Chapter 17 - And then, in the middle of the night, a howl

**** Brooke

“Mr. Farrow?” I called. My voice wavered and I cleared my throat. “Mr. Farrow, could you come for a moment?”

Something moved in the shadows and only revealed itself at the point where the moon's rays could penetrate the low branches: a baby deer trotted on unsteady legs and looked at me curiously, paralyzed.

Unlike me, he wasn't scared. The natural distrust towards the man that more adult species felt had not yet been generated within him, and this gave him the courage to advance half a meter. He tilted his nose first to the right and then to the left, and I backed away slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements.

Then everything happened quickly: behind me I heard Mr. Farrow's footsteps and suddenly the animal's eyes widened and he froze as if he had suddenly come face to face with the headlights of a car.

Farrow's steps stopped next to me, without passing me and it was only at that moment that I saw a strange red light reflected in the little boy's dark eyes. It was just a moment, but I was sure I hadn't imagined it.

The animal gave a shrill scream and rushed headlong into the bush, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared.

“Oh my God…” I murmured, looking at the place where I saw him disappear. “That terrified him!”

I realized too late that I had used an accusatory tone, but it didn't seem to intimidate Mr. Farrow.

“Next time I'll try to tame him.” he mocked me.

“I doubt he'll get any closer. While I was there, he just seemed curious, but as soon as he saw you, Mr. Farrow, he ran away.”

“He did more than well. You should always listen to his instincts. This can make the difference between living or dying.”

I sighed. “Are you telling me you wanted to kill him?”

“Well, you ate my entire portion of bacon. Some roast venison wouldn't have been bad.”

“You're…” I pushed him when I realized he was making fun of me with good humor. “Ah, Mr. Farrow, you are a monster.”

“You already told me that.” he smiled mischievously. The white line of his teeth stood out in the dim light. “But, unlike Bambi, your instincts don't tell you to run away from me. Do you realize that as soon as you felt threatened by a harmless deer you called upon a terrible monster to defend you?”

I looked at him. It was irritating how he always claimed to have the last word. And even more so was the fact that he always succeeded.

“Did you pee?” he asked me and I thanked the darkness, an excellent ally for my embarrassment.

“I could not. Bambi was watching me.”

“Come on, hurry up. I will remain as a guard,” he assured, politely turning his back to me.

I froze. “I'm not going to pee in front of you.”

He bent his arm and tapped his shoulder with his index finger. “I don't want to point out the obvious, but I was rejected.”

“But he can hear me.”

At that moment he turned around, impatient. “Do you have a minute? Then I'll come back here to get it.”

With that warning, I quickly unbuttoned my pants, without even waiting until he had moved far enough away. Cautiously, I checked to see him disappear behind a log and quickly crouched down.

“Hurry up or your sweet ass is going to freeze.” I heard his voice in the distance.

“One moment.”

“How long will it take you? The minute is almost up. Exactly in ten... nine... eight... seven... six…”

I straightened my pants and ran toward him, trying not to trip.

“You can be nasty, have you ever been told that?”

He let his gaze slide over me and adjusted the hem of my jacket that had gotten caught under the elastic of my pants.

“Do you feel cold?”

“A little.”

“Let's get in the sleeping bag, okay?”

He extended his hand and I hesitated.

“Let's go! Don't be such a child. Give me your hand. I'm sure that, no matter how clumsy you are, you could make it to the tent on all fours.”

I hesitated again and impatiently he took the opportunity to grab my wrist and pull me close to him, guiding me along the path that could barely be seen.

“I can take care of myself,” I murmured, stumbling to keep up with his pace.

“Can I not answer?”

I felt your smile on me. One of those typical mischievous smiles of his that made him even more charming. It's annoying.

“Get in the sleeping bag,” he ordered abruptly, releasing my wrist and throwing me forward with little grace.

At first, I thought that Mr. Farrow lacked manners and that his abrupt gestures were dictated by an irritating intolerance toward me. However, I soon had to change my mind, attributing such gestures to excessive physical strength.

Even now I felt my wrist tingling, but his fingers held it without nervousness or irritation, as if he simply hadn't been able to channel the strength.

I took off my boots and zipped up my sleeping bag that he had brought. There was only one and I wondered if I should have suggested sharing it. As soon as I had that thought, I felt my heart speed up and my throat dry up. Fully dressed as we were, we could have shared the sleeping bag without the risk of misunderstanding, but the mere idea of spending entire hours glued to my boss's side made me nervous.

