Andrew found her lying next to the stream. She was thin and filthy, her hair so lank that he couldn't tell what color it was. He expected her to flee from his approach, but she stayed put.
He stopped a short distance away from the young woman, scratching his beard while regarding her. Though her eyes had a vacant look, he knew she was aware of his presence. She'd removed her socks and sneakers, and he saw her feet had numerous blisters. Her jeans were mud-caked, while her shirt bore stains that might have been blood. How the hell did she get up here?
"Hey, girlie, this is private property," Andrew told her. She didn't so much as blink at the sound of his voice. "You got to move along."
When she finally stirred, it seemed to take all her energy to sit upright. Yet she made no move to stand. "I ain't got anywhere to move along to."
"Sure you do. Keep walking east, and you'll come to a dirt road. Follow it right back to where you came from."
She waved absently at the flies and mosquitoes circling around her. The late summer air was thick with them, and they were drawn to the scratches covering her arms. Looking up at Andrew, she said in a flat tone, "There ain't nothing left for me down in that valley."
"Ain't nothing for you here, either," Andrew shot back. "Now, this is my land, and I want you off it, you hear me?"
Her hazel eyes flashed in defiance. "Then you'll have to carry me out of here, because I'm not taking another goddamn step."
Andrew's fingers twitched from the urge to yank the woman to her feet. He resisted the impulse, telling himself it wasn't worth the hassle. She'd move on once she got hungry enough. If she happened to make her way to his cabin, he'd deal with her then.
Even after he left her where she sat, his mood remained dark. It had been months since he'd encountered another soul in these woods. That man had been passing through, heading farther west. He'd told Andrew of growing unrest in the nearest city. It wasn't much more than a small town, but violence had broken out there as well. Andrew had braced himself for an onslaught of people escaping the more populated areas in search of safety, along with food and water. When no one else appeared, he figured the situation had resolved, for better or for worse: survivors had found a way to manage, or they'd fled elsewhere.
The summer had been quiet, but perhaps the young woman's presence signaled a far less peaceful fall. If she'd made it up here, there were plenty of others who could do the same. They'd end up right on his doorstep.
The realization made him wary, but he didn't have the will to move again. The cabin, and the woods surrounding it, were his home. He was determined to stay until the bitter end.
Andrew slept poorly that night, unable to stop thinking of the woman he'd left by the stream. She was awfully young, little more than a girl. It was hard to believe she was on her own. Maybe she was waiting for others to join her. That thought soured his stomach.
Just after dawn, he rose and headed back to the spot where he'd found her the day before. All the while, he clung to a fierce hope that she was gone. When Andrew saw her sitting in the same place, he swore under his breath. Aside from appearing a bit cold and being covered by insect bites, she didn't seem much worse off. He dared to draw closer, but the odor hit him like a palpable force.
"Christ, you smell bad enough to gag a maggot!" Andrew said to the woman. "At least take a bath." He nodded toward the stream.
"That water's cold!"
He rolled his eyes. "Wait till the sun's overhead. It'll warm you up right quick."
She set her jaw in a firm line. "I don't have a change of clothes."
"Take your clothes into the water with you." He spoke each word slowly and emphatically. "Then wash them as best you can."
The woman gave him a sidelong look, full of suspicion. "Why? So you can hide in the woods and watch me like a pervert?"
Andrew burst out laughing at that. "You know how long I've been alone up here, girlie? It's going to take far more than your scrawny ass to get my attention."
"Well, ain't you a charmer," she muttered.
"Oh, I'm sure you can find better company elsewhere." He shook his head, still grinning. At least she had some life in her now; she clearly wasn't ill. "What's your name, anyway?"
She picked up a rock and tossed it toward the stream. Her throw was lousy. "Lottie. What's yours?"
"I'm asking the questions. How old are you, Lottie?"
"Almost twenty."
"And where's your family?"
She turned her face from him, leaving only her profile in view. He could see her lips quivering as she fought back tears.
"Alright," he said quietly, as if she'd answered the question. They were both silent for a long moment. Then he strode deeper into the woods, calling over his shoulder as he went, "I mean it about that bath. You reek."
Andrew returned at suppertime, carrying a bowl and spoon, along with a canteen of purified water. Lottie was still by the stream, but he could tell she'd obeyed his order. Her hair was damp from the creek, and her jeans and shirt were spread out in the sunshine to dry. The bra and underwear she wore were a dingy white; nothing but bleach would brighten them again. He caught a glimpse of her bare legs, which were pale and covered in fine hair. How long had she been struggling to survive on her own out here? he wondered. She had nothing but the clothes on her back.
Before he could call out a greeting, Lottie spotted him and released a startled shriek. "I ain't dressed!"
Andrew snorted in amusement as she darted toward a large oak tree and tried to hide behind it. "Nothing I ain't seen before. I brought you something to eat."
Lottie peeked around the tree, unable to conceal her abject hunger. Still, she asked, "What is it?"
"Stew."
"What kind?"
Andrew let out an exasperated huff. "Rabbit."
Lottie wrinkled her nose. "I'm not hungry."
"Bullshit!" he thundered. "You're half-starved! Are you telling me you're too proud to eat the food I'm offering?" When Lottie didn't speak, he moved toward her, his stance threatening. "Now you listen. I won't have you starve to death up here. I'll haul your ass right off this mountain, but I'll keep your shoes. Try making your way back here without them."
