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“I just realized. How am I going to get out of here?”
“I’ll take you to a bus or something when the roads clear.”
“No, you don’t understand! He took my purse. I don’t have any ID, no credit card, no money! Oh, God, I’m trapped!”
Just as she started to spiral into fresh panic, he stopped her with one word of command.
“No.”
She gaped at him. “What?”
“I said no. Don’t do it. Don’t wind yourself up. I can help you out with all of that. Trust me, you’ll be on your way again as soon as possible.”
From something in the way he said it, she believed him. He didn’t want her here any more than she wanted to be here.
It was a weird kind of hope, but it was a hope she had to cling to.
Besides, she reminded herself, she’d always found a way to run before. Always. She just needed to wait to gather her strength and lose the mental fog that seemed to be slowing her brain.
She finally ate one of the rolls he offered, and even downed another cup of cocoa. The heat from the fire began to penetrate enough that she threw back the quilt and lay there in the oversized green sweats he had put her into. “My toes are burning.”
He looked at her feet. “I’m not surprised. They were getting close to frostbite. But they look a healthy pink now.”
She hadn’t even considered all the horrible dangers when she had taken her chance to flee the car wearing nothing but her grey sweats and running shoes into a cold Wyoming afternoon. With absolutely no thought of what she should do or where she should turn, she had fled. She hadn’t even risked trying to hide at the rest stop in the hopes that someone else would drive in and she could seek help.
“I guess running like that wasn’t my smartest move.”
“I don’t know, but from what little you’ve told me, it may have been your only move.”
“It seemed like it.” Then she stole another glance at him. “I couldn’t have made it much farther, could I?”
“I don’t know. Willpower can sometimes accomplish near miracles. I’m glad we’ll never have to find out, though.”
At least not this time, she thought miserably. Kevin had grown bigger than life in her mind, more like a nightmare monster than a mere man. “You know what I can’t understand?”
“What’s that?”
“Why he keeps coming after me. Why can’t he just let me go? I go as far away as I can get, and he still comes looking. I just don’t get it!”
He shook his head. “I’m no psychologist. I don’t get why he abused you in the first place.”
“I can understand that better than him tracking me like this. I mean, he has a temper. He blows up. At first I was even able to forgive him. But …” She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
He suddenly leaned forward, almost like a striking snake, and she shrank back instinctively.
“Don’t ever,” he said, “ever, forgive someone who hits you. Ever.”
She blinked, wondering what the hell was behind that, but then he leaned back and reached for his own mug as if he hadn’t just vented that moment of passion. “Creeps like him,” Clint said quietly, “once they cross that line, they just keep on crossing it like it was never there.”
That much made sense. She nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” His gray eyes seemed to burn. “You can’t erase the lines and then draw them again. The lines get blurred, and it almost never works. Especially if they get a taste for power or inflicting fear.”
She felt her mouth sag open a little and quickly closed it. They were definitely having a discussion about something that reached far beyond Kevin, but she couldn’t imagine what it was.
He rose quickly, mug in hand. “Want more?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He headed swiftly for the kitchen, as if he wanted to get away from the whole conversation.
Not that she could blame him. She didn’t exactly like it herself.
She lay there, mug in her hands, staring into the dancing fire, wondering more about her rescuer than she should. He seemed like a troubled man, and that made her uneasy.
But, she reminded herself again, she would be out of here as soon as she could manage after the storm passed.
In a day or so she would never have to see Clint Ardmore again. There was absolutely no point in trying to figure him out, not when she was going to shake him off her heels like the dust along the road of what was evidently going to become a permanent flight.
God. She wanted to weep, but the tears wouldn’t come. Just as well. She didn’t want to annoy her rescuer. But how the dickens was she ever going to get out of this mess? The one and only time she’d managed to get Kevin charged and thrown into jail, he’d gotten out in less than two years.
Apparently it was a far worse crime to kick your dog than beat your girlfriend. And it was a lot harder to prove domestic abuse, too. The second time she’d gone to the cops, Kevin had denied he was even in town. Since he lived four states away and hadn’t done anything stupid, like buy gas with a credit card or rent a hotel room, the prosecutor had shrugged and dismissed the charge for lack of proof that tied Kevin to the assault. There were so many more important cases to pursue, after all.
The wind hammered the windows, making them rattle behind the curtains, and she looked around uneasily. Kevin had to know she had taken off running. He might have wondered if she had been picked up along the road, maybe by a long-distance trucker, but he probably wouldn’t have wondered for long. The roads had been deserted, maybe because of the approaching storm, and the stop had been a brief one, brief enough that she had heard him shouting her name in the distance as she hid in a thicket of trees before dashing off again.
No, he wouldn’t know which way she’d gone, but he’d probably figured out pretty quickly that she wasn’t running along the highway. That would have been the first thing he checked.
So he might stay in the area, looking for her.
Regardless, she couldn’t afford to have her name turn up in a police blotter or anywhere else he could find it by means of the Internet.
So what now?
The question loomed darkly, without answers. Finally she pushed it away, promising herself she would think about it in the morning, after the throbbing in her head eased and her thoughts cleared.
Because right now even she could tell she was far from being at her best.
A male voice called her name sharply, and she started. “What?”
She looked around and saw Clint sitting on the coffee table again. The mug was no longer in her hands.
“You’ve been sleeping about half an hour,” he said.
“I didn’t even realize I’d dozed off.”
He nodded. “You’re exhausted. But we still have to watch out for that concussion. Sorry, but I’m going to make this a long night for you.”
“I understand.” She did. Moving carefully, she tried to sit up, but the room tilted and spun so much that she had to close her eyes.
