He stood again and walked back to the coolibah, crouching down to dig out another root. He cut two sections, prepared them the same way as before, and handed one to me without a word.
"Thank you," I said, taking it.
He grunted in response and settled back down next to me, close enough that warmth radiated from his arm to mine. We sucked on the roots in silence, the firelight dancing across his face.
My stomach rumbled, twisting with hunger pains so sharp my breath hitched.
Mitch glanced over, concern creasing his brow. "Sorry, can't help you with food. But at least it's not raining anymore."
"True." I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. "I don't think I've ever seen that much rain before. Do you often get storms like that out here?"
"Yep. The land switches from drought to flood and back again without warning. Nature can handle it. Humans, not so much."
"Well, I'd be happy never to experience that again." I adjusted my leg, and my heel grazed the ground. Pain lanced up my calf, and I sucked in a breath.
Mitch grabbed my ankles without asking and lifted both legs across his lap. "Keep them elevated, out of the dirt. You need air to dry out those wounds."
"Yes, doc," I said, attempting humor.
His expression didn't shift. The joke fell flat.
Silence settled over us, broken only by the crackling fire and the occasional pop of sap. The flames danced, and I was unable to look away. The night air was cooling fast now that the sun had set, seeping through my clothes despite the fire's heat.
At least my clothes were dry now. But I could already feel the chill creeping in around the edges of the warmth.
My thoughts drifted back to the violent torrent that had nearly killed us both. We were lucky to make it out alive. "Do you think Doug survived?"
"I doubt it."
He was probably right. Yet I still couldn't wrap my mind around him being gone. "Did he say anything before he fell?"
Mitch groaned, a sound somewhere between exhaustion and frustration.
I blinked at him. "What?"
"He didn't fall, Charlie."
I cocked my head, trying to understand.
"He let go," Mitch said.
I gasped. "What?"
"He said, 'I'm sorry.' Then, 'Tell my daughter I love her.'" Mitch's jaw tightened. "Then he let go."
"Oh my God." My chest constricted. "He wanted to die?"
Mitch fixed his gaze on the fire. "Don't know about wanting to die. But I guess he realized he'd gone too far." He picked up a stick and jabbed at the log, sending up another shower of sparks. "He was obsessed with those jewels."
The jewels. I'd forgotten about them.
A knot formed in my stomach as the question I'd been avoiding finally surfaced. I needed to know why Mitch had taken them. But would he tell me the truth? Then again, maybe the truth would be worse than not knowing.
I swallowed hard. "Why did you take the gems?"
He shifted against the tree, adjusting his position. Buying time, maybe. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the velvet pouch. He tugged the string loose and spilled the contents into his hand.
They caught the firelight. Emeralds. Rubies. Sapphires. Diamonds that threw off sparks rivaling the flames themselves. Thick gold bracelets. Dangly earrings that looked so damn heavy. Rings with chunky gemstones. The colors danced across his calloused palm. He picked up the gold chain, and the golden shield pendant spun in the firelight. An ornate H dominated the shield's gleaming surface, crafted like an old family crest.