Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Sweat dampens the back of my T-shirt. A bead of perspiration slides down the side of my face into my short beard. But I keep walking. I keep hauling.
I should be angry with Stella. She could have told me a hundred times that I wasn’t risking prison, that I didn’t commit any crime.
Am I really the only one getting anything out of this marriage? Have I truly been so selfish?
She looked so sad when she mentioned that my house had no semblance of Christmas.
This tree is much too large for my cabin, but I’ve already driven into town, obtained the license, purchased decorations, and chopped this bad boy down.
It will be going up in our house. It will be staying there until February.
Steadying this Jeffrey Pine with one hand, I open the front door to the cabin, ready to be Stella’s hero. But the house is dark and quiet. No sign of the little woman.
My nose tickles as I step inside. “Stell?” I call. But there’s no response. Her car was in the drive, so she hasn’t left me. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. That’s what I get for listening to Lucca.
Maybe she took a walk. My brow wrinkles with the thought.
It’s getting late. I prop the tree against the living room wall of the cabin.
Long branches ram into my couch and small rectangular coffee table, shedding pine needles over the floor.
Yep—much too big. I sigh and slip my phone from my pocket.
I’ve pinned Stella as my one and only favorite contact.
It’s easy to dial her number this way. Her phone rings and a vibration sounds from the living room coffee table.
I move a large branch to find her cell still buzzing with my call.
“You didn’t take your phone, Stell?” I mutter to myself.
I peer around the room and into the kitchen, looking for a note, for any kind of a sign of where Stella might be. My heart patters. I yelled at her. I was so angry and so relieved at the same time. I lost it, I yelled, and now she’s run off. I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to her.
I take two steps toward the kitchen when I hear something … Something quiet and muffled and … miserable. I tap on her bedroom door, but when no answer comes, I slowly open it up. She’s not there either.
Where in the world …
“Stella?”
The sob grows louder from inside Stella’s room. But it’s still not clear. She must be in the bathroom. The Jack and Jill bath that separates our rooms.
I swallow, scratch my tingling nose, and trudge to the bathroom door. Tapping on it quietly, I say, “Stell?”
Another sob.
Tell me she hasn’t been in there crying for two hours. “Gah,” I groan. I’m the worst. I should be red-carded for life, for the human being that I am. I clamp my eyes closed and tap once more. “Stella? I’m sorry. I—”
More sobbing.
“Shoot. Stella,” I whisper. I can’t stand out here—not with her in there. Not when I yelled at her. Not when she’s crying because of me.
I twist the knob of the door, and to my shock, it turns. A clicking noise comes with it, and I pause, remembering that first day when Stella asked me to not walk in on her naked.
“Come in,” she says, her voice raw and weepy.
I push the door open, and I’m smacked hard and relentlessly with a pungent, sulfuric, foul scent.
I was so distracted before, so focused on my tree, on the cruel way I behaved, that I didn’t notice the stench.
But in this room—there’s no denying it. It will not be disguised or ignored; it’s here to eat its victims alive.
Skunk.
Oh, holy skunk.
I swallow down the urge to be sick and enter the dimly lit room.
She’s kept all the lights off except for one flickering candle on the vanity.
I flip them on and step into the long bath.
This house is tiny, but the one and only bathroom is a decent size with an old porcelain tub in the corner, a toilet closet, and a separate stall shower.
As well as double sinks on the opposite wall.
I walk past the shower and the closet to Stella—in the tub.
I jerk back, and a cough escapes me at the sight of her, though she’s perfectly covered by water and something else …
“I’m sorry for the smell,” she sobs. Her face is cherry red and stained with tear streaks. She’s been crying for a while.
My eyes drop to her shoulders—as if I can’t control them.
She’s concealed by water and some sort of red murkiness, as well as a shirt top.
At least, I think those are tank top straps on her shoulders.
Her blonde hair is tousled on top of her head in a bun.
Her glasses are on the edge of the crowded sink counter, and the little makeup she put on before our counseling appointment is long gone.
I rub my nose with the sting of her sulfurous scent. “What happened?” I ask, keeping my tone gentle.
Stella squeezes her eyes closed and swivels her head to the side, looking away from me.
“I went for a walk. I just needed to think. I ran into that skunk family again.” Her chest heaves with another sob.
“I screamed. They surprised me, and I think I startled them. They all turned and sprayed me.” Another sob breaks forth.
“Even the pups. They all attacked me as if I were their enemy.”
I sit on the side of the tub and reach for her cheek.
“Let me see your eyes.” I swivel her head, and she willingly turns to look at me.
Red and puffy. “You need to rinse your eyes.” I peer down into the red, murky water.
“But not in this.” My nose wrinkles, unsure of what I’m looking at. “What is this?”
More tears spring from her eyes. She lifts a shaky hand from the water, remnants of whatever she’s added sticking to her arm and fingers. She presses a hand to her head, leaving a spattered red streak there. “All the tomato sauce you had. Which wasn’t much, so I added all your spaghetti sauce too.”
That’s when I notice the jars and cans littered throughout the room—on the floor around this tub and the crowded sink counter. It’s crowded because of the empty marinara sauce jars. They’re everywhere.
She whimpers, and the hand at her temple shakes. “It’s the only remedy I could remember.”
I move her hand from her face, studying the spaghetti sauce moon she’s left on her forehead. “I think that’s an old wives’ tale. We need to get your eyes rinsed.”
