Chosen - Christine Pope (mobile ebook reader .TXT) 📗

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The days seemed to blur after that, running together until I realized that we were less than a week away from Thanksgiving. Jace had spent long hours building the shed for the goats, doing his best to make sure they didn’t have to be exposed to the elements any longer than absolutely necessary. And they did seem grateful for the shelter we provided, going in there without any urging from us.

As a child, I’d read all those “Little House” books about Laura Ingalls Wilder and her family moving from place to place, homesteading, farming, and although I thought I’d absorbed most of the details, it wasn’t until I was doing roughly the same thing myself that I understood how time-consuming having to do everything yourself actually was. And yes, I realized that Jace and I were living in a modern, up-to-date house with a lot of conveniences that Ms. Wilder could never have conceived of. Even so, there was still housework and laundry and cooking and so much more, like making cheese and sausage and butter, collecting eggs, making sure the goats had fresh water and were milked twice a day, tending the plants in the greenhouse and determining what was ready to be eaten and what still needed a few days. By the time we were done with dinner and the clean-up afterward, Jace and I were practically asleep on our feet. Every once in a great while, we’d sit down and watch a movie from the collection in the family room, but that happened maybe every ten days or so, if that. And no, we never watched any of the real estate developer’s porn. Jace had looked at the row of Blue-Rays and chuckled, shooting me an inquiring look.

“No way in hell,” I’d told him, and he’d let it go. I wasn’t about to confess that I actually had tried to watch one of them in the first week I’d been here, lonely and scared and thinking maybe giving myself an orgasm would help to relax me. But about five minutes of looking at the actors with their unnaturally waxed bodies and the women with their fake breasts and equally fake moans made me less inclined toward sex than I’d ever been in my life, and I took the disc out of the player and put it away, knowing I could never watch one of those movies again.

And now, I had no need to.

By some unspoken agreement, Jace and I had begun making love in the morning, while the world was still dark and the day hadn’t wrung every last drop of energy from us. Sometimes one of us would wake up in the middle of the night and reach out for the other, and we’d cling together in a sort of frenzy before passing out again, but it wasn’t a common occurrence.

Even so, it was a good life. The weariness I felt every day when I lay down to sleep…it was a good kind of tired, the kind you got when you’d spent your day doing something that felt useful, worthwhile. I could tell that Jace viewed our existence the same way, that he didn’t have any regrets about the life we were living. In a post-industrial world, this seemed to be the new normal.

Behind all that, though, I still had this nagging sensation at the back of my mind, as if I was missing something vitally important, that if I could only put the pieces together in the right order, I’d figure out what had been bothering me all this time. It was sort of like looking at one of those “magic eye” pictures and attempting to puzzle out what exactly the hidden image was. I was never very good at that, either. No matter how hard I tried, I could only see a blur of color that didn’t mean anything.

In the meantime, Thanksgiving came, and we feasted on pheasant, which I found I enjoyed far more than turkey. Maybe that was simply because, although my mother knew her way around a turkey, my Aunt Susan really didn’t, and so on alternating Thanksgivings I’d had to eat dried-out bird smothered in cranberry sauce to give it a decent flavor.

No such worries with the pheasant Jace brought home, which was moist and delicious, especially paired with a sauce I made from currants he’d found during one of his hunting expeditions. And combined with wild rice and sautéed green beans from the greenhouse — well, it was probably the best Thanksgiving meal I’d ever consumed, even if I couldn’t help looking at all the empty seats around that huge dining room table and thinking it would have been wonderful to have friends and family there to share the meal with us.

But that world was long gone, and if I were destined to spend the rest of my life around only one person, I couldn’t think of anyone better than Jace to share it with. During that meal, he’d gone quiet a time or two, and I had a feeling he was thinking the same thing, that Thanksgiving was supposed to be about sharing, about being with loved ones, and now ours were all gone.

Those somber moments were fleeting, though, and I could tell he wasn’t about to let the memories of what once was ruin what we had now. He joked about Dutchie wanting to eat that pheasant whole before it even hit the back of the ATV, and praised my cooking, raising a glass to honor my efforts. It did feel good. Before all this, I would never have said I was particularly domestic, but I’d risen to the occasion with more success than I could have imagined.

Also, I’d surprised him by putting on the black dress I’d brought from Albuquerque, and my jeweled sandals, and those amazing tanzanite earrings that had so mysteriously shown up in my pocket after my first visit to the plaza in Santa Fe. Actual makeup, my hair styled as best I could, since I hadn’t brought any curling irons or hot rollers with me, thinking I’d never need them again. Jace had taken one look at me and asked, “You expect me to be patient all through dinner with you looking like that?”

I’d given him a sphinx-like smile and continued teetering my way back and forth from the kitchen, bringing food to the table. Funny how just a month or so in hiking boots had apparently killed all my ability to walk in heels.

And after dinner, Jace surprised me by taking me in his arms, actually lifting me away from the dining room table and carrying me to the bedroom, where he proceeded to show me exactly how much he appreciated me, mouth moving with teasing slowness across my skin, his fingers stroking me, finding exactly the right spot to wring moans of ecstasy from a place so deep that before I’d been with him, I hadn’t even known it existed. Then we were together once more, bodies locked, moving in a rhythm that had become second nature to us by now.

That was really how it felt…natural, as if my body had been made to fit with his, and the reason it had never worked with anyone else was simply that they hadn’t been the one. We fell asleep in one another’s arms, a perfect end to a perfect day.

A week after that, we had our first snowfall. At first, I didn’t even know what was happening, only caught an odd flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye while I was clearing up the breakfast dishes. The skies had been heavy and gray when we woke up that morning, and Jace said it