However, the blame for not providing the night equipment remained mine. My inexperience in the workplace didn't allow me to be farsighted and I took it for granted that a few hours in the forest would be enough to complete the project.

Furthermore, I hadn't anticipated that Malloy, when Farrow and I descended into the valley, would quickly return to his old junk, leaving us locked out of the base. If I hadn't pressured my boss to call my parents, we wouldn't have wasted precious minutes and would have gotten to Malloy in time to get the building keys.

Trying to reach him on his phone proved futile because when he went off duty he always turned it off. The next morning he would find a handful of messages begging him to return to base, but by then it would be too late.

So here we are, protected by a tent and with just a sleeping bag. All because of me! At the very least, I should have been grateful to Farrow and shared something he lent me.

“Mr. Farrow?” I shouted at him with a surge of courage.

“Tell me.”

His back was to me, focused on the flames of the campfire. Every time he moved a torso, his back muscles contorted, throwing themselves hard against the fabric of his sweater. His jacket was on the floor, rolled up like a pillow.

“There's only one sleeping bag,” I said in a fit of courage.

“And you're wondering if you'll have to share it with me, right?”

Another tendon in his back twisted, revealing the surprising strength of his arm muscles. They were an eye magnet and I felt ashamed of myself for the bold way I was spying on him.

“I feel guilty, Mr. Farrow. You absolutely must not freeze to death because of me.”

“I'm the one who has to take care of you, not the other way around,” he replied indifferently.

“He always treats me like I was a little girl,” I said referring to my father.

“No, and you?”

“Have you noticed that I'm twenty-two years old?”

His head swiveled and I found myself caught in his gaze. The glow of the fire illuminated half of his face, making his features more severe than usual. Cheekbones, lips, and forehead looked like they were carved from granite. Only his eyes shone with a warm light, conveying a tumult of mixed emotions. It was difficult to guess which emotion took precedence over the others as the dark irises flowed with unabashed slowness up and down the sleeping bag. Even though I was covered from head to toe, I suddenly felt naked.

“Believe me, Brooke, if there's one thing I've noticed, it's that you're the same age as you say you are.” Then he fixed his eyes on my face and raised an eyebrow, returning to his sarcastic tone. “But you're still a little girl who needs to learn everything and who blushes at every compliment. Even the most innocent.”

“You don't know if I'm blushing. It's pitch black.” I objected.

“So you won't have any objections if I come closer now to check?” he threatened, standing up suddenly and approaching with two long steps.

He knelt next to the sleeping bag and unexpectedly ran his index finger and thumb under my chin, pushing my face up.

“Yes…” he murmured satisfied, examining me carefully. “I was right.”

I turned my head to the side, escaping his grasp. “She says you're very irritating.”

“We're a little sensitive, right?” he laughed heartily, lying down next to me, directly on the grass.

I instantly stiffened and looked ahead, my gaze stubbornly focused everywhere but him.

“Before you start throwing a tantrum, I'm going to tell you right now that I'm not leaving here, that I don't eat little girls, and that I don't snore.”

I took a quick look in his direction and found him with his head resting on top of his jacket and his eyes closed. His arms crossed over his chest and an irritating smile on his lips was a clear sign of how the whole situation didn't affect him at all. It's hard to imagine that a man like him could feel embarrassed by the simple fact that he had to share a patch of lawn with a girl. After all, his reputation as a seducer was not a big secret and was occasionally reported in some local newspapers. Although journalists tended to exaggerate the news, there needed to be a basis on which to base the entire newspaper article. And that base was probably supported by dozens of girls who spent entire nights with him... and certainly not in the middle of the forest.

“Stop looking at me and try to sleep,” he murmured.

“How did he not? Or if your eyes were closed?” I blurted out.

“I feel your breath in my mouth.”

Her eyes opened and I gasped. However, I noticed that the irritating smile had been replaced by a warmer, almost sweet smile.

“Are you uncomfortable? - he asked gently.”

I looked away. “A little.”

“You haven't slept with many men, have you?”

The question, as intimate as it was, was asked in a caring tone and without malice. It was easy to trust me.

“I've never slept with anyone.”

“So, this is your first time?” he smiled again.