat at a dinner table, eating quietly as the lone parent wearily asked else needed to be done before bed.
Growing up with only my father made me not only fiercely protective of him, but afraid to leave him alone. As I got older, I turned down suitor after suitor, ignoring the longing stares of boys my age, in favor to working in the bakery.
Determined to keep us a family, I learned to cook. I wanted to pull my own weight, so I learned how to work the farm. I spent weeks shadowing him, learning the intricate ins and outs of farming. The scope of caring for both the animals and the bakery proved to be too much for me, but I tried. I ignored the frowns of my friends when I said I had to work, and I ignored the rumors of my reputation taking a strange turn. They were started by the boy a few homes down, after I told Peter I had no interest in him. He was a little too old for my liking, and his offer of marriage was purely an attempt to own the land my father had. The mere sight of him made my skin crawl, but I wasn't alone in the feeling. The guys in town he desperately tried to impress, couldn't stand him, either.
Peter was always hell bent on becoming friends with Jason and Rylan. The two of them were incredibly close with the worst person I knew, the most obnoxious and egotistical man in town, Eric.
I loathed Eric with every cell of my being.
He's arrogant. Mean. Rotten, down to his very core.
Eric owns the local tavern, a monstrous lodge known as The Red Rose. The sight of it makes me sigh, especially when I think of how he got it. He's older than me by six years, and wealthy beyond my wildest dreams. A skilled hunter, Eric took a job in the tavern when he was fifteen. By sixteen, he was Harrison's right-hand man. He hunted game for him, bringing in the best animals, the richest meats, and the most exotic trophies. An unstoppable force in the woods, Eric was offered the tavern when Harrison wanted to ease into retirement, but only if he could best Harrison's partner's son on a hunt.
Tobias, known for regularly spilling cups of beer all over the customers, is Marcus's son. Marcus wanted out of the tavern for years, and to spite his son, he agreed to the challenge in the hope that Tobias would lose.
And he did.
Miserably.
The hunt was so embarrassing that he begged Eric to let him give up, and told him he'd willingly hand over any claim he had to the tavern.
Eric refused.
In his mind, at the boastful and proud age of sixteen, he thought he was the best. An absolute beast. The most skilled hunter anyone had ever seen, and the world deserved to know he'd won. He made poor Tobias continue on, outshooting him until Tobias collapsed from sheer mortification, and only then did Eric announce the hunt was over. He took the tavern, and he'd owned it since then, paying a percentage to Harrison every year, and extending the hours and staff.
Of course, I was young when all this happened. I was ten when he was announced as the new owner, and I watched him grow into an absolute villainous monster. Everyone else thought he was brave and intimidating, and they came to the tavern out of fear that he'd hunt them down and ask where they'd been. As he got older, he become taller. Broader. More muscle and ego than one would think a single body could be comprised of, and with an attitude to match. The worst of it was his looks. Because he was, unfortunately, rather handsome, everyone but me swooned over him.
Even if they were afraid of him.
Despite a penchant for violence and a sour attitude, the girls in town found him dreamy. They tripped over themselves to walk past the tavern when he was there, and the braver ones would eat lunch at the bar, forking over hard-earned coins in the hopes of seeing him.
And he was almost always there, unless he was out hunting.
Usually sitting at a table with his friends, downing beers, and crowing about some poor soul who owned him a debt.
As Eric got older, he became even more skilled at hunting, besting even the town's most experienced hunters. It got to the point where everyone merely asked him for what they needed, and paid a fee for him to hunt for them. He'd accept, but only if he felt like it. He'd turn down offers he didn't find appealing, or he'd bargain for more. Always more.
Eric soon owned more land than he knew what to do with, though he benevolently let the families stay to work beneath him. He owned dozens of homes, a few farms, several smaller bars and shops, even a store full of books. He's cocky and ridiculous, oozing with contempt for anyone who didn't adore him, and powerful enough to have a significant influence over the town.
I find him brash and unappealing, and as fate would have it, I'm forced to see him weekly.
It never went well.
He doesn't like me, either.
I saw him often, his blonde hair parted so severely I half expected it to leave a permanent line in his head, and always when I didn't want to. He purchased bread for his tavern, every Sunday, and as much as I protested, my father kept selling it to him, because we needed the business.
Eric would order from me with a sneer on his face, and a dark smirk when my father greeted him cheerfully. Eric expected everyone to fall over in front of him, and that included my father and me.
"Daddy!"
My feet hit the cold floor and it sends a jolt up my spine. I grab a sweater, throwing it on, and head down the hallway. The house is deserted. To my dismay, I find the living room empty. The kitchen is empty. The backdoor is slightly ajar, just enough that the barn cat slinks through, meowing to be fed. Something pricks at the back of my neck, hinting that this is all wrong. Something has happened, and I need to find out now.
I take off, sprinting outside into air cold enough to make me shiver. I rush through the backyard, around to the barn, and inside. I hurry through the stables, through the pens where the pigs are still sleeping, and around to where the cows are lazily grazing. A few blink at me in disdain when they realize that I am not my father, and I'm clearly not here to feed them.
A few chickens wander over, along with one of the fatter goats. He nudges my hand, insisting I bring him some treats for being so brave, but I can't.
My father is nowhere to be found.
I keep going. I promise Don I'll be right back, and the goat's response is a low grumble of disapproval. He grunts louder when I head toward the forest, my bare feet tripping and stumbling over twisted branches and cold dirt. I survey all the areas where my father might be: the well, the lake, the small bridge where he docks his rowboat, and the our field of crops. I run along the edge of the farm, nearing the border of where Kerrie and Rylan live, but the only one outside is Rylan. He eyes me curiously, not waving or saying hello, but merely staring from their porch.
His hair is a mess. It's long, never cut and rarely combed, and he yawns when I keep going, ducking my head down and trying to think of where my father could be.
By the time the sun rises, a violent wave of frustration washes over me, intensifying when I head back inside.
I'm certain my father is not here, and I have no clue where he'd have gone.
"Did he say he was going somewhere?"
The soft whisper of Courtney is accompanied by the meow of Joe, begging for her to feed him dinner. She floats around the kitchen with me, slicing up vegetables and helping prepare a stew, all while trying to point out that my father is probably fine. She comes up with a few places he might be, and all of them are plausible; he may have gone to run an errand at the next town over, or perhaps he's been asked to visit one of the neighboring bakeries to help.
"Everly," Courtney says my name gently, turning to smile. Her blonde hair is braided down both sides of her head, and she swats her bangs out of her face as she feeds Joe a piece of chicken. "I hate to even ask, but do you think he's hurt? Maybe he went hunting. You said he wasn't doing so great the last time he went into the woods."
"He would have told me if he was going into the woods." I clutch a plate to my chest, the one I always put his dinner on, and my heart feels heavy. "He mentioned he was having a tough time. It was taking longer to find…whatever he's hunting."
I pause, thinking of my dad heading out to hunt. Hank is not a skilled hunter by any means. He's always been able to provide enough for the two of us, and I grew up eating a variety of things. Meat pies from cows that were once my friends, chicken salads from chickens that I'd helped feed, venison from a deer that probably peered into my window. Their fates never bothered me, because I knew we had no choice; my father chose the weakest animals, the ones less likely to survive, so we'd be able to eat.
"Do you want me to stay tonight? I'm supposed to meet Karl at the tavern, but I can stay here," Courtney offers, ignoring the way my face scrunches up. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like it there, but Karl just got a job behind the bar. I'm going to visit him on his break. He said it would make him look good to the other bartenders."
"It's fine. I'll be alright," I smile, knowing this is big for Karl. "And you can go to the tavern whenever you like. I don't mind. I know you like him."
"I do!" Her cheeks darken, but she's hardly embarrassed. Karl is as healthy as an ox, and almost as strong as Eric. Being in a small village meant everyone knew everyone's business, and their parents had been pushing the two of them together, desperate for hulking blond grandchildren as soon as possible. "You could come with me. He'd be more than happy to see you."
