Date: June 10, 2440 Time: 8:15 PM
Matt had enjoyed the day spent with another botanist. He knew his days in sweat pants and plastic gardening shoes would be few and far between. Getting to spend it with Gwem, who only had eyes for Calvas and a love for aeroponic gardening, had been great. Unlike her mate, she had no awe of the high and mighty as they cast her father out of the lower gentry for daring to love a woman from the merchant class. He lost his name and was told he was no longer worthy of his birth rank.
The worse tragedy was his death. Her mother had already lost her own father, and with no brothers, there was no one left to stand for them. Her father’s seven brothers, all born to House V’lak, would not even acknowledge her birth, much less take their role as her uncle. She had served that tea to Matthew with no fear and no intimidation. Little did she suspect how much he respected her for doing so.
His thoughts lingered on that quiet defiance, on the way she had met his gaze without flinching, when movement on the road snapped him back to the present.
“What are you thinking about?” T’mari asked, sliding over next to him, careful not to knock the shifter with her legs.
“How much I love you,” he said, putting his arm over her shoulders—grateful he hadn’t ordered bucket seats in the truck—before slamming the brakes as the deer bounded into the headlights. “Shit!”
“Oh Matthew, I am so sorry.”
“Don’t be, the damned things are suicidal some days,” he muttered, checking mirrors before climbing out.
As a rural Missouri boy, he had mixed feelings. Sure, this dinged up the truck, but it was also fresh venison. It was not the first time he had field dressed roadkill of his own making since learning to drive—or even since spring.
“Is your truck going to be okay?” T’mari asked, watching with horrified fascination.
“Think so.” He crouched, wrist deep in viscera. “If not, I’ll get a new one,” he said with a shrug, recalling the zebra of all things that had totaled his last one.
“Heart, liver, kidneys,” he recited almost clinically, dropping each into the bag several water bottles had come out of, before sliding the rest aside and hauling the carcass into the truck bed.
She stepped closer, wrinkling her nose. “You are not drinking from that, covered in blood.” Her protest ended with a grimace as her foot landed squarely in the offal. “Gross! I liked these shoes.”
“I’ll buy you another pair,” he sighed, thinking better of suggesting the washing machine. “How about you pour if I’m not allowed to drink from a bloody bottle?”
“In your mouth or on your hands, first?” she challenged.
“Well, I hadn’t thought about it… your choice.” He tilted his head back as the stream of water splashed across his face. He drank what he could, eyes closed against the sting. of lukewarm water and diluted sweat.
“What would you have done if I hadn’t been here? No—never mind. You would have drunk it anyway.”
“Of course. I’m a country boy,” he said, rubbing his hands together under the next bottle. “Might’ve just wiped my hands on my shirt and tossed it behind the seat.”
“Please tell me that is not why there’s a wadded-up shirt back there.”
“Don’t think so,” he said, scrubbing harder.
She opened the last bottle, shaking her head. “And what if there hadn’t been water?”
“Then I’d have had to surrender my official license.” He gave her a wicked grin. “If you really wanted the blood off, I could have had you pee on them.”
“I would not! Damn it!” she snapped, realizing too late she’d been baited, and cursed louder when her other shoe found another slick patch of guts.
“Let me take care of you.” He caught her at the waist, lifting her easily onto the tailgate. Shoes came off with quick fingers and landed in the corner of the bed. He rinsed her feet gently, his rough hands unexpectedly tender. “Hop on,” he said, crouching for her to climb on his back.
She clung tighter than the ride required, pressed close against his shoulders, and despite the gore still staining his shirt she could not shake the thought—this was a man who would carry her through anything.
She thought back to Angel Magsaysay and the story she had heard from him and later from her son. This was a man who had carried worse burdens and almost would have rather walked beside him, until she saw something in the distance slither on the warm blacktop.
