Chapter 7 Backwoods Scholar

The abundance of books scattered throughout the room was a testament to his intellectual pursuits, suggesting a life rich in reading and learning, perhaps far beyond her own experience. Curiosity piqued, she ventured, "You have so many books. Do you enjoy reading?"

“I do,” he answered, his voice a low rumble. “I have a particular fondness for the Greeks. Wrote my thesis on their poetry.”

Alexandra’s jaw went slack. “You did what? You have a Master’s degree?”

“That I do,” he confirmed with a slight nod. “Not from the Ivy League, mind you.”

Her mind raced, trying to reconcile the image of a backwoods recluse with that of a classical scholar. “Then what are you doing all the way out here?”

A crooked smile played on his lips as he watched her grapple with the contradiction he presented. He let her puzzle over it for a moment before letting her off the hook. “I like it here,” he said simply. He motioned toward the middle door of the three along the one wall. “The shower is through that door. And you might find something that fits you in the closet of the room through the door on the left. Make yourself at home while I’ll see what I can find for us to eat.”

“Thanks,” she managed, feeling a bit dazed. “Um… could I use your phone?”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit, if I had one.”

The casualness of his reply stunned her. “You don’t have a phone?” Her eyebrows shot up. She tried to process the idea of someone existing without a landline, and a small smile touched her lips. “Oh, I get it. You just use your cell.”

“Don’t have one of those either,” he said. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I have one somewhere, but there’s no service up here.”

“So, what do you do when you need to call someone?” she asked, her voice laced with genuine disbelief.

“I hitch a ride to town with Ryan. He brings me supplies once a week,” he explained calmly. “He’s due back in a couple of days.”

Alexandra stared at him, speechless. The implications of his words settled over her like a heavy blanket. After a moment, he turned and headed toward the kitchen, leaving her to process their conversation. A person couldn’t live without a phone. She would be utterly lost without hers. Shaking her head at yet another mystery, she turned and entered the bedroom he’d indicated.

The room was simple and neat, with a tidily made bed and unadorned wooden furniture. Like the rest of the house, it lacked extravagance but exuded a sense of warm, lived-in comfort. Rummaging through the closet, she found a pair of jeans and a soft flannel shirt that looked like they would fit. With the clothes in hand, she slipped into the bathroom.

It was functional and clean, a far cry from the luxury she was used to, but after a cold, terrifying night, the prospect of a hot shower was a true blessing. The warm water felt glorious, washing away the grime and some of the stress. She changed into the borrowed clothes, skipping the underwear she found, as that was a bridge too far, and felt a small measure of her composure return.

As she worked a brush through her damp hair, her anxiety began to bubble up again. A couple of days? Did that mean she was stranded here until this Ryan person showed up, presumably with a freight wagon drawn by oxen to restock the fort? How was she supposed to get a tow truck for her car? Where was she going to sleep? Despite his kindness, his education, and his undeniable good looks, his primitive lifestyle was beginning to feel less like a charming quirk and more like a cage.

Enough was enough. She gathered her resolve, ready to lay down some ground rules. She was an engaged woman, not some damsel to be held captive, no matter how gentle the warden.

She strode out of the bathroom, her speech prepared. “Evan,” she began, her voice firm, “we need to figure out a plan for my car, and you have to get me to a telephone and…”

Her words trailed off as he turned to face her. He was holding a plate piled high with steaming food, and his bright blue eyes seemed to look right through her, quieting the storm inside her. The sight, combined with the delicious aroma, disarmed her completely. A strange tingle ran down her spine, and she shook it off, moving silently to the dining table.

He placed the plate in front of her. “Thank you,” was all she could manage to say.

“Actually, Alexandra, Alex. I’ve already worked out a plan for your car,” he said, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “As soon as you’re done eating, we’ll go tow it back here.”

Her confusion returned. “With what? A truck? I didn’t see one outside.”

“Nope, no truck,” he said. “But I do have a pair of Belgians who could use the work. It’s a perfect job for them.”

Her face brightened with relief, and she laughed. “Oh, so you know a couple of Belgian guys who can tow it! I was starting to think you were holding out on me.”

Evan frowned, his head tilted in confusion. “What?”

“Do these two guys have names?” she teased, enjoying the banter.

“They do,” he replied, still struggling to follow her. “Bud and Jack.”

“Bud and Jack’s Towing?” she said, smiling, convinced he’d been playing a joke on her about waiting for Ryan. He was faking his confusion brilliantly.

“If you want to call it that,” he said, scratching his head. “Seems a bit grand to give them a business name, but you seem to be on a roll with naming things today.” A slow smile spread across his face as he finally caught on to her game. “I’ll get Bud and Jack and the rig ready while you finish up.”

“I’m nearly done,” she said. “Go on, I’ll clean up in here.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he protested.

“Look,” she insisted, her tone softening. “I’m incredibly grateful for your kindness. Washing a few dishes is the least I can do. Now go get your friends.”

The last bite of scrambled eggs had barely passed her lips when she watched him walk out the door. Evan was a surprisingly good cook, though perhaps her ravenous hunger was seasoning the meal. She took a long sip of the coffee he’d poured for her. It was strong and black, and the potent brew was already chasing away the last vestiges of a headache that the hot shower had begun to soothe.

Moving on autopilot, she cleared the dishes from the small table, cleaning them in the sink and leaving them to dry in the dish rack. With the kitchen tidy, she returned to the bedroom. Her mission was to find more suitable footwear among those she had seen in the bottom of the closet. Her own boots had transformed into instruments of torture the evening before. Rummaging in the closet, she unearthed a pair of well-worn leather cowboy boots that were just about her size.

They slid on as if they were made for her. Curious, she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door. The woman staring back was a stranger, clad in loose-fitting jeans, a soft plaid shirt, and cowboy boots. It was a complete transformation. On a whim, she reached back into the closet, her fingers closing around the brim of a cowboy hat. She placed it on her head. Adjusted it slightly, and a small, unexpected giggle escaped her. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Evan’s face.