I struggle not to cringe.
"I'm good. I'm going to clean up after dinner and…" I trail off, trying to decide what I'll do. "Maybe go to bed. I'll get things ready for him to come home. I bet he's back tomorrow."
"Me too," Courtney says, her tone optimistic as can be. "In fact, I bet he's bringing you a present. Maybe he went to that fair. My dad said they have all kinds of books and drinks and trinkets. I bet he went to get you a present for your birthday."
"I hope so," I answer.
I hold onto the plate tighter, dreading the thought of my eighteenth birthday.
Despite my father's best efforts, it's always a quiet affair. Just the two of us, a few gifts, and the gentle nudge to go do my own thing. Branch out. Live a little. Quit spending my days baking and taking care of the animals, and meet a few new friends. His advice, spoken from the heart and oh so kind, is always well meaning. He always baked me a cake, and decorated the kitchen. I usually woke up to him swearing as he tried to wrap my present, and we'd spend the day laughing over his attempts at convincing me to go hang out with my friends.
If he's not back tomorrow, it'll be a rotten time.
"I think the stew is ready. Would you like bread?" Courtney asks, giggling as Joe runs between her feet. He meows his answer, yes, and she jokingly finds him a tiny bowl. "Do you want Joe to sit between us?"
"I do."
I fight back a laugh when Joe paws at her skirt. He's the most annoying barn cat we have, but the most loyal. He fights off anyone who comes near, always seeking out my father or me over his cat brothers and sisters. He's been known to start trouble, too. Knocking lanterns over and nearly burning the property down, and skirting the fence to torture the dogs next door.
He might just be my favorite cat in the whole world.
"Is Karl excited that he got the job?" I take a seat at the table, and Courtney sits next to me. It's kind of her to stay for dinner, and she'd come the minute I asked her to help me look for my dad. "I thought he was working for his dad."
"He was, but his dad suggested he take the position after he ran into Eric. I guess Eric mentioned needing a few more hands behind the bar, and it pays well. Not to mention, it puts him in good standing with Eric's family."
"Yeah," I nod, but my stomach turns over.
The Coulter family is well known through the village. They live on the outskirts, far enough away that people can't bother them, in a house fit for a king. Dr. Coulter is the nicer of the two; he works in the village, while his wife works at home. She does some sort of bookkeeping, something I don't really understand, but I don't need to. I'd met her exactly once; she looked down her nose at me, then huffed that she needed a few dozen cakes for a party she was hosting, and we were her only option, since her personal baker was out sick.
We made them, despite being overwhelmed with orders that day.
Her husband picked them up. Dr. Coulter was patient and kind; he graciously accepted a cup of coffee while he waited, and he smiled brightly when I brought out the boxes. It took several trips to bring them all out, and to my surprise, his staff was there to carry them home. He left with a friendly wave, but I knew it meant nothing. He was nice to everyone, and merely here to pick up his wife's order.
"Do you think you'd like to go sometime? Maybe…" Courtney pauses, knowing I'm not going to like her next words. She stalls by taking a bite of stew, then looks sheepish. "Maybe you could ask Eric to help you find your dad. He has an impeccable track record."
"I don't think he would help me. I don't have any way to pay him," I say slowly, but my words aren't totally true.
I could ask Eric for help, but I would have to pay something for his services. I could offer him a few farm animals, maybe some eggs, or a week of free bread. Maybe a month of free bread, even though we counted on his order to help us get through the week. More than likely, he'd want more. He'd ask for a stake in the farm, a cut of our profits, or worse –the whole farm. He'd let us stay here, but we'd be indebted to him, so deeply, that we'd never be able to pay it off.
"You could make him dinner," Courtney suggests, dead serious. "Karl told me that Eric can cook, but he doesn't have time. He usually waits to see what the girls bring him to eat. The blonde ones –"
"Ashley, Ashleigh, and Ashlee?" I cut her off, shaking my head. "No thank you. I'm not making him anything. I think my dad will be home tomorrow, and everything will be fine. I don't need to involve Eric."
"I know," Courtney sighs, looking defeated. She means well, but I can tell she'll wind up thinking the world of Eric since Karl does. "Well, maybe…if he doesn't come back, or you can't find him, then you could think of asking Eric. I'm sure he wouldn't ask for much in return."
"Sure," I agree.
I say it so I can change the subject, and I segue into asking her about her date with Karl. Her cheeks are redder than ever while she talks about him, and I know she's head over heels for the guy. He's nice enough, but he won't continue to be. Not after working for Eric.
The two of us lapse into an easy talk about her and Karl going for a walk in the woods later this week, and for the next hour, I forget that my father is missing.
The week ends on a bleak note.
I spend my birthday alone, eating a cupcake that I've made myself. I hold it in my hands for a moment, closing my eyes tightly, and my only wish is that I find my father. I hesitate to wish for anything more, feeling the burn of selfishness when I think of something I would want, and the thought of happiness comes into my head.
I ignore it.
I'll be happy if my father returns, and that's enough for me.
I eat the cupcake slowly, while standing at the edge of the farm. I'm exhausted and ready to collapse into the bath, but a million things I need to do don't go unnoticed, not even on my birthday. I've spent the week trying to find my father. I've gone as deep into the woods as I dare, but they are far more expansive than I could have imagined. After getting lost a few times, I realized there was no way I could find him out there. I was covered in scrapes and cuts, and I'd barely scratched the surface when it came to where he could have gone.
On top of failing to find him, I'm failing at keeping up with everything I need to do on the farm. The hay needs to be stacked and brought into the barn. The shutters on the windows need to be fixed, and the barn door is missing a lock. Several of the stables have damage to the frames, wood work damage that I know nothing about fixing, along with several cows ready to give birth. The crops need a final harvesting. The flour needs to be packaged for the market, and I'm behind on the orders for the weekend.
Exhaustion chokes me, so intense that I nearly collapse as the sun begins to set.
I can't do this.
I can't keep up with everything, and as much as I hate to admit defeat, my father has yet to return. Grief has settled into my chest, burning when I think of my father lost in the forest somewhere, and over the week, it's spread through me like wildfire.
I sigh into the cold evening, knowing I have no choice but to ask for help.
The Red Rose Tavern looms in front of me like a nightmare.
Obscene in how intricate the designs in the wood are, the building mocks my dress and boots. The size is massive, and the wood is hearty, but luxurious. It's richer than what's generally used today, and darker than any other business on this street. The cobblestones in front are worn and smooth, a clear indicator of the popularity of the place, and the entryway is flanked by a gaggle of girls gearing up to head inside. They're whispering about seeing him, the lone man to find the creature in the woods.
The lure of the tavern is not all Eric.
Harrison is well known around the neighboring towns, and for years, people have flocked to the village to see him.
"I see him!"
"Do you think he's found anything!"
"I heard he saw something walking near the river! A bear, but on its hind legs!"
While the girls chatter on about Harrison and his mythical creatures, I summon up every ounce of courage I have, knowing that what awaits me inside is life or death. Perhaps both. If Eric agrees to help me find my father, his preferred method of payment might kill me. If he doesn't agree to help find my father, I might die of starvation, or lose the farm when I can't keep up with it. I take a deep breath, letting those thoughts wrestle over which option is worse, but neither fate is great.
I have no choice but to take my chances.
The heavy doors part on their own. A rush of villagers pour out, pushing and shoving as they head home. The night is still early, but they've probably been here for a while. I head inside, sneaking past a few who are gleefully yelling at their friends, but I'm knocked out of the way. I crash into someone, and when they let out a string of curse words, I utter a low apology to Harrison.
He looks wild.
His hair is a mess, his flannel shirt is stained with what looks like blood, and he scowls when he realizes I'm in his way.
"Sorry. I'm trying to get –"
"What are you doing here?" His demand is not as welcoming as I would hope. He would have been a better option to ask for help, but he could be terrifying, considering what he hunted in the woods. "Are you lost? You know where you are, don't you?"