Her face blanched as she swallowed hard. "I appreciate you sharing your food with me, but I don't think I can keep it down."
Andrew's anger faded, replaced by understanding. Holding out the bowl to her, he spoke far more gently. "Eat slow. That way, it's less likely to come back up. I want you to try a few bites for me, okay?"
When her eyes locked with his, he gave her a nod of encouragement. They were both silent as she sat on the ground. He managed to look everywhere but at her small breasts while handing her the stew.
She drank from the canteen first, taking such large swallows that Andrew had to remind her to go easy. Then she ate at a painstakingly slow pace, grimacing as her empty stomach rebelled. He knew that kind of aching, desperate hunger, and his heart softened toward her a little.
She succeeded in finishing half the meal without getting sick. "I'm sorry, I can't eat any more of it."
Andrew took the bowl from her. "You did good, Lottie. You'll feel better soon." As he picked up the spoon and helped himself to her leftovers, she stood and headed toward the stream, canteen in hand. "What are you doing?"
"Getting more water."
His eyes widened. "Jesus, girl, don't you know anything? It's a wonder you ain't sick as a dog! That water needs to be purified before you drink it."
She felt well enough to scowl at him. Hands on her hips, she retorted, "Now you tell me! Would have been nice if you'd mentioned that yesterday!"
"As if you would have listened, with that hard head of yours," he said under his breath.
Lottie didn't bother responding to his remark. Instead, she gazed longingly at the stream. Andrew knew that kind of thirst as well. If he left her out here, it would soon get the better of her. She'd start out with sips, as if that could protect her. Then she'd grow bolder, drinking more until it made her ill. When she looked at him again, her expression was entreating. It was as if she could hear his thoughts.
He gave a single jerk of his head in the direction of the cabin. "Come on, then."
Against his better judgment, he led her to his home. All the while, he tried to assuage his doubts by telling himself that he'd chase her off if she became too much trouble. Even then, he knew that was bullshit.
Andrew's cabin was little more than a hovel, but Lottie seemed thrilled at the sight of it. As she looked around everywhere, he noticed that her hair, now dried, was a pretty chestnut-brown shade. He showed her the location of each essential item he owned, and he explained how she should purify the water by boiling it. Then he retrieved the extra blankets he used in winter so he could make a bed for her on the floor.
"If it gets too drafty under this window, you can always move somewhere else." He studied her face, wondering what she thought of this arrangement. She seemed grateful for a safe place to stay. Again and again, she thanked him. He pointed out a cake of soap. "Take that with you for your next bath."
Lottie eyed his denim shirt and canvas trousers, along with his boots. Then she looked down at her own outfit. "These clothes ain't going to last me long."
Andrew moved toward a chest he kept at the end of the bed. He'd made it out of cedar years ago. Opening the lid, he took out a few pairs of jeans and corduroy pants, along with some practical shirts. The bras were too large for Lottie, and he suspected the underwear might be, too. Still, he scooped all the garments into his arms, along with several pairs of socks, then offered them to her. She lifted her eyebrows in surprise.
He nodded toward the interior of the cedar chest. "There's a winter coat for you as well, and a pair of gloves and warm hat. You'll be needing them sooner than you think." From beneath his bed, he withdrew a pair of women's boots. "These might be a little roomy on you, but they'll do."
When he stood before Lottie once more, she held his stare for several moments. "Who did these clothes belong to?"
Now it was Andrew's turn to fall silent. He looked down at his weathered hands, scarred and calloused. Still, Lottie must have seen the pained expression on his face.
"So you weren't always alone up here," she said in a low voice. "What happened to her?"
Andrew wanted to say that it was none of her fucking business. But it wouldn't do to be harsh, he told himself. Her question was a reasonable one. "She lived here for a time, and then she headed back toward the city," he replied. "I haven't heard from her since."
"But you kept her things. You were hoping she'd come back."
He snapped his head up and glowered at Lottie. "I don't throw out anything useful."
"I understand," she said quickly. It was clear she didn't want to upset him. A soft smile played on her lips. "You never did tell me your name."
He couldn't help but smile in return. "It's Andrew."
"And how old are you, Andrew?" Lottie set about placing a clean outfit on the bed before returning the other clothing to the chest. She ever so gently closed its lid, as if it were fragile.
"Old enough to be your father, which is all the more reason for you to mind me."
Her smile morphed into an impish grin. "You certainly look it, with that gray in your hair and beard."
"Such cruelty!" Andrew pretended to be wounded while placing a hand against his chest. He was pleased when she giggled at his theatrics. "Just you wait, sweetheart. These mountains will soon age you, too."
As she eagerly gulped down more water, he took the opportunity to outline her responsibilities. "If you stay here, you'll make yourself useful to me."
"Because you don't throw out anything useful."
Andrew raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Clever girl. You'll learn to hunt, fish, trap, and forage. And by God, you'd better know how to cook, because I'm tired of doing it."
She appeared a little uncertain, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I can cook, and I can fish, I guess, but I'm going to need help learning to do the other stuff."
"I'll teach you."
That night, Lottie curled up in her bed of blankets, content as a cat. Andrew had given her an extra pillow from his own bed, and not long after they both settled down in the darkness, he heard her breathing deepen. Even when he was sure she was asleep, he didn't rest easy; it was difficult to trust a stranger in his home.