31. Ransom
31
RANSOM
M y nerves are twisted up all day. Claire said she didn’t want me at her show, so I’m respecting her wishes.
Doesn’t stop me from getting all worked up about it.
I spend the day with Chaucer. I work out my tension on him, riding him at a fast clip through the trails in the woods and back, wearing him out. I run him through few obstacles, but he gets frustrated with me and ends up on his back, rolling around in the dust.
When the front gates swing open and Preacher’s dark car comes rolling through, trailer in tow, my heart kicks in my chest.
Calypso is riding in the trailer, so I join the crew to help her out. Mr. Preacher and Claire are exiting their car up front, and I try to guage their expressions.
Mr. Preacher looks pissed—but that ain’t nothing new. Hard to tell if he’s really angry or if that’s just his face.
Claire’s expression is neutral, her face as locked as a glass doll’s. As they head inside, she glances over her shoulder at me.
Our eyes connect. Finally, she gives me a small grin.
Success .
I can’t help but grin back.
Good. She’s okay.
We get Calypso back in the stables and I finish up my work for the day. I keep checking in on the lights in the house, though. I’ve never been inside, but I know them all by heart now—the lights in Claire’s room go on, then off when she joins her father for dinner. Later, the lights in Mr. Preacher’s study go on, which signifies they’re finished eating.
The porch light flickers. That’s my cue.
I leave the stables and head towards the house. The tall, green hedges block me from the house itself. But through the spaces in the leaves, I can see Claire.
I whistle low. She spots me. She walks off the porch and walks over. I catch a glimpse of those sharp eyes.
“How’d your show go?” I ask her.
“I got second.”
“That’s great, Bear.”
I can see the smallest hint of a smile through the hedges.
“I want to do it,” she says. “Tonight.”
My heart jumps. I don’t have to ask. I know what she means. It. Us. That unspoken heat every time we’re together. “Tonight?”
Through the leaves, I see Claire’s fingers work to free the top buttons of her shirt. She opens it down her chest and uses her hand to slide apart the fabric. I can see the barest bit of pink through the hedges.
My mouth goes completely dry.
“Tonight,” she confirms. “Meet me in front of the gate at eleven. Daddy will be in bed and I can slip out.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
There’s that smile again. Swiftly, she rebuttons her shirt and then turns on her heels, vanishing back inside that monster of a house.
I need a second.
Holy… goddamn .