"I'm looking for Eric," I answer. I try not to sound bitter, and instead, I sound terrified. "I need to ask him something."
"Behind the bar, to the side. He's sitting near the fire," Harrison directs me with a curious stare, and his demeaner softens. "Everly, are you okay? You look a little pale."
"I'm fine," I insist with a forced smile. "Thank you."
"Sure," he answers slowly, and the look on his face tells me he doesn't believe me. "Good luck."
"Thanks."
I leave Harrison and his bloody shirt and disappear into the dining room. I pass the large, crowded bar, and ignore the pressing stares of those several drinks deep. Several mutter lewd hellos in my direction, and I pretend not to hear them. I turn the corner, pausing to fix my general state of disarray, and when I look up, Eric is staring at me.
Immediately, my heart sinks. His expression is one of utter delight. Eric's lips curl up cruelly when he realizes I'm looking for him, then they smirk when they land on my dress. The blue fabric is my favorite, but it's nothing special. It's practical for baking, but downright boring when you consider what the girls fawning over him wear.
I swallow down every last inch of pride and force myself closer.
He says nothing.
Eric watches me, one eyebrow raised, his head tilted, and behind him, a fire roars. His table is empty except for a few glass mugs, and in the distance, the faint sounds of Rylan and Jason can be heard. They're playing darts a good distance away, close enough that Eric can see who wins, but far enough away that they can't hear him. Which is good. Eric doesn't bother to sit up any straighter, but he does utter a very dark hello that makes me want to throw up.
"Hello."
"Hi, Eric."
At the last second, I consider selling my soul to a dark deity instead of him. The look on his face is predatory when I step closer, and I wait for him to tell me to sit.
He doesn't.
He lazily eyes me up and down, then waves his hand dismissively. "While lovely to see you, I don't need any more loaves of bread. I'll be by Sunday to order for the week. You can tell Hank this new method of ordering in person won't work."
"I'm not here about the bread," I answer quietly, my stomach tensing at the mention of my father. "I'm…um…. I'm here because…"
I pause when I see Ashley, or Ashleigh, or Ashlee –I can't tell them apart at all, staring daggers from across the bar. They're seated so they can watch Rylan and Jason, but their main focus is Eric.
"Then why are you here? Spit it out." Eric snaps. "I don't have all day."
"You don't? What else are you doing?" The words escape before I can stop myself. His eyes flash, and it's my first mistake. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I'm –"
"Aren't you a funny little thing," Eric drawls, and his attention is now fully on me. He leans in slightly. "I wasn't aware you knew so much about running a tavern. I thought you spent your days making cookies. Is this your new tactic? Insulting all your customers. Are you too busy at the local bakery or something?"
My cheeks burn. I have half a mind to turn and run, but there isn't anyone else here who would be willing to scour the woods. No one is as skilled as Eric, nor as fast. I've already wasted a week of hoping my father would return or I could find him. Time is running out, and every minute that passes is a minute that my father might be in danger.
"My father is missing," I say, hating the way my voice is quiet. "He went missing a week ago. I tried to find him, but I can't. I'm having a hard time keeping up with the farm and the bakery, and I don't have enough hours to do everything and look for him. I'm afraid he's hurt. If I don't find him soon…he could die."
Eric's posture shifts. His shoulders pull down, and I can tell his interest is piqued.
"I just thought…" I trail off, not sure I can finish speaking.
"Hank has been missing for a week? And why are you telling me this? Have you tried, I don't know, looking for him?" Eric questions. He smirks when I'm forced to admit I haven't been to find him, like he already knows what I'm about to say.
"I've been searching for him, but…it's just too much. I can't find him, not like this. I was hoping you could help. I know you offer hunting services. I thought maybe you could find my dad."
There is a moment of sickening, arrogant silence. He makes me wait for his answer, and it's accompanied by a snicker. "Well, well, well. Are you really here to ask for my help, Everly?" His emphasis on my name makes me nervous. "So, you're in need of my services? Isn't that interesting."
"Please. I wouldn't ask for your help if I didn't need it."
"I see." His eyes are dark. I want to punch the smug look off his face. To calm myself, I look to the side of him, into the golden fire, wondering if it would be easier to throw myself into it. "Do you know where he would have gone? Is there somewhere you think he went? Or did he vanish into thin air?"
"I don't think he's gone far. Maybe the next town over. He might be hurt somewhere, or maybe his horse was injured. I can pay you," I pause when he looks right at me. "Whatever you want. I can stop charging you for the bread, or I'll work off the debt. If you'll consider –"
"I don't need free dinner rolls," Eric sits up straighter. His heavy boots thud on the floor, and he's much taller than I remember. "In fact, there's very little I need." He pauses, and his stare holds mine. "But I can think of a few things that I want."
"Oh," I try to look away, but his gaze is piercing. It's so intense I'm stuck in place, unable to move. "What are you thinking? Can you find him? Do you think he's alive?"
"If, and I do mean if, he's alive, I can most certainly find him. The real question is, how are you going to pay the fee? I don't hunt people for free, not even for little farm girls who've lost their daddies." Eric's tone is malicious. He waits for me to flinch, but I refuse. "I'll tell you what, I'll make you a deal. I'll find your father. Even better, I'll fix your run down, sorry excuse for a farm. I'll even pay you in advance for my orders, so when your daddy is back, he's not behind on anything."
"And in return?" I resist the urge to look away. He looks like the cat who ate the canary, and it makes me want to bolt.
"As payment for finding your father, you'll give me thirty nights with you. Starting tomorrow night. How's that sound?"
I don't answer him.
I can't.
His eyes are fixed on mine, until they slide down my neck, over my shoulders, and then over my dress. He smirks again, presumably seeing nothing he likes, and I have the feeling he's going to force me to cook his dinner and scrub his toilets.
If this is what it takes to get my father back, then so be it.
"Fine. Thirty nights and not a minute more." I extend my hand to him, and he grabs it with more force than necessary. His palm is rough, and he squeezes my hand tight enough to make me wince. "Do you promise you'll help?"
"I always keep my word." He yanks my hand, causing me to fall forward, and up close, he's much more intense than I remember. "We'll see if you keep yours."
"I will," I answer.
Eric lets go abruptly, leaning back in the chair to stare at me. I hate him so much; especially how cocky he is. He settles against the dark leather, then dismisses me silently and returns to watching his friends play darts.
I slink away, doing my best to blend into the crowd.
My mind is a mess.
I'm horrified, and the tiniest bit optimistic. A deal with Eric is not the smartest move. He might find my dad, but I will owe him, and who knows what he means by thirty nights together. I weave in and out of the crowd, and a cheerful roar tears through the tavern. Rylan triumphantly celebrates beating Jason at darts, and Jason cheerfully admits defeat.
The cheering grows louder as I near the exit. I turn a blind eye to Harrison, lingering beneath the head of a preserved wild boar, not even pretending to be inconspicuous as he watches the tavern. His chin lifts when he sees me, and it's obvious he knows something has happened.
Rather than give into his inquisitive stare, I focus only on going home, and getting ready to see my father again.
The morning arrives much faster than I am ready for.
I wake up to odd noises, the sound of someone outside my window swearing as angry chickens chase them, and the clinking of a gate. I bolt out of bed like it's on fire; I grab a sweater, tear down the hallway, and out the door into the yard. My heart beats so fast it might burst through my chest, but it's for a good reason. I'm fully prepared to see my father. He must have returned while I was sleeping, and he's already started his normal routine. This means I can tell Eric the deal is off. I no long need his services, and we can both pretend I never went to ask for his help.
The relief is so sweet I can taste it. I focus only on the quickest glimpse of dark fabric disappearing into the barn. The neighing of horses reaches my ears, and it pairs with the sound of the goats head butting their pen to get out. The relief dies in my throat when I make it inside to see Rylan, perched atop a pen. He fiddles with the latch, and right when he lets the goats out, he looks at me.
His grin is instantaneous.
"Good morning. Are your goats always this loud?"
