Chapter 58 Amy
AMY
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I wake up at dawn and try to slip back into sleep, but my brain is too wired, reliving what happened yesterday between Kane and me. He no doubt expects me to hide in my room and play the victim.
Forget that.
After I pull on shorts and a T-shirt, I trek to the bathroom to complete my morning ablutions. When I finish, I head down the hallway, hearing the low murmur of voices coming from the kitchen. Kane’s deep voice is easy to recognize.
I haven’t seen him since the kiss. The kiss. I can acknowledge it now. Kane kissed me, and I kissed him back. There was no coercion. I had the whole of last night to wallow in self-recrimination and a curious longing to be kissed again.
It was an...incredible kiss. In that jubilant pinch of time, before Kane pushed me away, before his face filled with self-loathing, no barriers existed between us.
Kane wasn’t my kidnapper. I wasn’t his hostage.
My father didn’t loom between us. In Kane’s arms, there was only the devastating sensation that this was where I belonged.
The moment I enter the kitchen, the conversation stops and everyone turns to look at me. Everyone but Kane.
Mel recovers first, sliding a glass of smoothie across the island counter toward me. “Sleep well?”
“I did, actually.” Thanking Mel, I take a sip of what tastes like a blueberry smoothie with a hint of coconut.
Breakfast is strained. Kane and I spend the entire time avoiding each other’s eyes, while Ross and Mel can’t stop their gazes ping-ponging between us, Ross with a concerned frown on his face and Mel with an interested gleam in her eyes.
I can feel the smoothie curdling in my stomach. All of this is hard enough without the presence of avid spectators.
Kane seems to think so too, because without warning he pushes to his feet and announces, “Amy’s with me this morning.”
Ross’s brow creases. “I thought she was helping me inventory supplies.”
“Not anymore.”
Mel places a hand on Ross’s arm. “It’s okay.”
Kane finally makes eye contact with me. The intensity of his gaze brings a flutter to my insides. “You ready?”
I nod and follow him outside as he heads in the direction of the paddocks, the beauty of the cloudless sky stealing my breath.
Kane clears his throat. “I want to apologize again for yesterday.”
I replay the words he flung at me like knives. I look at you, at your life, and I can’t stand you. I dig my nails into my palms. “Do you always kiss people you can’t stand?”
“I was wrong,” he admits. “What I did. What I said. It was wrong. All of it.”
“Is it true?” I can’t help asking.
“Is what true?”
“What you said, that you hate me.”
He takes in a breath, lets it go. “Not anymore.”
His admission hangs in the air. I don’t know what to do with it. Neither, it seems, does he.
The safest course, I decide, is to step away. I gesture to the paddocks. “What’s on your list of chores for today?”
The flicker of a smile crosses his lips. “I’d like your help spraying the animals with fly repellent.”
“All right.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No argument?”
I shrug. “No.”
“You’ve changed,” he says softly. “In a good way.”
His words unsettle me. “Maybe. But it doesn’t make what you’ve done right.”
“I know.” He looks away. “Believe me, I know.”
A long silence follows.
“Four more days,” he says eventually.
I nod, my heart a mess of conflicting emotions. “Where’s Saba?” I ask. “I thought he’s permanently attached to your hip.”
Kane accepts the transparent subject change without comment. “Jill’s gone to rescue roosters who’ve been dumped on a logging road. Saba went along as protection.”
Secretly pleased that neither Saba nor Jill are here to glower at me, I spot Carrot-top drinking water from a trough. He lifts his head at our approach. Letting loose his familiar braying sound, he trots straight to me, his ears pricked with eagerness.
I laugh, but when Carrot-top gives me a forceful nudge, causing me to stumble, I say, “Hey, take it easy.”
When the donkey nudges me again, I try to move away, but he simply follows me, his lips tugging at my clothes. “What’s his problem?” I ask Kane.
“He seems to like you.” It’s said innocently, but I see the suspicious glint in his eyes.
“Okay, what have you done?”
He grins. “Check your pockets.”
I slip a hand into the pocket of my shorts and dig out a sticky peppermint.
“Carrot-top’s favorite treat,” Kane tells me, patting the donkey’s rough flank. “He has a nose for mints and won’t stop his badgering until you give one up.”
I scowl. “This joke thing’s not getting old yet?”
The grin stays on his face. A broad, uncomplicated grin that makes him look years younger. “Not by a long shot.”