Rolling away from me, she cries into the porcelain tub. “I lied to you, Roman. I lied and I married you and I stunk up your house. Maybe you should leave me here to expire.”
“Expire? You aren’t a tomato. The smell will fade. And I have a remedy that might work.”
But Stella only cries more. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You were doing fine, and I brought you all my bad karma and ruined your life.”
I clear my throat. “I wasn’t doing fine.” I lean over, trying to catch her eye, but she’s still crying into the left side of the tub. “Stella, will you look at me?”
Hiccupping, she shudders, turning to face me as if she must. She’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen. This beautiful girl covered in marinara, eyes red and swollen, tears streaming, and, oh man, does she stink.
“You need to get out of the tub.” Those are tank top straps over her shoulders. So, I don’t bother giving her any privacy.
Her lip quivers, but otherwise she makes absolutely no sign of moving.
“Fine,” I say. Bending over, I yank the shoes from my feet and then the socks. “If you won’t move, I’ll move you.”
I toss off my flannel jacket and reach into Stella’s tomato sauce tub. She doesn’t bark at me to leave her alone. Clearly, the woman needs help. I lift her beneath the arms as if she were a child.
Gasping, her lips quiver with another cry, but she never protests. With her head hanging, she strings her arms around my neck for support.
I’m guessing her tank top and underwear weren’t this coral orange color when she got in.
“Come on,” I tell her, standing and hoisting her onto her feet. “Let’s shower this stuff off of you.”
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, finally speaking. “I’m so sorry I lied to you.”
Grunting, I scoop beneath her legs, lifting her into my arms. I press one kiss to her tomatoey temple. “You are forgiven. As long as you can forgive me too.”
“I reek,” she cries. “You should go. I’m going to make you stink too.” But she’s shaking with the chill in the air, and the grip she’s got on my neck doesn’t convince me that she wants me to leave.
I can’t set her down. I won’t go. Not with her trembling, not with that broken expression so full of despair.
I step inside the shower stall with her.
Setting her on her feet but keeping one arm tight around her back, I swivel the shower knob to warm.
Only, the first stream that rains down on us is brisk and cold. Stella whimpers out another cry.
But the water warms quickly. She stands there, tears spilling, body quaking, eyes swollen and sorrowful. Water falls down on the pair of us, soaking through my T-shirt and jeans. The shower washes away the chunks of sauce from Stella’s underclothing, but the color is permanently changed.
“Lift your face to the stream,” I say softly.
She swivels in half a circle, obediently turning away from me to face the flow of water. Straining her neck, she allows the clean water to roll over her eyes and face. She flinches once with the sting, but she stays put, letting the stream wash over her.
I snag her shower sponge hanging from the caddy and wipe down her right arm and then her left. Her arms are toned from working with her wheel. I’ve never been this up close and personal with Stella’s body before. She is strong and delicate all at once—and partially covered in spaghetti sauce.
I rinse the netted sponge and trail it across her neck. “How are your eyes?” I keep my tone low. Her tears have taken a break, and I don’t want to do anything to risk them starting up again.
She turns to face me, showing me in answer. They’re still red, still puffy, but she seems to be in less pain.
I cup her cheek and trail my thumb beneath her right eye. She’s so near. And while she definitely smells of skunk, I can’t deny that her closeness doesn’t affect me. My heart jars in my chest, telling me with every slamming thump that I am very much affected.
I brush back a stray hair, one that the shower stream has plastered across Stella’s forehead. It does something to my heart. She’s tugging on every tender chord in my body. I lean in, holding her head in my hands and pressing a kiss to her brow.
“Doesn’t count,” she says, eyes closed, her tone somewhat steady.
I trace the length of her soft neck with my hand. “You’re right. That’s not a real kiss.”
She blinks her eyes open, peering up at me. “Do my eyes look better?”
“Do they feel better?” I counter.
“A little,” she says, her hands at my waist. “They don’t sting as much as before.”
“Good,” I say, my fingers trailing over her skin. “Do you want to tell me why you lied? You could have told me the truth.”
“Not yet. Soon.” Her lip trembles, and she blinks her eyes shut once more. “Are my legs clean?”
“Yes. I washed off all the marinara.” I pat her arm. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Leaving a wet trail from the bathroom through my bedroom and into the kitchen, I trapse to the kitchen sink, finding what I need. Then I plod my way back, leaving just as much of a trail as when I came.
My damp clothes are plastered to my body. I am ready to shed them. But I need to finish helping Stella first.
She’s wrapped both arms around her abdomen. Peering down, the water rolls over her head and down her shoulders.
“You’re back,” she says as if she thought I might be making a great escape.
“I brought reinforcements.” I lift the bottle of Dawn soap.
“Dish soap?” she says, her dark brows cinching. They’re such a contrast to her light hair, and for a short moment, I study them.
Clearing my throat, I step back into the boxed shower.
Stella’s closeness and her not-so-Stella scent is inescapable in the small space of this stall.
I have no choice but to touch her. “It’s Dawn.
It’s kind of a miracle worker.” I squeeze a generous dollop onto her sponge, my arm brushing hers in the process, and then I go to work.
Shutting her eyes that no doubt still bother her, she lets me scrub her limb to limb. I leave her face, her hair, and her torso for her to take care of. While she does, I scour her arms and legs all over again.
We suds, wash, scrub, and stand in the stream, the warm water quickly running out.