"What on Earth are you doing here?" I gasp. His ridiculous hair is pulled into a bun, and his boots are laced the wrong way. He grins even wider when I scowl at him, and I debate running into town to find someone willing to help me get rid of Rylan. "Why are you in the barn? This isn't your –"
"Eric sent me." Rylan hops down, patting a few goats as they rush by. "He sent all of us. Me, Karl, Jason. That dude who works on the weekends, Al or something. A dozen others. We're supposed to help you get this farm up and running."
"It is up and running," I point out, but my brain is flooded with memories from last night. My conversation with Eric smack me in the face, and so does our agreement; what he'd asked for as payment, and his terms of payment. "Wait, Eric sent you? To help me?"
I stare at him in disbelief. I never thought Eric would work so fast, or that he'd actually follow through with sending anyone here.
"Yep. He's heading out with Harrison, Jack, and Andrew. He said your dad has gone missing. Vanished a week ago, and hasn't returned." Rylan stops to look at me, and there's a flash of sympathy behind his stare. "He'll find him. If anyone knows the woods, it's Eric. He said you're trading for something, but he didn't go into details."
The look on his face changes from sympathetic to curious. It turns even more intense when I don't answer him.
"You can tell me, you know." He continues. "I won't say anything. I've always wondered what people pay him. Is it a pie?"
"Did you feed the chickens yet?" I ignore his question in favor of admitting I need help. "Or the cows? They usually get fed first."
"I already fed them all. This isn't my first farm, you know. I have my own," Rylan rolls his eyes, but he leaves the goats' pen and walks ahead. "Eric said you can bake. Do you have anything I can eat? I'm starving, and my mom only made oatmeal and it tasted weird."
"I'll grab you something."
I follow him into the cold, shivering as the sun rises. The sweater I grabbed does absolutely nothing to block the cold. It does even less to block the wind, or the sight of Eric, heading into the woods. I watch him gesture to the north, pointing to a section of land near the clearing. There's a path leading into the woods, dark and deep, and the only way to the next village over. When he says something else, the men with him nod. They are all dressed in heavy coats and thick boots, older than Eric, and armed with rifles.
Harrison takes off first.
The others follow, except for Eric. He lingers, turning to survey the farm with a look of contempt. His nose wrinkles as the cows wander over in his direction, and his lips press together. His face stays like that until his stare lands on me, and I shiver again when he smirks.
He eyes me up and down, then takes off into the woods without looking back.
"Did you find him?"
I try not to blurt out my question the moment Eric returns, but it's impossible. He and the others showed up minutes ago. They convened near the edge of the farm, chatting amongst each other and pointing at a map. Their expressions were impossible to read; I couldn't tell if they were disappointed, enthused, or victorious in their attempts at finding my father.
When they split apart, I saw the defeat in the eyes of Andrew. He threw me a weary smile, one heavy with empathy, and when he trudged away with his shoulders pulled taught, I knew they hadn't.
"This is your house?" Eric ignores my question in favor of walking right by me. He stalks into the house like he owns the place, and his cursory look around is unimpressed. "Really? You live here?"
"Yes?" I look up at him, wanting answers and not insults about my home. "Did you find anything? Maybe a clue or something helpful?"
"It's not a murder mystery," Eric looks exasperated, but it might be the old, worn furniture or the wood flooring desperately in need of another sweep. "We found a few things. A trail that we think belongs to him. Some broken branches that look like someone tore through them. I have an idea of which direction he might have gone."
"Where do you think he went?" I stop staring and move to wash my hands. I scrub them, having spent the last hour preparing a dinner that will probably go uneaten. I spent my day getting caught up on everything I need to, and I had to admit that the help was nice. I was able to make dinner without closing the farm down for the evening, and it almost felt normal if I didn't focus on my missing father. "Do you think he went to another town?"
Eric turns to face me.
His stare is intensely focused, especially as I dry my hands. I can feel him looking at me, and when he finally looks up, our eyes meet.
"Did you make enough for the both of us?"
"Are you hungry?" I'm thrown off that he'd ever want to eat anything I've made, but I barely know him. "Do you want some of this roast? I have enough for –"
"Bring it to my house in an hour. I'm going to wash up. I suggest you do the same." He pauses, contemplating something. "Wear something nicer than whatever you scrub the floors in."
I have the sudden urge to throw the pot at his head. Eric, despite looking for my father and keeping up his end of the bargain, is still an asshole. One who thinks he can tell me what to wear, purely for his benefit.
"I'll wear whatever I want," I answer, hotly. "In fact, I'll just –"
"The head detective from the next town over will be at dinner. I thought you might want to ask him a few things. Maybe he'll have some information. He's hard to get away from his work, so I suggest you dress so he'll take you seriously," Eric answer slickly. He raises his eyebrows at me, and his next question is incredulous. "Were you thinking I care what you wear?"
My face feels like it's on fire.
I shake my head slowly, and he knows he's won this round.
"Be there at five. He's coming at five thirty. You can set the table, and be ready when he arrives." Eric mockingly smiles, and it's terrifying. "Don't be late."
"Okay," I agree, swallowing thickly. It's hard to know what to say, because I'm torn between feeling optimistic that there might be some progress made, and feeling nervous that I have to eat dinner while Eric scowls from a seat away.
I also feel stupid when I realize I don't know exactly where he lives.
"Wait! Which house is yours?" I return to the stove as he heads out, and my words make him glance back over his shoulder. "Which one do you live in?"
"You'll figure it out."
He leaves, slamming the door behind him and heading out into the yard. From the kitchen window, I watch him stalk through the fields until he meets Jason, where the two of them talk for a few moments. In the distance, Rylan hops after a goat, skipping around, trying to get the goat to imitate him.
It doesn't.
It does head butt him, and he laughs until Eric shoots him a dirty look. Then he points at the house, and I swear our eyes meet through the window.
I look away immediately.
"Shoot."
My heart pounds as I lean against the sink, wallowing in defeat and self-pity, until I remind myself that I agreed to this deal, and I have no choice but to follow through with it.
The detective is not at all what I'm expecting.
Tall and lanky, the man speaks on and on, stopping only to beam at Eric and me. His posture radiates total joy, especially when he looks in my direction. He's asked my name three times, asked how old I am, and complimented my cooking. He's also asked where I work, how old I am, again, and then announces that Eric has done very well for himself and he's proud of him.
I sink into the oversized chair, trying not to look out of place.
This dinner is nothing like I expect.
For starters, Eric's house is dark. The walls are dark, the outside is dark, and the inside is decorated with rich detail. Every inch of his home screams privilege; it's blindingly obvious that he doesn't wake up and go feed the hens. The heavy silverware is just one of the many signs he's selected only the best for himself, down to the intricate detail on the plates.
When I showed up a few minutes late, thanks to having to guess where he lived, he took me by the elbow and dragged me to a kitchen like I've never seen before. He eyed me critically, my dress barely passing his inspection, and told me to get started. He announced that Ian would be here in less than thirty minutes, and things needed to be ready. I wrenched my arm away from him, and reluctantly set my thing on the counter. Twenty minutes later, I had reheated food on a stove I barely knew how to use, found plates in his kitchen, and had gotten a brief glimpse of him sulking by with an armful of heavy looking coats.
Ian showed up not much later. Dashing and entertaining, he came in like an explosion, cheerfully tossing his coat onto the chair by the door and announcing he was starving. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me carrying cups to the table, and I could tell he was not expecting anyone else to be here. His face immediately lit up, and our introduction was quick.
He shook my hand numerous times, then revealed that Eric is his nephew.
"So, Everly, Eric told me your father has gone missing. Perhaps there's a chance he's in our village?" Ian pauses to take a sip of wine, a dark one that I'm assuming comes from Eric's tavern. "Maybe got caught up in business and is staying at the Inn?"
"I'm not sure. He's been gone for a week and hasn't come back." I sit up straighter, ignoring the pressing stare of Eric. His hair is slicked straight back, and it highlights the cut of his cheekbones. "I'm hoping he's safe. He didn't leave a note or anything. I tried to find him, but I don't know the woods quite as well as I thought I did. It's possible he's lost in there."
