Wild (12 page)

Nineteen

S
lender branches became whips. They tore at Dara as she crashed through the underbrush. Thorny vines clung to her ankles. But she followed Cade's faltering voice. It led her through the mazelike jumble of the woods. She didn't remember it being so frightening in the daylight.

Dara heard her father behind her. His footfalls were heavier than hers. The mic on his shoulder hissed, an electronic snake. Though he ordered her to stop, Dara refused. She didn't look back—she had to find Cade.

He was a grey smudge. Almost smoky, and if he hadn't raised his head just then, Dara might have passed him completely.

“Cade!” she cried.

Fighting her way through the brush to him, she dropped to her knees. Even in the low light, she could tell he was pale. His wispy breath clung to charcoal lips. His eyes barely opened. Perhaps sensing her, he turned his head toward her. “You're bad luck.”

Frantic and overwhelmed, Dara laughed. “I know, right. Come on, you have to get up.”

Cade shook his head. “Can't walk.”

At the same time, they looked at his outstretched leg. A bandage jutted at an awkward angle from his heel. It definitely didn't match the shape of a normal foot. Dara wasn't sure what it was covering, and she was afraid to find out.

Instead, she offered a little black humor. “It's just a flesh wound. How lazy can you get?”

“Lazier,” he murmured, and burrowed closer to her. “Watch and see.”

A trembling thrill rushed through Dara's veins. It was something about his voice, about the familiar way he pressed against her. It was like he fit her shape. Like they matched, somehow.

If she wanted proof that she was a terrible person, she had it. What kind of sicko got crushy over a guy in hypothermic shock? She wanted to believe it was
concern
. Even guilt—he wouldn't be holed up in the Clayton Park woods if it wasn't
for her.

But guilt and concern didn't explain how protective she felt. They definitely didn't excuse the wild, stray thoughts playing in her head. The best way to keep someone warm, her brain helpfully informed her, is to get skin to skin.

Mortified at herself, Dara shucked off her jacket. Fact: she had to warm him up. Secondary fact: she didn't have to get naked to do it. Especially considering she heard her dad behind her, talking to dispatch. Sirens wailed on the other side of town.

“Here,” she said.

Blanketing him with her jacket, she did her best to tuck it under his back. Then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Gentle, she pulled him against her chest. Rubbing his arms, she tried to press warmth into him through her palms. His skin was stiff and cold.

Cade's lips rasped against her skin. “Have you ever seen an escalator?”

The question jolted Dara out of her thoughts. Knitting her brow, she tried to look down at him. She could only see his hair and the curve of his ear. There was no way to tell if he was joking, or worse, raving. “Lots of times.”

“I'd like to,” he said. Another wave of shudders ripped through him.

“I'll show you one,” she promised. “Just hang on.”

Cade sighed. His breath slipped into her shirt, shockingly present. Dara felt him clutch and unclutch his fingers beneath the jacket, like he was trying to catch the cold and strangle it.

Turning her head, she saw her father approach. He was a silhouette against the trees. If she hadn't known it was him, he might have been frightening.

The worst part was realizing his hand rested on his holster. It certainly wasn't because he was afraid of Dara. No, he was ready to shoot Cade if he had to.

Before he could speak, Dara said, “He's hurt.”

“I see that,” Sheriff Porter replied. Moving closer, he snapped his holster and crouched before them. With his knuckle, he pushed his hat back so he could get a better look at Cade.

“He's afraid,” Dara continued. He hadn't said so, but wasn't it obvious? “I think he should come home with us.”

Sheriff Porter jerked his head up. “Absolutely not.”

Tightening her arms around Cade, Dara drew strength from deep within. She wasn't afraid of her father. But she was afraid to let Cade go.

The people at the hospital had proved they couldn't take care of him. It had been wrong to ask Sofia to step in. No. Cade had saved
her
life. The least she could do was protect him until he could go home.

“Daddy, please,” she said. “What if it were me? What if I were alone, far away from home? Would you want me in a straitjacket?”

Sheriff Porter frowned. “He wasn't straitjacketed.”

“Practically,” Dara replied. “He didn't do anything wrong. You can't lock him up because he's confusing. He needs somebody to care about him.”

“That's what the social worker's for.”

Bristling, Dara rubbed at Cade's arms again. “We can't give the social worker our address?”

