Pawn’s Gambit by Timothy Zahn Read Free Book Online Page A

went quietly out.
    It was late afternoon when I returned with the single rabbit my assorted snares had caught. The girl was still asleep, but as I passed her on my way to the kitchen she stirred. “Hello?”
    â€œIts just me,” I called back to her. I tossed the rabbit on the kitchen counter and returned through the swinging door to the living room. “How do you feel?”
    â€œVery tired,” she said. “I woke up a couple of times while you were gone, but fell asleep again.”
    â€œAny muscle aches or dizziness?”
    â€œMy leg muscles hurt some, but that’s not surprising. Nothing else feels bad.” She sat up and shook her head experimentally. “I’m not dizzy, either.”
    â€œGood. The tiredness is just a side effect of the medicine I gave you.” I sat down next to her, glad to get off my feet. “I think that you’re going to be all right.”
    She inhaled sharply. “Don! I almost forgot—did you get to him in time?”
    I shook my head, forgetting how useless that gesture was. “I’m sorry. He was already dead when I found him. I buried him at the side of the road.”
    Her sightless eyes closed, and a tear welled up under each eyelid. I wanted to put my arm around her and comfort her, but a part of me was still too nervous to try that. So I contented myself with resting my hand gently on her arm. “Was he your husband?” I asked after a moment.
    She sniffed and shook her head. “He’d been my friend for the last three years. Sort of a protector and employer. I’ll miss him.” She swallowed and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll be okay. Can I help you with anything?”
    â€œNo. All I want you to do right now is rest. I’ll get dinner ready—I hope you like rabbit. Uh, by the way, my name’s Neil Cameron.”
    â€œI’m Heather Davis.”
    â€œNice to meet you. Look, why don’t you lie down again. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”
    Supper was a short, quiet affair. Heather was too groggy and depressed to say or eat much, and I was far too out of practice at dinner conversation to make up for it. So we ate roast rabbit and a couple of carrots from last summer’s crop, and then, as the sun disappeared behind the Appalachians, I led her to my bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, a puzzled and wary look on her face, as I rummaged in my footlocker for another blanket. “You’ll be more comfortable here,” I told her.
    â€œI don’t mind the couch,” she murmured in that neutral tone she’d used on me before.
    â€œI insist.” I found the blanket and turned to face her. She was still sitting on the bed, her hands exploring the size and feel of the queen-size mattress. There was plenty of room there for two, and for a moment I was tempted. Instead, I took a step toward the door. “I’ve got another hour’s worth of work to do,” I said. “Uh, the bathrooms out the door to the left—the faucets and toilet work, but easy on the water and don’t flush unless it’s necessary. If you need me tonight, just call. I’ll be on the couch.”
    Her face was lifted toward mine, and for a second I had the weird feeling she was studying my face. An illusion, of course. But whatever she heard in my voice apparently satisfied her, because she nodded wearily and climbed under the blanket.
    Leaving the bedroom door open so I could hear her, I headed for the kitchen, tossing my blanket onto the couch as I passed it. I lit a candle against the growing darkness and, using the water from the solar-heated tank sparingly, I began to clean up the dinner dishes. And as I worked, not surprisingly, I thought about Heather Davis.
    All the standard questions went through my mind—who was she, where did she come from, how had she survived for five years—but none of them was really uppermost in my mind.