"I see. And Eric is helping in this search for him?" Ian flashes an approving grin in Eric's direction, and I struggle to smile along with him. "Well, then your father is as good as found. Eric always finds who he's looking for, don't you Eric?"
"Every time," Eric answers, taking a deliberately long sip of whiskey. He swallows while looking at me, and his eyes fall to my hands. "Everly and her father own the local bakery. Hank is a decent man, but he's not someone who regularly hunts. My assumption is he's lost in the woods after taking a wrong turn."
"Could be. I'll have the town keep an eye out of for him. I can have some papers drawn up announcing a reward if someone sees him. People might be willing to look for him if you can compensate them." Ian offers. "I'm sure it won't be long before he's found."
"Not at all," Eric mutters. His focus changes to me, watching as I take a bite of dinner. I'm dreading telling Ian I don't have anything to offer as a reward, but maybe Eric knows something I don't. "There's a chance he went too close to the castle. It would be a foolish mistake, but he wouldn't be the first."
"What castle?" I set my fork down when they both look at me, surprise all over their faces. "What's wrong? I don't know of any castles."
"What castle? Everly, are you new here? Did you just move to this village?" Ian asks. "The castle in the woods. Everyone has seen it."
"I haven't. Maybe I've never been out that far," I answer, and Eric struggles not to sneer at me. It dawns on me that he's got some façade going on for his uncle; one where he enjoys my company, and I'm not paying him to find my dad. "Who lives there?"
"No one that you'd know. It's quite far from here, but not impossible to find. There's a small section of land that borders a castle. Anyone who tries to come by is attacked, either by wildlife, or whoever lives inside. Your father might have made it past the gates. Some believe it's filled with gold and fortune; others believe it's filled with death." Eric's answer is tense, but his shrug is indifferent. "If you ask me, it's full of garbage."
"Have you been there?" I stare at Eric, and my mind races. "What if he went there? Is it easy to get to the castle?"
"It's easy, but he'd be a fool to go inside. It's decrepit. I've been several times. Ask Rylan next time you see him. We've gotten past the gates, but the place is in no way habitable. If your father went inside, he probably fell to his death. Everything is rotten."
I sink in my chair.
"Why would someone go there?" I look more at Ian than Eric, and he smiles tightly. "Why would someone risk that?"
"Maybe…your father was struggling? There might be something to sell inside. Or maybe…maybe he got turned around?" Ian's stare turns uncomfortable. "Did he mention he was looking for something? Or how long he'd be gone for?"
"No. I wish he had. I woke up and he was gone. He didn't leave a note or anything," I sit up straighter when Eric clears his throat, his gaze trained right on me. I jump when his boot connects with my ankle, and I realize he either wants me to thank Ian or shut up. "Thank you for your help. I appreciate you spreading the word in your village. I'm hoping he'll be back sooner than later."
"Of course." Ian's throws one more furtive glance in my direction, then stops to raise his glass. Eric and I follow suit, and I wonder what he could possibly want to celebrate.
Turns out, not knowing is better.
"I'd like to toast you both for this fantastic dinner. The last time I was here, I wasn't sure Eric would ever settle down. Ashley burned dinner, and the other one spilt her wine everywhere. The third one was rambling on about being left out in the cold. So, here's to them being gone," he pauses, and we all take a sip of our wine. "Everly, you are a breath of fresh air after them. You're a lucky man, Eric. Congratulations."
My drink goes right into my lungs.
I cough a few times, trying to breath properly, while Eric smiles slickly.
"Sorry, she rarely drinks." He slaps me on the back, harder than necessary, and I take it as a warning to stop coughing. Which I can't. "Everly, are you –"
"I'm fine!" I scoot away from him, rising from the chair and trying not to die. "I just need a minute. Would either of you like more salad?"
"No, I'm alright. Eric?" Ian answers, and it takes Eric forever to utter a very amused no. "Thank you, Everly. Would you mind fetching me another napkin?"
"Not at all." I try to suppress the cough, and also the urge to inform Ian that I wasn't anyone to Eric. I wasn't his date, or his wife, or whomever Ian thought I was. I'm merely here as a business arrangement and nothing more. "Excuse me."
They both nod. They're silent as I head back to the kitchen, and I'm far enough away, I hear Ian congratulate Eric on finding such a darling wife. He tells him I'm lovely, if not a bit young looking.
Eric's snigger is all the confirmation that I need that this is nothing but a game to him, even if he does find my father.
By the time Ian leaves, I feel much better.
He promises to have a flyer posted by tomorrow, a hard but not entirely impossible task, and he will have it placed around his village. The townsfolk who work for him will search the woods, and their wives will search the town. The amount of effort is ambitious, and heartwarming.
Until Eric joins me in the kitchen, and corners me as I pick up the last dish in the sink. He didn't outright order me to wash his dishes, but after he made the effort to involve Ian, I figure it's a nice gesture. I work hard to be nice when Eric's gaze bores into mine, but there's pure disdain all over his face.
"What did you do with the rest of dinner?" Eric asks. "Did you offer Ian any?"
He waits for an answer while I wash the last plate. I set it on the counter, and look over his head, at the large beam running across the ceiling.
"I did. He said it would be hard to take it back by horse, and he'd like to come by again to follow up. But he was very happy to join us," I pause, smiling sweetly when Eric's stare drops. "Did you inform him that I'm not your wife? Are you going to tell me what that's all about? You said come over for dinner, not a marriage proposal."
"Oh, I'm not proposing," Eric scoffs, his eyes narrowing in amusement. "Funny that you'd even think that. I didn't tell him anything. He came up with that assumption on his own, and I was too tired to correct him."
"Oh, you're tired?" My tone is a little too curious, because I can't imagine him being tired. "I'm done here, so I should let you go to bed."
"You should." He doesn't look away, and for a second, we stare at each other.
It's a standoff of seething, irritated, vexing glares, and he wins. His jaw clenches down and his lips press together, and eventually, I cave into the pressure of knowing I need him more than he needs me.
I look away before he does. I inform him that I'm going home, and utter a very low goodnight before slipping by him.
He doesn't respond.
The next few days fly by.
I do my best to ignore the hope that Ian will have spotted my father, along with the memory of Ian thinking I was married to Eric. I try to ignore him all together, but it's impossible.
To my surprise, Eric and his friends keep their word. Every morning, Rylan and Jason show up with a team of friends, and they spend the morning hours taking care of the animals and the land. On a windy day, Jason fixes the shutters while Rylan climbs onto the roof, dangling precariously while fixing a few wooden tiles. They fix other things, too. The broken latch on one of the pens is replaced with a new one, and the hay is carefully stacked and bundled. The pigs' pens are cleaned out, and the goats are given a new water trough.
Each morning starts differently, but the same. They show up at sunrise. Eric walks with them, and then he and the men from the first day venture into the woods. Only once do they return early, vanishing into town before I can ask what's going on, and the other days they are out until late.
Each night I make Eric dinner. I mark off the days I've spent with him on a piece of paper, along with each dinner. I choose things I think he'll like; meatloaf, a steak –though it pains me to cook the best cut of meat for a man who is going to scowl at me all dinner, and different pasta dishes. Tonight, I'm making ravioli, and the dough prep takes much longer than I had planned. I pretended I was smashing down Eric's head with each pass, then grew annoyed that I was even thinking of him.
I can't help it.
I keep wondering what he's doing.
I conjure up vivid images of him in the woods, tearing through them like he's hunting his prey. I try to guess what areas they're covering, but my knowledge is limited. I only know as far as the stream, and nothing past the large stretch of ravine.
I wonder if they'll be out late today, but I don't have to wonder for very long.
They return in a whirlwind of activity. Eric has fabric in his hands, and the man beside him is frowning. They walk into the bakery and stop near the counter, talking amongst themselves. I catch a few words while I walk up front –impossible, preposterous, and dangerous –and my heart sinks.