“Do you need something?”
“The bathroom. But I’m dizzy.”
“Let me help you. Keep your eyes closed.”
She expected him to take her arm, help her to her feet and guide her. But instead he lifted her from the couch like a doll and carried her. She definitely did not like that. She hated being reminded that he was so much stronger than she was. It was all she could do not to fight him as fear grabbed her anew.
But then he let her feet slide to the floor and steadied her with an arm around her waist.
“Wait a minute,” he said, “then open your eyes.”
She did as he suggested, and when she opened her eyes the room appeared stable. It was a small bathroom, just the essentials, with little extra room.
“This is the most dangerous room in the house,” he reminded her. “Don’t move quickly, don’t turn or tip your head, and hang on to something every time you move. If you get dizzy, just holler. I’ll be right outside the door.”
“Thanks.”
With care and extreme caution, she managed to take care of her needs, but when it came time to walk to the door, she felt unsteady enough to call out.
“Clint?”
He entered swiftly, offering immediate support. “Let me carry you,” he said this time. “The sweatpants could trip you.”
So it hadn’t just been an exercise of male dominance when he had lifted her before. Relieved, she didn’t argue, and this time she felt no fear when he picked her up. He laid her back on the sofa as if she were fragile enough to shatter.
“How’s your head?”
“Still aching,” she admitted.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you aspirin. But with a concussion, that could be dangerous. And I don’t have anything else.”
“That’s all right. It’s reminding me I’m still alive.”
Something flickered across his face, so quickly that she couldn’t quite read it. She suspected that stoniness would make him a difficult man to deal with. At least with Kevin she had always known just what kind of trouble was on the horizon, even if she couldn’t stop it or escape it.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Food? Soup? A drink?”
“I’m really thirsty,” she admitted. “Would you mind? Ginger ale?”
“Not a problem.”
She let her head rest against the pillow, listening to the hammering storm outside. The thick log walls protected them from most of it, but through the closed windows she could hear the keening of the wind, and sometimes the glass rattled before the strength of it. Not even Kevin, she assured herself, could be out looking for her in this. Thank God.
But what was she going to do when it passed? With no identification or money, or even her debit card, how could she start running again? Fear and grief grabbed her in as tight a grip as the throbbing headache, and for a few seconds she couldn’t even draw a breath. Never before had he trapped her quite this effectively. Always before she’d been able to gather enough resources to run again.
Well, she would find a way, she promised herself. She always had before.
“You’re going to be all right.”
She moved her eyes slowly until she could see Clint standing beside her, holding out a tall glass of ginger ale. For a moment he seemed to swim, then the world stabilized again. “Thanks.” She reached out and took the glass, and only then realized that she needed to sit up straighter to drink.
Clint apparently saw the problem at the same instant she realized it. He took the glass back and bent to help her sit up against the pillow. “I guess I must be tired,” he said. “Missing the obvious.”
“Do you never miss the obvious?”
“I miss very little.” An edge in his tone warned her away, though from what she didn’t know. Silently, she accepted the glass back.
He rounded the coffee table and sat in the easy chair on the other side. A book lay open on the end table, and he picked it up to start reading again. Apparently he didn’t feel like conversing.
Which ordinarily would have been fine, but Kay discovered her own thoughts scared her. She didn’t want to be alone inside her own head. But how could you converse with a man who was doing a passable imitation of a brick wall?
A native caution when dealing with men kept her silent. She didn’t want to irritate this man. From his size and strength, he could present an even bigger threat than Kevin, even though he hadn’t done a thing to indicate he might be that kind of person.
She sipped her ginger ale, and a sigh escaped her. At once he spoke.
“Are you all right?”
“Just unhappy with my thoughts.”
“I can understand.”
Maybe he could. She dared to look at him again and found he had set the book aside.
“I guess I should apologize,” he said finally, his tone level, his face unchanging. “I’ve been a hermit for a while. By choice. I seem to have lost the social graces.”
“I’m not asking for social graces,” she said truthfully. “You’ve been very kind to a stranger. I don’t want to intrude more than necessary. It’s just that my thoughts keep running in circles. Unhappy circles.”
“You’ve certainly got enough to be unhappy about.”
It might have been a question, a suggestion or an end to the subject. From what she had seen of him so far, she guessed it was probably a signal to end the discussion. So she took another sip of ginger ale and focused her attention on the fire. She could take a hint. In fact, she was probably hyper-alert to hints, thanks to Kevin.
But Clint surprised her by not returning to his book. “I suggest you plan to stay here for a couple of days.” The invitation sounded grudging, and she looked askance at him.
“Why? You said you’re a hermit by choice.”
“Maybe so, but it seems to me you need some time, some safe time, to make plans and figure out your next move. You can’t just run out of here the instant the storm ends. And I can provide the safety you need.”
He said the last with such calm confidence that she wondered who the hell he was. Or what he had been before becoming a hermit. Not even the most sympathetic cop had ever promised her that much. No, they had been full of warnings and advice, most of which included getting as far away as possible as fast as possible.
“Kevin,” she said finally, “is like a bomb. There’s no telling when he’ll go off, and anyone in the vicinity is probably at risk.”
“I’ve dealt with bombs, and I’ve dealt with worse than Kevin.” A frown dragged at the corners of his mouth but didn’t quite form. “Trust me, I can keep you safe.”
“The cops couldn’t keep me safe.”
“They couldn’t be there round the clock,” he said flatly. “And cops don’t have my training.”
She hesitated, then just blurted it out. “Who are you? What are you?”
