Читать книгу Her Hero in Hiding - Rachel Lee - Страница 8

Wrapped around the mug of cocoa, Kay’s fingers began to warm. At first they burned and tingled painfully, but then they began to feel normal again. She sipped the hot cocoa gratefully and glanced at the man who had retreated to the easy chair on the other side of the coffee table. Somehow that retreat made him seem even safer.

“Where am I?” she asked finally.

“On my ranch,” he replied. “About twenty-five miles outside of Conard City, Wyoming.”

“Wyoming?” The thought shocked her. How had she come to be so far from home? Had she really been trapped for that long? “I live in Texas!”

His face seemed to stiffen a bit, but she wasn’t a hundred percent sure. Reading him was like reading runes—apparently you had to know the language. “That’s a long way,” he said finally. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“I can’t … right now.” Her mind recoiled from the memories, unwilling to remember the nightmare. “I can’t,” she said again, her heart accelerating.

“That’s okay,” he said soothingly. “I don’t need to know. It can wait.”

That was a pretty generous statement coming from a man who had picked her up off the roadside and welcomed her into his home. She felt she had to offer him something. “I ran,” she said finally. “We were at a rest stop and he thought I was unconscious, and when he went inside, I ran. I ran …” Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes.

“You ran a helluva distance,” he said. “The nearest rest stop I can think of is about nine miles from where I found you.”

“I run marathons,” she said simply.

A soft oath escaped him. She looked at him then, and there was no mistaking the anger on his face. She wanted to shrink and hide, but there was no place to go, not now.

But moments later his face settled back into impassivity. Of course, he wasn’t mad at her, she thought. Not like him. This was a different man, one who was trying to help her. He had been nothing but kind.

“So you’re from Texas,” he said presently. “I spent some time there, years ago, mostly in Killeen.”

She started. “Really? That’s where I’m from.”

“Small world sometimes.”

“Or very big.” Her words seemed to hang on the air. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d meant, except that maybe now the world seemed more threatening than it had before Kevin. Into her small world, evil had come, a kind of evil she had once thought would never intersect with her life.

“Yeah,” he said presently, “it can be.”

As if he understood. Perhaps he did.

“I … tried to get away from him,” she offered. God, it was so hard to speak of it. “He kept following. I moved three times, and he found me every time, and now …” Her voice broke. She couldn’t continue.

“You’re away from him now.”

“Yes. Now.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “But for how long?”

For a long time there was no sound but the crackling fire and keening wind. Then he asked, “You moved three times? Different towns?”

“Different states.”

He swore. She jerked her head back, feeling the inescapable stab of fear, then relaxed when he didn’t move a muscle.

“That’s bad,” he said quietly.

“You can’t hide anymore,” she said. “Not anymore. Not with the Internet.”

“So it seems. And restraining orders might as well be written on toilet paper.”

“You can’t get one when you move to a new state. The judge asks where your proof is that he’ll follow you. So the last time I didn’t even try.”

He shook his head. “By the time the restraining order is broken, you’re already in too much trouble for it to do you much good.”

“Yeah. I’ve learned that the hard way.” She bit her lip, still clinging to the cocoa mug as if it were a lifeline. “That’s why I don’t want to let anyone know where I am. He’ll find me. He always does.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. She watched his stony face, trying to read something there, but couldn’t. He was a man, and she ought to be frightened because Kevin had indelibly taught her that no matter how nice a guy might seem at first, he could turn into a monster.

But Clint Ardmore didn’t know her yet. She was new to him, so regardless of what kind of man he might be, it was still too early to have to fear him. And she would be gone before it reached that point.

At least that was what she needed to believe.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I won’t even call the sheriff. At least not tonight. We can talk more about it when you’re feeling a bit better.”

She hated that he sounded grudging, but there was no way she could ignore his concession, even if he didn’t want to make it. “Thank you.”

“As to this concussion … I’m no doctor, but there’s one thing I know for sure. I can’t let you sleep too long or too deeply tonight, so you’d better make up your mind that I’m going to be waking you often. And if that means shaking you, I will shake you.”

She didn’t want to be touched. Not by anyone. Fear clogged her throat, even though she understood the sense of what he was saying. “I … only if you have to.”

“Only if I can’t wake you by banging a pot next to your ear.” Then he surprised her by lifting one corner of his mouth in an almost-smile. “Can you live with that?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t worry about attacking me,” he added, the smile deepening enough to seem almost real. “You already tried that and didn’t even put a scratch on me. So if you wake up frightened and strike out, it’s okay.”

That was meant to calm her? Yet in some odd way it did. “I don’t remember attacking you.”

“Most likely not. You were pretty out of it, between the concussion and hypothermia. But yeah, you tried to defend yourself even when you were weaker than a newborn kitten.”

He seemed to like that she’d defended herself, although she couldn’t imagine why. It did, however, make her feel better about herself. Even totally out of it, she’d put up a fight.

“Anyway,” he went on, “the blizzard alone should be enough protection for tonight. But I’ll make sure everything’s locked up tight. Don’t usually have to bother, but.” He left the thought unfinished and shrugged.

“Thank you.” It would make her feel safer. “And thank you for your hospitality.”

Now he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t have left a stray cat out there tonight. Would have been inhuman.”

Now how did he mean that? She wished she could peer behind the emotionless facade of his face and get an inkling of how this man thought.

No, maybe not. Maybe she didn’t really want to know what went on inside him. Tomorrow she would be gone, as soon as the blizzard let up enough and.

“Oh my God!” The words escaped her before she could stop them.

“What?”

“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?”

His gaze grew distant, as if he could see through the walls and well past the blizzard beyond. A shiver ran through her. “I was special ops for nearly twenty years. And I was good at it. Very good.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. Should she congratulate him? Admire him? But no. Something in that rigid face told a very different story. “I don’t want you to have to go back to that. To relive it.”

At that the facade cracked, and he looked startled. Then the stone returned. “Sometimes,” he said after a moment, “you don’t have a choice.”