"Did you find anything?" My stare goes right to Eric's hands. The fabric is a dark red, and upon further inspection, there are large spots of dried blood on it. "Is that –"
"You tell me," Eric interrupts. "We found it near the lake. If it's your father's shirt, this isn't good."
"The area had signs of a struggle," Andrew says, apologetic and solemn. "The clearing has blood around it, too. We brought this back to see if it belongs to your father."
I leave the raviolis in boiling water, and head over to Eric. I stop in front of him, and reluctantly reach for the fabric. It's thin. Worn. Rough beneath my fingers, and too scratchy for his liking.
"It's not his." I look up at Eric, and his nod is curt. "He didn't have anything like this."
"You think someone else is missing?" Andrew looks only at Eric, but I'm not insulted. I have no clue where they were, or what happened to the person wearing this shirt. "The blood does look older. Maybe a month or two. It was dried on the trees, as well."
"I don't know. I'll have Ian look at it when he's back." Eric turns to me, then takes the shirt from my hands. "What time is dinner?"
"Six." I pretend I can't see Andrew looking at me curiously, and I also pretend I routinely make our town villain his meals. "I'll bring it over."
"Plan on staying," Eric throws out, and he also ignores Andrew's stare. I'm sure this will be the talk of the town tomorrow, especially since it involves Eric. "Bring whatever you sleep in."
"I don't want to spend …" I stop myself when Eric's face tightens, and we both know he could call off the search for my father at any second. "Too much time making dinner. Would you like desert, too?"
"No, thanks." Eric flashes me a blinding grin, then steps aside and gestures for Andrew to follow him. "Come on. We have one more spot to check before we lose all the light."
"Sure. Everly, have a good evening. Hopefully, tomorrow will bring some better news," Andrew says, polite as ever. "I'll come by this weekend for some cakes. It's Tris' birthday. I want to surprise her with something nice."
"Tell her hello for me." I smile, having met Tris once. She and I had nothing in common, and she kept mostly to herself. "I look forward to seeing you again."
"Likewise."
Andrew nods his goodbye, while Eric watches the whole exchanges with an entertained look on his face. My smile turns unfriendly when my eyes meet his, and he sneers back, taking off when Andrew leaves first.
"Don't be late. I don't tolerate lateness. I gave you a free pass once, but that's it," he warns, glancing over his shoulder. "Understood?"
"I'll see you at six."
I refuse to look at him.
I return to the kitchen and save the raviolis before they turn into boiled mush.
Things change quickly.
I mentally mark off night six as I get ready for bed, changing in an unfamiliar bathroom. I have no desire to stay here, and even less desire to see Eric in any state of undress. We ate a tense dinner together, one where he chewed his food with great irritation before asking if I was trying to fatten him up, and then he snarled for me to get ready for bed.
I was half hoping that Ian was showing up.
In my desperation to find my father, I figured I could go along with whatever plan Eric has come up with. I could easily pretend to be whoever he wanted Ian to believe I was, if it meant he'd keep working to find him. My own efforts had proven futile. I'd gone as far into the woods as I could, but I would risk losing everything if I spent all my time in the forest.
Which is why I take a deep breath, pull the nightgown over my head, and then a sweater. I undo my hair from the bun it's in, then brush my teeth. I stall by examining the bathroom –larger than mine at home, and about ten times darker –until I hear Eric snapping for me to hurry up. His demand that I stay tonight left me nauseous, but I had the feeling it was more to see if I'd do whatever he said.
"I'm…on my way." I call out. When I open the door to run, I crash right into him. His hand flies out to catch me by the arm, and my apology is quick. "Sorry! I didn't see you there."
"No shit. Were you stuck in there, or what? It's getting late. Our search starts at sunrise." He holds my stare until I nod, and I have no real excuse as to why I'm just standing there. "Can you no longer speak?"
"Where am I supposed to go? I don't want to sleep near you," I cross my arms over my chest, and his eyeroll is impatient. "Why am I even here?"
"Tomorrow, I'm spending the day in the woods, looking for your father. If you want me to keep searching for your dad, then I'm upping your payment, starting now," he answers. "Got it?"
"What do you mean?" I sink against the doorframe, wondering what he wants. He's massively tall, much broader in a simple shirt and pants, and I know he loathes me. "What else do you want?"
Eric eyes me up and down, purposely taking his time, before his lips curl up into a mean smirk.
"Breakfast."
"Are you serious?" I scowl at him, but it's a dangerous move. He steps closer, and I step back into the bathroom, trapping myself near the tub. "You can't make your own toast? I have to stay here? Can't I just bring you breakfast?"
"Are you going back on your word?" Eric inches closer, until I'm so close I'm practically touching his chest. "Because you asked for my help, and I told you –"
"Fine, fine. I'll do it." This time, I interrupt him. Afraid that he'll stop looking for my dad, I give in. "What would you like?"
"Surprise me," he retorts. He doesn't move past staring at the ruffle on my nightgown, his gaze a little too intense for my liking. "And don't wake me up when you get up."
"That won't be an issue," I mutter, relieved when he steps away. He heads into the hallway but waits for me to follow him. "What if I need something?"
"Don't ask me." He points to a door across the hallway. "Through there. Don't make a mess, either."
"Sure." I wait for him to leave, because it's hard to force myself to move. "Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning."
"Sweet dreams," he answers, mockingly.
Eric storms off to the other door, and I swear he waits to see what I do.
I don't give him an ounce of satisfaction. I slip into the room silently, and I shut the door behind me. I'm immediately engulfed in darkness, leaving me fumbling for a light. The room is bathed in a warm glow, and I'm relieved to see a decent sized bed, and a warm blanket. It's not overly decorated, but it's warm and comfortable and away from Eric.
It takes me what feels like a hundred years to fall asleep, and this time, I dream of Ian, informing me he's found my father.
Even in my dream, I know it's a lie.
He's warm.
A little too close, and a lot too immense beside me. Eric's arm bumps mine a dozen times, first on accident, then on purpose. I can't scoot away, because his friends are here, including Harrison. Out of all of them, he does the best to pretend he's not trying to figure out if I stayed here, or merely walked over early enough to make Eric breakfast.
Either way, he sits in between Jason and Rylan, eating bacon and looking pointedly at Eric.
"Are we going all the way to the castle today? Or just near it? I need to know what shoes to wear," Jason comments, downing his orange juice like he's never drank anything before. "Everly, this is good. How did you make it?"
Everyone looks at me, the lone person not dressed in hunting attire, and I fervently wish I'd left my hair down. I'd pulled it up to cook breakfast, but I feel oddly vulnerable sitting here. Eric's friends are intimidating, even though they are surprisingly kind. I have the sudden desire to hide behind Eric, but I know he'd laugh at me. These are his friends, and the question is innocent.
It's more the fact that Jason was here when I woke up, and he witnessed me slinking down the stairs to start cooking.
"I made it out of oranges," I answer, trying not to laugh when Rylan holds up his glass to examine it, pretending he's never seen such a drink. "You just…juice them."
"Fascinating," Rylan agrees. "Everly, was it a long, cold walk over here this morning? I bet you nearly froze since you would have had to get up so early. I didn't see you, so I'm assuming you left before me."
I take a very slow, exaggerated sip of my own juice. I can feel Eric side eyeing me, and he looks far too smug for my liking when Jason tries not to laugh. "The walk was fine. It wasn't that bad."
The walk to the kitchen was pretty uneventful.
I woke up from a dead sleep, to Eric doing something in his bedroom, and the noise of his door slamming jarred me out of a pleasant dream, one in which he didn't actually live here. I got dressed, half asleep and still yawning, and slipped downstairs to start breakfast. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Eric's house was warm, far warmer than mine. It was enjoyable to cook in his fancy kitchen, and though I hated to admit it, it was nice to sip my coffee and enjoy his view.
It wasn't of a farm.