“Dara, I'm the sheriff!”

“Yes, you are. You're supposed to protect people.” Dara looked him right in the eye. Probably, it was wrong to ask him for this. But she was going to ask anyway and he had to see she wasn't kidding. “He needs to be protected, too.”

 

The pullout in Dara's basement was about as perfect as a bed could get, Cade decided. Tucked beneath a thick stack of blankets, he basked in the warmth. Mingling with the heat was the pleasant buzz of painkillers. Those were a gift from the paramedics.

They'd carried him out of the woods. They tried to put him in an ambulance, but he wouldn't get in. Wouldn't go back to the hospital. The hospital was a bad place and he was never going back.

He fought so hard that the sheriff stepped in.

With his booming voice, the sheriff directed the paramedics to patch him up. Then he made them pack him into the back of his car. There were lots of promises about following up, and other things Cade couldn't follow. He didn't understand any of it.

Cade wasn't sure he wanted to anyway. As much as he wanted to go home, he knew he couldn't hunt or forage like this. He used an incredible amount of energy just gathering his daily water. Better to recover in a place where the water came from silvery knobs, and warmth spilled from vents in the walls.

Here, he had the luxury to wonder if his parents had lied to him. The world was full of people, and none of them were sick. The cities weren't deserted. The doctors weren't hidden in secluded mountain labs.

Why not? That was the question that kept coming back. Everything they had told him was
wrong
, and he didn't know why. Were they lying? Confused? The thoughts made his head ache, and the painkillers only took the edge off his physical pain. Careful of his new bandages, Cade sat up in bed.

“Where do you think you're going?” Sheriff Porter asked from a dark corner.

Turning toward his voice, Cade said, “Nowhere. Just trying to get comfortable.”

The sheriff replied with a skeptical grunt. He didn't have to say it out loud, Cade understood perfectly. Sherriff Porter had let Dara talk him into bringing him home, but he wasn't going to let a stranger stay alone in his basement. Not with his family upstairs, not in a million years.

Lying down again, Cade threw an arm over his eyes. He had to stay on his back, his ankles uncrossed. The position made him uneasy. That's how he'd buried his father. His father, who'd given him history lessons while they fished. Were all those stories untrue, too?

“Sheriff Porter?” Cade asked.

Flatly, Sheriff Porter said, “Go to sleep, kid.”

Instead, Cade let his arm slip, and his gaze drift across the room. There was a box in the corner—Sofia had called it a TV. Beside that, shelves full of books. Cade had never seen so many. His parents kept a small stack. Treasured them, actually.

Every time they moved camp, Mom wrapped the books in tanned leather. Tying them tight, she tucked them in the bottom of their satchels, to keep them safe and dry. Cade had read them all, probably a hundred times each. He didn't like
The Decamero
n or
A Journal of the Plague Year
all that much. They were about misery and illness.

Gulliver's Travels
was better, and he liked
Little Women
just fine. But he couldn't help being curious about all the books on these shelves. There were so many more stories in the world than he realized. There was so much more to the
world
than he realized.

Except for a few creaks, the house was quiet. Locked up tight, sleeping. At least, Cade assumed they were all sleeping. There was a chance Dara lay awake above him, tossing and turning the way he wanted to.

He still smelled her on his skin. In his hair. Trying to picture her face, he couldn't decide if she stared at the ceiling, or covered her face to invite sleep. His blood stirred. It wouldn't be hard to find her room. After all, he'd tracked her through the forest back home, by scent alone.

“Go to sleep,” Sheriff Porter said suddenly.

The command startled Cade. It was like the man had read his mind. Or, more likely, was listening to him breathe. Though he longed to ignore Sheriff Porter, to go creeping and find Dara, he closed his eyes instead.

I'll see her tomorrow,
he told himself.
She'll see me tomorrow.

Twenty

B
etween breakfast and the bus, Dara slipped downstairs to see Cade.

It was funny the way his presence transformed the space. It felt different down there, like she was walking into someone else's house. The hair on her arms prickled, and she suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with cold.

He sat on the back of the couch, framed by light and curtains from the half window. His hair trailed down his bare shoulders, accentuating the sculpted muscles there. Built like a gymnast, his back tapered to a narrow waist and slim hips. Before Dara could consider too much of the rest of him, he turned around.

“Good morning.”