Carrot-top snorts and nudges me again. “Okay, okay, here it is.” I awkwardly offer the treat on my palm to Carrot-top who lips it up eagerly, chewing with evident pleasure. Then he simply stands there, head hanging low, staring at me in dejection.
“Oh, please, do you honestly think that look is going to work on me?” I scoff, even as I hold out my hand to Kane for another mint.
Kane’s eyes crinkle with amusement as he slips a wrapped mint into my palm. “Sucker.”
“It’s those eyes,” I admit, tearing open the packaging and giving the treat to the donkey. “When did you put the mint in my pocket?”
“At the start of the walk.”
“You know, I’m going to have to be on my guard constantly around you,” I say without thinking.
His face instantly sobers. “Exactly that. I want you to remember never to let your guard down around me.”
After a moment, I reply, “It’s not something I can forget.”
Kane nods, hard. As if those are words he needs to hear. It doesn’t mean, though, judging from the look on his face, that he likes hearing them.
I let out a breath and wipe my brow, wishing I thought to borrow a hat from Mel. Today’s going to be a scorcher.
“Why don’t you bathe Carrot-top?” Kane suggests. “I think you’ll both enjoy a good soaking in this heat.”
“That sounds good.”
“Most donkeys don’t like water, preferring a dust bath,” he says, tying Carrot-top to a post, “but he seems to be the exception.”
I watch as Kane pulls a metal hook from his back pocket and cleans out Carrot-top’s hooves. He disappears into a shed and returns to deposit a bucket of water, a bottle of equine shampoo, and a rough sponge at my feet.
Then he surprises me by fitting his army-green cap onto my head. “Don’t want you burning,” he murmurs.
“Thank you.”
“Anything else you need?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, my heart giving a foolish leap that Kane cares for me in some way. But do I want him to care? What good can come of it? For me, and for him?
They’re questions with no easy answers and they hammer away at me, giving me no relief as I watch Kane shoot me one last, unreadable look before he walks away to apply the fly repellent. I notice he’s still careful to keep me within sight.
Following Kane’s instructions, I sponge Carrot-top down and rinse him off, making sure I splash myself generously as well. Realization hits that for the last hour or so I’ve been humming. Humming!
I’m happy.
Hard to believe, but there it is. I decide to forgo any analysis and simply go with it.
When I finish, I pat the donkey on the neck. “Okay, you, I’m going to rest awhile.”
I flop down on a grassy patch under a tree, my wet T-shirt and shorts providing welcome relief in the heat. A gentle breeze teases my nose with the smell of jasmine. I stare into the distance, soaking up the atmosphere around me, the various animal noises playing like a soothing background track.
Kane’s right. This experience has changed me. I can’t go back to the person I was before this. Funnily enough, I don’t know if I want to. I like this change in myself, even if I don’t understand it or its ramifications.
A warm breath blows softly on the skin at the nape of my neck.
Carrot-top drapes his shaggy head over my shoulder, as if appreciating the view with me.
Entranced, I hold myself perfectly still, feeling the tug on my heart and helpless to deny the bond forming between us.
After a minute, I carefully turn my head and place a kiss on the end of his long nose.
My growing affection for the animals at the sanctuary floors me.
I still don’t like the hair that clings to my clothes and the whole manure part, but I no longer want to jump into the shower four times a day and now it’s only rarely I flinch at the approach of a sanctuary animal.
What really impacts me is their forgiving nature.
Most of them have suffered and survived terrible, abusive experiences at the hands of humans, yet they still display such forgiveness and trust.
Is there a lesson here for me? At the end of this ordeal, can I be as forgiving toward Kane?
#
Later that morning, there’s a scheduled visit from a farrier to trim hooves.
Ross escorts me to my room and locks me in with a quick apology.
I sit on the bed and swing my foot and stew.
It’s little incidents like these that pull me out of the fantasy that I’m a part of this life.
It’s so easy to forget sometimes I’m a prisoner.
I’m dozing on the bed when the door opens and Mel steps inside.
“You okay?” she asks quietly.
“Just peachy.”
“I’m going to work in the veggie garden. Want to help?”
“Not particularly.”
Kane wouldn’t ask. But Mel’s not Kane.
When Mel’s further attempts at conversation fall flat, she leaves to work in the garden. I stare moodily after her. My emotions are all over the place. One minute I’m enjoying the company of my kidnappers and going all gooey over the animals, the next minute I’m consumed with anger and resentment.
I sigh, knuckling my eyes. I’ve stepped into a whole other world of confusion.