“Yes.” He turned away.
As she was removing her coat and boots, she noticed two long, flat boards sitting against the wall in the corner. As she eyed them, she realized they had hand-made “straps.” Had he fashioned his own version of snow shoes from long pieces of wood? She was amazed. He really was . . . incredibly industrious. It was humbling to get a personal glimpse at the lengths he’d gone to to survive.
He set something in his bowl and mug on the table and Harper walked to where he stood, sitting on one of the stools. He’d opened one of the cans of pears she’d brought and had put some of the smoked fish next to it. She smiled her thanks, and he looked pleased as he sat next to her. “Thank you, Jak. I appreciate your hospitality.”
His eyebrows did that funny thing where one went up and one went down. She was beginning to recognize it as the expression he made when he was trying to put a word he didn’t know into context. She resisted defining hospitality for him. He was clearly intelligent, and possibly more well-read than some people walking around Helena Springs, conducting perfectly successful lives, so she would allow him the time to deduce the meanings of words he didn’t know. Or he could ask her. “Speaking of hospitality, I hope you’re okay extending a little bit more.” She shot him a slightly embarrassed glance. “My truck is under a sheet of ice and I can’t imagine those back roads ever get plowed. They’re too far out of town.”
His gaze was now focused on a pear as he sniffed it suspiciously and then apparently happy with the scent, put it in his mouth. His lips curved as he chewed, his gaze meeting hers. Harper’s stomach flipped at the pure joy contained in his expression. His smile grew and he said around the mouthful, “You can stay here as long as you need to.”
“Thanks.”
After she’d taken a few bites, she turned to him, wiping pear juice from the corner of her mouth. “Jak, what you said out there about being wild. You know, it’s nothing to feel ashamed of. The way you grew up was not your fault. You did what you had to do to survive. Most people wouldn’t have been able to.”
“Survival is the greatest training of all,” he murmured, his brow furrowed.
His statement confused her. “Training? For what?”
He shook his head as though bringing himself back to the moment. “What happened after your parents died?”
“Me? Oh, I . . . grew up in foster care in Missoula.”
“Foster care?”
She bobbed her head. “Yes. It’s a state-run program for kids who don’t have anyone to take care of them. Group homes or private residences.”
“Which one were you in?”
“Uh, both. I moved around a few times.”
He watched her closely, and she fidgeted for a moment, feeling exposed. Something stuck in her throat.
“And now you work at one?”
“Yes. I mean, part-time, mostly for something to do to fill my time during the colder months when my business slows down. I help out with the kids there.”
“But you work at night when they’re sleeping.”
She blinked at him. He didn’t miss a beat, did he? “Well, yes.” She felt like she was on shaky ground very suddenly. “They need night shift workers too.”
“You watch them while they sleep?” He tilted his head, his eyes running over her expression, reading her. Figuring her out, the same way he figured out words and customs, and things he knew nothing about until he came upon them in the new world he’d been thrust into. Or more specifically, had been thrust on him in the form of her, showing up at his home over and over again.
“Did you survive too, Harper?” he asked, his blue eyes piercing her.
She swallowed. She’d always sugarcoated her time in foster care to her friends and others she knew. But with him, she felt no need to. He’d called her honest, and she wanted to be. Not only with him, but with herself. Maybe brushing off her experience all these years as no big deal had done a great disservice to her own spirit. “Yes. I had to survive too. In different ways but . . . yes.”
Their eyes met and an understanding moved between them. “Are those the things you keep inside? The things you don’t tell people about?”
Harper nodded, giving him a small smile before spearing her last pear. She felt close to tears. Edgy. The way he was looking at her . . . like he knew every fearful, lonely moment she’d experienced, like he’d been there. She swallowed the pear with effort. If she kept sitting there, the emotions filling her chest were going to bubble over. They needed to bubble over. They were demanding to be set free. Just not there . . . not with his eyes probing her that way.
She stood so suddenly the heavy stool rocked backward before settling on the floor. His face filled with surprise as she took him by the hands. “Come on. I want to try out that thing you told me about.”
“What thing?”
“Yelling my secrets to the mountaintops.”
He gave her a quizzical look, but didn’t resist when she led him to where his coat and boots lay discarded on the floor by the door.
They put their winter gear on and then descended the steps, walking to the back of the house again. The sun was higher in the sky now and the ice sparkled golden instead of silvery wh