“Hey,” Dara said.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she wandered toward him. He'd left his shape in the pullout bed, the covers rolled like a sleeping bag. It looked like he could slip back into it at any moment, instantly tucked in and comfy. She had no idea why she was thinking about him, or his bed, or—enough, stop.

Shaking her thoughts out, she offered a smile and asked, “Are you hungry? We have pancakes.”

A furrow appeared on Cade's brow. “I don't know.”

Teasing gently, Dara said, “You don't know if you're hungry, or you don't know if you want pancakes?”

Shifting on the back of the couch, Cade sank against the wall comfortably. His borrowed pajama pants fit a little too well, in Dara's opinion. His bandage didn't do much to ruin her view of his chest, either. Dusted with dark hair, cut like Italian marble, he seemed more naked than most guys did without their shirts. Spreading his good arm against the windowsill, he considered her. “Both.”

Stepping onto the pullout bed, she sat next to him. Not exactly beside him, because she was already off balance. Nevertheless, the couch had never seemed smaller. Bringing her brain back to the topic, she said, “They're really good, even though Lia made them.”

“What are they?”

Being next to him this morning was so different from last night, when he was so cold and so small. Now he filled the space around him with heat. A hint of wood smoke clung to him, and his eyes were unusually sharp. It was scary how long his lashes were, and she really had to stop staring at him.

“Okay, well,” Dara said, slipping an elastic from her wrist to bind her hair. “It's bread. Sort of. More like a cake that you fry in a pan. Butter, maple syrup, crazy delicious?”

Cade cracked a smile. “Never heard of them.”

“How?” Dara demanded. “Haven't you ever been to Bob Evans?”

“Nope.”

Last night, she'd lain awake thinking about him. Trying to put all the pieces in the right place. Convinced she could make sense of him, she went over his few details until they blurred together. Right before she'd fallen asleep, she'd composed a mental list of questions. His ignorance of all things buttermilk and fluffy reminded her.

“Why haven't you ever seen an escalator?”

The white bandage on his chest quivered slightly at the edge, giving away his pulse. “We don't have them where I come from.”

Dara glanced over her shoulder. Then she lowered her voice. “Do you really live in Daniel Boone National?”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah, because that's its name. It's a national park.”

With a frown, Cade nodded. “Yes. I really live there.”

“You told Sofia your parents are . . . gone.”

Nostrils flaring slightly, Cade looked out the window again. The tape on his bandage pulsed faster, and his shoulders rose with his breath. “It's true. Does this matter? Let's go back to
pan
cakes.”

Now Dara was surprised; she pursed her lips. His pronunciation was off; he'd
really
never heard of them. If he'd been Sofia, she might have reached over to pet him, to reassure him. Instead, she dropped her hands in her lap. He was showing way too much skin. She didn't trust her hand to land someplace acceptable.

“They're yummy, and you should have some.” Braving the space between them, Dara slid closer. “The social worker's coming today. I don't know if they'll let you stay here anymore.”

“Why not?”

It was a good question. Dara started to answer a couple of times. It was hard to find the right words. She'd grown up understanding the system, and her parents' place in it. Disadvantaged kids and group homes and foster care came up on a regular basis. But if Cade really didn't understand any of it, she didn't know where to start.

“It's complicated,” she finally said. “You're not old enough to live on your own. Nobody knows where you live. And, um . . . if your parents are gone, then you need somebody to take care of you.”

Cade dropped his gaze, and his hand. His fingers curled and he brushed his knuckles against her shoulder. “I take care of myself.”

Toes curling in her sneakers, Dara shivered. “For how long, though?”

“Three summers.”

If he was telling the truth, Dara found that terrifying. People didn't just
live
in the wilderness. They didn't leave their kids there alone. When she was thirteen, her mom wouldn't let her take the bus downtown. Trying to make sense of his facts, Dara asked, “How long were you in the park? The forest, I mean.”

Cade frowned. He uncurled one finger, idly tracing the seam of her sleeve. His other fingertips flickered, a soft rhythm that danced across her skin. “Always.”

Before his touch could spread, Dara hauled herself off the couch. The floor felt uncertain beneath her feet, her insides turned upside down. Yes, he was mysterious, and sexy, and half dressed in her basement. But everything she felt, it was just gratitude. That's all. Nothing else.

“Okay,” she told him. “I'll assume that's the truth.”

