Forsaking All Others by Lavyrle Spencer Read Free Book Online Page A

bothered to clear. Tracks left by cross-country skiers showed that only they had disturbed the snow here.
    “You gonna be warm enough?” Allison asked as Rick opened his door.
    “Yup!” He produced warm leather gloves from his pocket, yanked his collar higher for good measure, and got out.
    It was getting dark quickly as they entered the woods, following the foot trails whose wooden identification signs now wore caps of snow. The trails were easy to follow, and when Allison and Rick were scarcely twenty-five feet from the van, they spotted a long, oblique lump beneath a thick coat of snow. Rick brushed it off, revealing a four-foot section of tree trunk.
    “How’s this?” he asked, squatting beside it and looking up.
    She glanced measuringly from the log to the van. “Close, but too heavy, I think.”
    He walked to the end, kicked around in the snow, knelt, and boosted it up from the ground. “Must be half-rotten, just the kind we need so we can run fast when the posse comes.”
    “Think I can lift it?” she asked.
    “I don’t know. Give it a try.”
    She shuffled through the snow to the other end of the log, rummaged around to find a handhold, grunted exaggeratedly, and hoisted up her end. “I did it! I did it!” She staggered a little for good measure.
    Rick trained his eyes on a spot behind her shoulder and said with grave seriousness, “Oh, officer, it wasn’tme! I was just coming to turn in this lady for stealing this rotten log. Ninety-nine years should certainly be fair, yes, whatever you say.”
    Allison gave a giant shove, and the log rammed Rick Lang in his beautifully muscled belly like a battering ram, then thudded to the earth at his feet as he dramatically clutched his gut. He staggered around as if he’d just had his lights punched out, hugged himself, and grunted, “I . . . I take that back . . . off . . . officer, let her go. I’ll pay for the damn log!”
    She affected a wholly superior air and joined his farce. “Officer, all this man’s done all day long is talk about kissing girls. Can you blame a woman for grabbing the first thing in sight to protect herself with?”
    Rick raised both gloved hands as if a gun were pointed at his chest. “Oh no . . . oh no, no, no, I’m innocent. Furthermore, after this display, you can put your damn log in your van by yourself! I’m going for a walk!”
    He turned and continued along the trail, leaving her standing up to her knees in snow, laughing.
    “Hey, no fair, you’ve got high boots and my shoes only go up to my ankles. . . .” She paused to check for sure, lifting one foot. She raised her voice and called after him, “Not even that high!”
    “Come on. I’ll make tracks,” he said without pausing, dragging his feet to plow a way for her. It was somewhat better, but certainly left plenty of snow for her to trudgethrough. With high, running steps she hurried to catch up with him.
    “Hey, wait up, you crazy man!” she hollered.
    He paused, only half-turned to watch her over his shoulder. When she was close behind, he headed again along the footpath, with her at his heels.
    It had been years and years since Allison had been in the woods at this time of day. The sky turned lavender as the sun sank. Snow blanketed everything, muffling sound, softening edges, warming—in its own way—all that lay around them.
    Suddenly Rick stopped short and stood with his back to her, stalk still. Automatically she stopped, too. Sparrows tittered from branches above their heads, the notes crisp in the clear air. Wordlessly, Rick pointed. Allison’s eyes followed. There on the snow beneath a giant tree sat a brilliant red cardinal.
    “That’s the kind of stuff I photograph and paint,” he whispered.
    The cardinal flitted away at the sound of his voice. Allison watched it flash through the trees. Suddenly she felt curiously refreshed and renewed. She turned in a circle, gazing at the white-rimmed branches overhead. “It’s hard to