Longest Night by Kara Braden Page B

social creature, as she proved not two hours later in the so-called “village” of Pinelake. Everyone there liked her, and she seemed genuinely friendly in return. Ian had dealt with recluses in the past. He’d watched them attempt to function when forced into a social situation, with varying degrees of success, and Cecily bore none of the same traits. In fact, her only behavior that was at all unusual was a soldier’s sense of awareness. As they walked through town, Ian watched her mark the location of every person or vehicle or animal on the street, saw the way she noted windows and doors, observed how she glanced to the side as they passed each corner.
    She reminded him of Preston, actually.
    ***
    Between Ian and the clothes he’d purchased, Cecily had only a few kilos of leeway for supplies. Before they’d even left the house, she’d decided there was no point in being practical about restocking. She wouldn’t have the available weight allowance for the plane to carry even one bulk sack of rice. So while Ian tried on his new clothes in the bathroom at the general store, Cecily browsed the aisles and tried to remember the last time she’d indulged in any sort of luxury purchase. Her memory came up empty. For years, she’d focused on survival and challenging herself to live with less, not more.
    She thought about Ian, who came from Manhattan, and about having Mags over for dinner on Sunday night. She considered a bottle of wine, but she didn’t know good wine from bad. Besides, Pinelake’s stock of alcohol tended toward the cheap and plentiful, a temptation she’d managed to ignore on all levels, though she did keep a single bottle of whiskey at the cabin. Ingestible alcohol was too useful not to have on hand in emergencies.
    Instead, she wandered over to the baking aisle, thinking of her disastrous attempts at making desserts or casseroles. She’d finally concluded that it was impossible to actually bake anything using the woodstove with its variable temperatures and random cool spots. But she could improvise, she thought, eyeing the supply of crackers. Graham crackers and the last two bags of marshmallows were a good start, and there was more than enough chocolate stocked by the cash register. She picked up a bag of milk as well, recalling Ian’s opinion about powdered creamer.
    After she paid, everything went into the small rucksack she’d brought with her, and she went outside to check the weather. The snow was just light enough that it’d be safe to land back home, she guessed.
    Ian joined her a few minutes later. He still wore his long, sweeping overcoat, though he’d changed his slacks for blue jeans and his shoes for heavy-treaded hiking boots. Over one arm, he carried a down parka with a fur-edged hood, and he had a blue and black rucksack slung over the other shoulder.
    Cecily grinned. “Going to tell your brother you’ve gone native?” she asked, heading out into the street. She turned toward the airfield, looking forward to being back home.
    Ian took the phone out of his coat pocket. He went to turn it on but then hesitated. “I won’t get a signal here, will I?”
    She gestured for him to put the phone away. “No, but he wanted me to call him next time I was in town. Figured you might want to talk to him.”
    Ian’s huff was amused. “He wants you to report on me.”
    She couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two get along all right?”
    â€œVery well, actually—well enough that he knows how difficult I can be,” he admitted with a wry smile.
    Thinking of some of the soldiers she’d dealt with in the past, Cecily said, “You’re easy enough to handle.”
    â€œIn that case, I should try harder.”
    ***
    â€œHow’re you doing?” Preston asked, his voice made thin and crackly by the quality of the connection.
    A knot of tension in Ian’s chest eased at