“You should.”

Dara backed toward the stairs. “Well, I'm going to be honest with you. People are gonna think you're a liar. Or worse . . . they'll think you're crazy.”

“Why?”

“There are laws, Cade. I mean, the county takes kids away from parents who don't have running water and electricity all the time. And they live in actual houses.”

“I see.”

“So what's going to happen is, they're going to think you're a runaway. Or wanted for a crime somewhere. Or mentally ill. Because people don't grow up in national forests. It just doesn't happen.”

Curling into himself, Cade pulled his knee to his chest. He perched on the back of the couch effortlessly, and turned to look out the window. Then he looked back at her, shadows caught under his dark brows. “It does.”

Just then, Lia leaned into the basement door. “I'm telling Dad you're down here,” she said.

Dara glared at her. “Why do you have to be evil?”

“Why do you have to be ugly?”

A timer went off in the kitchen, their five-minute bus warning. Dara turned her back on her sister. One hand on the rail, she anchored herself on the steps. Cade still sat on the back of the couch, coppery skin gleaming, his brows furrowed. Against the lacy curtains and the damask upholstery, he was wildly out of place.

Clearing her throat, Dara waited until he looked at her. Heat coursed through her when his brown eyes turned her way. No one had ever looked at her like that. So sincerely, so earnestly, like he needed her to believe.

“I'm not lying to you,” he said firmly.

“Okay.” Her voice fell to a murmur. “I believe you.”

Then she fled upstairs.

 

The reporter was back.

He stood on the edge of the school property, right next to the sign that said all visitors needed to register at the office. Dara saw him as the bus pulled in. He held his iPhone up like he was taking pictures, or video. Ugh, maybe both. What a freak.

Of course, she knew exactly what he wanted. He'd probably listened to the calls roll in from the police radio last night. The only surprise was that he hadn't turned up at their doorstep. Facing off with the actual sheriff might have been too much. Maybe he was only brave enough to corner the sheriff's daughter.

A spidery sense of unease crawled down her back, and Dara slid from her seat. Her sister sat in the back, with a couple of guys from the Spoken Word club. Hurrying to her, Dara leaned over so the whole bus didn't overhear. “Hey.”

“What?”

Lia didn't appreciate being interrupted. Most days, Lia didn't appreciate admitting she knew Dara at all. They used to be best friends, back in the days of playing Barbies in the backyard.

Once they both hit high school, though, Lia couldn't shed her older sister fast enough. They were both popular in their own groups, but wow. In the Venn diagram of social order, their groups didn't remotely overlap.

Oh well,
Dara thought. T
his is more important than sibling rivalry.
Leaning past Lia, Dara pointed at the reporter. He wasn't even trying to be subtle. As the bus skimmed past him, he tracked it with his phone.

“See that guy?”

Reluctantly, Lia looked over. Then she frowned. “Yeah. Freak.”

“He's from the newspaper.” Dara tried to balance on the edge of Lia's seat, but she didn't make it easy. “Cornered me at Mom's office yesterday, asking questions about Cade.”

Scoffing, Lia said, “Freak number two.”

“Just . . .” Dara trailed off; she wasn't sure what to say. It's not like the reporter had threatened her. Seeming skeezy wasn't against the law, but she wanted Lia to be careful anyway. “Avoid him if you can, okay? I don't trust him.”

Lia hauled her bag off the floor and bumped Dara off the seat. “Whatever.”

Leave it to Lia to be obnoxious about something important. Dara straightened, brushing off her jeans. Through the window, she watched the reporter pace his line. Then, fearlessly, he approached the security guard directing traffic. Somehow, that made Dara more nervous than before.

The bus driver threw the front doors open, and everyone stood at once. They weren't in a rush to get off, although Lia was definitely in a rush to blow past her sister. Pulling her bag onto her shoulder, Lia pressed right into Dara as she squeezed into the aisle.

“By the way,” Lia said smugly. “Mom wants Mowgli out. She told Dad she'll have a placement for him by noon.”

“What?!”

Carelessly rolling her shoulder, Lia said, “Too bad, so sad. No more stray boyfriend in the basement for you.”

Lia's friends snickered. Dara pushed herself between them and her sister, half to keep an eye on Lia. And half, Dara had to admit, just to be mean.
They
were sophomores, she was a senior. And there
was
a social order to uphold.