His kitchen windows opened up to a stunning view of the lake, currently coated in a fine layer of ice.
"Oh, well…I just didn't see you this morning. I fed Kevin and you weren't there. You normally have coffee ready," Rylan looks confused, and I have the funny feeling he doesn't know how I'm paying Eric. "Kevin is good, by the way."
"Kevin?" I ask, confused as ever. "Who is Kevin?"
"My favorite pig, ever. He's become quite fond of me. He follows me everywhere, and cries when I leave," Rylan sounds wistful. "I'd like to keep him, if that's okay with you. We only have a few pigs, and they're mean. My mom said I had to ask you, and not to steal a pig. She doesn't want me to get arrested. Again."
He rolls his eyes. We had a lone detective, much like Ian, and he was pretty much always busy. I can only assume he was busy with Rylan, and that's why we rarely saw him.
"Well?" Rylan leans in, his stare glued to me. "Can I have him? Please say yes."
"Sure. You can take him," I offer, noticing Eric looks surprised.
Livestock is hard to find these days, but if you have a farm, you can normally sustain it, so long as the animals continue to reproduce. It was the not so fun part of having a sustainable farm, but there wasn't much choice. The pig Rylan was attached to would go for a quite a bit at the market, and anyone else would eat, breed, or sell the pig, instead of giving it away.
I didn't have the energy to drag the animal to the market and stick a bow on him in hopes of someone purchasing him.
"Are you sure? Hank won't mind?" Harrison sips his coffee, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Eric, any progress with Andrew? Sorry, I missed you the other day. I was busy."
"We found a boot. Several bullets. A dozen scraps of fabric. Our best bet is the castle. We're heading there today, just to check it out. Andrew thinks it's still abandoned, but Jack said he's seen people in the windows. I think it's a staff, keeping it going? It's been years since the family has been spotted." Eric's arm touches mine again, and he leaves it there. I stay still, trying not to move away.
Or lean into him.
I force myself to remember the last time I saw him, gleefully entertaining one of the "Ashleys" while they sat on his lap.
I pull my arm away.
"Can I go with you?" I sit up straighter, knowing the answer is going to be a firm no. "I could help. I could maybe –"
"You have orders to fill," Eric answers dully. "You won't be done in time before we leave."
"They won't take me long," I start, wondering how he knew what I had scheduled for today. I did have quite a few orders planned, and I was incredibly lucky people were continuing their normal requests. I'd managed to keep up with every single one, especially since I now had help around the farm. "Wait, how did you –"
"We'll leave after this. We want as much light as possible. Jack said he'll meet us near the river. He's going to scour the area before we get there. He wants to mark a few spots." Eric pays no attention to me. He leans forward, and his arm hits mine again. "Jason, do you have enough ammo?"
"Agyeswogh." Jason answers around a mouthful of toast, while Rylan stacks up his bacon to make a tower. He swallows dramatically, then grins. "We should be good. I checked everything the other night."
"Good."
"Will you go inside the castle?" I turn to face Eric, right as he turns to face me. "What if you get hurt?"
"Please." He scoffs. "None of us will get hurt. It's a shitty castle."
"A haunted castle," Jason corrects him, grabbing more orange juice. "Everly, can I take the rest of this?"
"Sure, but how do you know it's haunted?" I stab the eggs on my plate, wishing I could see this castle. "Can you see the ghosts?"
"You can't see ghosts," Jason looks at me like I'm crazy. "Have you ever seen an actual ghost?"
"Well, no." I try to think if I have, but I can't remember ever seeing a ghost. "I don't think so."
"That's because they're invisible," he points out, ignoring Eric's grunt of annoyance. "Eric, you've been attacked by one yourself, so quiet down over there."
"No, I haven't," Eric rolls his eyes. "It's not haunted. Nothing comes to life in the dark. It's a giant eyesore, and a trap for hunters who think they're invincible. The only things living inside it, are spiders and rats and a family of recluses."
"Do you think Kevin should come home with me? Or stay at your farm? I would hate for him to get hurt." Rylan interjects, clearly not paying attention anymore. Across from me, Harrison throws him a funny look, but it's not at all mean spirited. "I would never forgive myself."
"He can stay on my farm. That might be easier. You can visit anytime," I promise, jumping when someone knocks on the door. "Are you expecting someone else?"
"No." Eric stands up, tossing his napkin onto the table. "But that might be Ian."
"Would anyone like anything else?" I stand, too, figuring I might as well start cleaning up. The sun is higher in the sky now, and it won't be long before they leave. My appetite is almost gone, mostly because I'm worried my father is trapped in this castle, surrounded by spiders. "I should start washing these."
"No, thank you. We'll help you carry them to the kitchen." Harrison stands, and Jason and Rylan follow.
The breakfast winds down as Eric speaks to whomever is at the door. I catch a glimpse of her for just a moment, and I immediately avert my stare.
She's tall and blonde, her hair cut sharply to her jaw, and very unfriendly looking.
She throws me a withering scowl, one so familiar, that I immediately realize she must be Eric's mother. I head into the kitchen silently, bumping into Harrison before I can stop myself, and he must not like Eric's mother, either. He mutters for me to hurry, and I swear he calls her a witch under his breath.
My day is pleasant, almost downright boring, until it's not.
I fulfill all the orders on my list. On the order sheets, I check everything as completed. Dozens of muffins, forty-eight cinnamon rolls, two sheet cakes, bread for the small cafe besides Eric's, dinner rolls for the tavern, sandwich bread for a family of twelve, and cupcakes for a woman celebrating the birth of her first grandchild. I finish all of them with a sense of satisfaction, ignoring the dull ache of homesickness for my father.
It's a strange feeling.
I stand in our bakery, the small building attached to our house, dedicated to baking for the village. His presence is everywhere; I can see him standing by the ovens, waving a rolling pin at me, joking that Kerrie has ordered more French bread, and Rylan must be eating her out of house and home.
I hope Eric has found something, anything, except I know he hasn't.
Not much alter, he returns covered in blood, demanding I help him.
"Shit."
We both swear at the same time. My fingers press against the spot above his eyebrow, a jagged cut that's deep enough to make me wince. I bite my lip when I slide the needle through his skin, and because I am no doctor, the action makes me nauseated. I nearly throw up as I pull the skin taut, and when he grunts in annoyance, I remind him this was his idea.
"I've never done this before. Isn't your father a doctor?" I whisper, standing on my toes and eyeballing where to stich his head back together. His shrug is irritated, but I don't blame him.
He'd returned in a whirlwind. His face had blood on it, his shirt had blood on it, and his boots were covered in mud. He insisted I could do the stitches myself, and when I refused, he asked if I could sew. When I reluctantly told him yes, he snapped that it was the same thing, and he didn't have time to go into town.
"My father is busy," Eric snaps, sitting as still as one can while have a needle shoved through their skin. "He's always busy. This is fine."
"Okay, but what if it doesn't work?" I ask softly, genuinely afraid I might hurt him. "What if I do it wrong, and you wind up in worse pain?"
The thought is amusing, because he seems indestructible. Even now, he sits with his head cocked, his eyes on me, and his hands clenching into fists.
"It'll work. Quit being so afraid."
"Oh, I'm sorry. You're right. Stitching up your head is exactly the same as stitching up a shirt," I counter, hating that I have to step closer to him. I'm now between his legs, spread wide on either side of me, and way too close to his chest. "Tilt your head. How did this happen? Did you fall?"
It takes him a second to answer.
He looks up at me, and his lips press together tightly.
"We got the castle and decided to go through the gates. There was movement inside. Jason thought perhaps they'd answer, but they didn't. We got as close as the front door, before a gargoyle fell from above. It hit me in the head. Then, someone attacked." He pauses, and his eyes search mine. "I didn't get a good view of them, but now we know that there are people living in the castle. Your father might be there."
"Do you think so?" Our size different in never more apparent than now. Even sitting, he is taller than me, and could easily kill me if he tried. "Will you go back?"
