Read The View From Here for Free Online Page A

cabin,” she said. “I need to start a fire.” She still couldn’t get over the idea that it felt like February at the end of May. In Houston, she’d already been running the air conditioner for two months.
    â€œI can do that for you.”
    He followed her into the cabin, filling the tiny room with his presence. He squatted in front of the stove and began feeding wood into the box. “You want to surrender your weapon now?” he asked.
    She glanced at the wood in her hand. “Oh, sure. Do you want some coffee? And maybe something to eat? I’m starved. I don’t know what’s in the kitchen. Well, I do know there’s a bunch of Lorna Doones. My dad must have really liked them.” She was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop herself. Silence felt too charged between them.
    Jameso smiled. “Coffee would be good.”
    She escaped to the kitchen side of the room, determined to pull herself together. A single electric bulb lit the small space. She found the coffeepot, an old-style percolator, and lit a burner on the gas stove with a lighter she found hanging on a nail by the sink. The coffee was in a canister in the freezer. Soon the comforting aroma of brewing French roast filled the air.
    In the refrigerator she found a loaf of bread, mustard, and a package of deli ham. Bless Reggie’s wife.
    â€œThe house will be warmer soon.”
    Jameso spoke from behind her. She turned and found him filling the space between the love seat and table. He no longer looked menacing, but still, he made her nervous. She took two mugs from hooks under the cabinet and set them on the counter. “Do you want a ham sandwich?” she asked.
    â€œNo thanks. I’ve already eaten. But you go ahead.” He moved past her to open a cabinet. “Where are you from?” he asked.
    â€œHouston.”
    He reached into the cabinet and took out a tall bottle. He smiled at the label, then unscrewed the cap and poured a generous slug into one of the mugs. “Irish whiskey,” he said. “Do you want some?”
    She nodded. “All right.”
    Jameso poured the whiskey and left the bottle on the counter, then turned to contemplate the expanse of starlit sky in the picture window. “I was in Houston a few years ago,” he said. “A lot different from this.”
    â€œYes.” Houston was another world compared with this mountaintop.
    â€œYou plan to stay here?” he asked. “Or are you just checking the place out to sell?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” She didn’t have much to go back to in Houston; then again, she didn’t feel like she really belonged here.
    â€œYou should give it a try. Murph must have thought you’d like it, since he left you the place.”
    â€œOr maybe the place is mine now because it’s customary to leave your belongings to your only relative.”
    â€œMurph never did anything because it was customary.” He switched off the flame beneath the coffeepot and filled their cups. It felt odd to be in a home that was supposedly hers, yet this stranger was so much more at ease here than she felt she ever would be.
    He moved into the living room. She took her sandwich and followed, sitting on one end of the love seat, knees together, plate on her lap, while he sprawled beside her, long legs stretched in front of him. “What were you looking at out there, before I startled you?” she asked.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou were poking at something with a stick. What was it?”
    He made a face. “I was just looking at a pile of scat, trying to figure out whether it was fresh or not.”
    â€œScat?”
    He laughed. “A pile of animal feces. Shit. Bighorn sheep shit, to be exact. I wanted to know if the animal that left it had been around recently.”
    â€œAre you some kind of tracker? Hunter?”
    â€œNo, I just live in the mountains, and I’m interested in