"Of course," he snaps. "This is a minor setback. We had plans to search the castle. We got there early enough, but Jack wanted to search the perimeter first. It took longer than we planned. Tomorrow, we'll check out the inside. I have a strong feeling we'll find him."
"Oh!"
My heart speeds up, not just because I quickly thread the needle through his skin, pulling it taut as I near the end. It hasn't been that long since I asked Eric for help. He'd made me promise him thirty nights together, but I wonder if he'll decide he's done if he finds my dad. It'll be hard to explain to my father why I'm leaving at night, though I could tell him I'm cleaning Eric's home or working for him.
"That doesn't mean the deal's off," Eric must be able to read minds. He clenches his jaw as I knot the thread, scowling when it tugs at his skin. "You'll still owe me the rest of the time. I don't work for free."
"I know," I sigh at his reminder, playing it off like I'm more concerned over what I'm doing. I lean into him, startling when his hand touches my waist.
I nearly rip the thread out of his skin I'm so stunned.
"Your dress is hideous," he announces, but his fingers dig into my side. He leaves them there, steadying the both of us as I work. "Do you not have anything nicer?"
"I was baking all day," I try to remain patient. It's clear Eric has always had free reign to say whatever he wants, and it's even more clear his trio of blonde idiots dress to his liking. "I'll change before dinner."
"Good."
He snarls his response, visibly upset. I guess it's more from him being injured than anything else, because my dress isn't at all offensive. It's plain, a pale pink color that ends in a pretty ruffled hem, and a few inches longer than it would be on most. I thought it was pretty when I grabbed it, but he apparently doesn't.
"What did you make for dinner?"
"Nothing yet," I try to avoid his sharp stare but deciding I'll make soup. "But I'm going to start it as soon as we're done. I was thinking of making chicken noodle soup. I have…some um, chickens that Jason…"
It's hard for me to tell him how I have the chicken available. It shouldn't be. It was routine for the animals to appear on the dinner table, which is why I never got attached to them.
"Fine. You're bringing it over?" He grows more and more worked up by the second, and I wonder if he ever relaxes. "You're supposed to be cooking it at my house."
"I'll be there as soon as I clean up in here. Does that work?" I hate that I'm trying to pacify him. It's like trying to soothe an angry child, especially when he huffs in exasperation. "Eric, is something else wrong?"
Saying his name sounds strange. So strange that even he looks up, and to my surprise, he shakes his head. He watches me as I snip the ends of the thread, then frowns.
"Nothing is ever wrong." He stands abruptly, nearly knocking me over. "Don't be late. I don't want to wait around for you to show up."
"I'll be right there."
I should feel panicky at his cranky attitude, and the abrupt change in his demeanor. He looks beyond irritable, almost restless. I stay silent as he storms out of the bakery, and his shoulders are up near his ears.
I make the split decision to bring desert, thinking perhaps it might soothe the beast after his ego crushing head wound.
It works.
By the time he is done with his cake, the first few bites reluctantly eaten as though it will positively kill him, Eric is less murderous. His posture is less rigid, and he takes a lazy yet deliberate bite of the chocolate cake. I have the feeling he rarely partakes in anything of the sort. Each bite is slow and careful, while his eyes flash with sheer indulgence.
He says nothing as he finishes the last of the gooey cake, other than a low mutter that it's nearly time for bed.
I wake up in a sheer panic.
Fear claws at my throat, threating to rip it wide open. I dream of a wolf-like animal, attacking my father and me. It stalks us, forcing us deeper into the woods, until I don't recognize the area. In my dream, I am terrified. I run, attempting to drag my father along with me, but it's useless. The wolf is faster, and when I stumble over a fallen tree branch, it catches me. It sinks its teeth into the softest part of my throat, and my eyes open right as my flesh tears.
"No, no, no."
I sit up in bed, dizzy and nauseous. I stumble when my feet trip over the crumpled rug, and desperate for fresh air, I throw the door open. I make it only a few steps before I crash into something solid, and it takes me way too long to realize it's Eric. His bare chest is warm against my cheek, and I recoil like I've been burned.
"Are you crying?" Eric demands, sounding much too awake for the late hour. "Everly, what are you doing? Why are you running through my house?"
"I had a bad dream." I hate how juvenile I sound, but it's impossible to lie. "I dreamt I was attacked by wolves. They had me by the throat."
"Why?" He barks, but his actions belie his tone. One of his hands touches my back uncertainly, like he's not exactly sure what to do. "You're fine. There are no wolves here. They're in the woods."
"I think I'm worried about my father," I try to step back, rubbing my eyes to stop myself from crying. "I should go with you tomorrow. I should be looking for him."
"Absolutely not," he shakes his head, and his fingers press firmly against my spine. He must realize what he's doing, because he yanks them away and steps back like I might attack him. "Go to bed. You'll be of no help traipsing through the woods. You'll only slow us down."
"I won't!" I protest, but it comes out weak, and sort of teary. I shake my head to try and clear the image of the wolf, but it doesn't work. "I just want to find him. That's all."
"Then go to sleep."
His instructions are hissed. I nod, figuring it's no use arguing with him. I turn to head down the stairs, and when I reach the railing, he calls out my name.
"Everly, what are you doing? Where are you going?"
"To get some water."
Our eyes meet in the dark, and he's different looking. Much less on guard, but just as impressive. His hair is slightly less perfect than I'm used to seeing, with the most secret hint of a bend to it. He glowers from the hallway, shirtless, and in nothing but dark boxers that I refuse to look at it, and my cheeks burn.
"Fine. Then go to bed."
His demands, lofty and impersonal, stay with me while I slink downstairs to the sink. I fill a glass with water, and sip it slowly, staring out into pure darkness. There are few stars out tonight, and the sky is littered with thick clouds. They hover invasively, threatening to spit out more snow, this time heavy enough to stick. I stare at them for so long, that I don't hear Eric come down the stairs, though they creak beneath his feet with each step.
"Are you going to bed or what?"
His words, spoken thinly, like he's not used to anyone defying him, startle me. I turn in surprise, more so that he's interrupted me than anything, and for once, I am unafraid. He doesn't scare me in the dark, not even when he stops beside me.
"Everly, I asked you a question. Are you going to bed or –"
"Do you think he's alive?" I crane my head up at him, and my nightgown slips. Eric's stare goes right to my shoulder, and in the dark, he has no shame. I would dare say he looks lusty, but we both know his taste is someone else; someone taller, blonder, more enthused by the mere sight of him. "If my father is in the castle, do you think they've hurt him?"
He presses his lips together. His answer stays hidden, until I nudge his arm, trying to coax the words out.
My mind is screaming for him to say no, but I have the feeling he's going to say yes.
His sigh is further proof that I'm right.
"If he made it inside, they might be waiting for someone to come for him. Maybe they'll offer a trade of sorts, or maybe they just want to fight. It's likely he's dead, but it's just as likely he's alive." For once, Eric's voice is quiet. "There's just as much a chance that he's not in the castle. Ian's town will be looking for him. He might even show up on his own. He could return in the middle of the night, or maybe he'll show up in the morning."
"But I'm not there. I'm here," I whisper, and the image of the wolf sinking his teeth into my throat comes back. "He'll think I've vanished."
"He won't."
"He will."
Our argument is a stale mate, yet again. Eric exhales heavily, exasperation threaded through each breath, until his hand finds my wrist. He takes hold of it like a parent would a small child, and tugs on my arm to drag me to bed.
"It's late. You can check there in the morning. I'll make my own breakfast," he pauses to tighten his grip on my hand, clearly having no manners or any idea of how to get me to do what he wants. "Everly…"
"Okay."
I should go home.
I should leave Eric's oversized house, full of dark walls and dark secrets. I should go sleep in my own bed, make sure Joe is still alive, and fall asleep with the hopes that my father will return. I would probably sleep better, deeper, and less afraid of what's in the woods.
Instead, I let Eric lead the way back upstairs, and for a blisteringly slow moment, I assume he's going to lead me into his bedroom.