Chapter 21
RAVEN
Even though I had my sketchbook on my lap and my pencil on the page, there was no way I could focus enough to draw anything. My hand still buzzed from handing Nash his pills. I put down the pencil and shook my hand to try to get the extra energy out.
It had to be lactic acid from hauling his heavy body out of the woods. Right?
My entire body hummed, making it impossible to sit still. If only I could go outside and move around, but rain pounded on the roof again. And I really didn’t want to deal with that.
So was stuck with Nash.
Nash.
Thank God, he was okay. I was so afraid I’d killed him. But having him wake up and look at me like that… It was almost more than I could handle. Not when my emotions were so close to the surface.
Maybe I should text Cass. Nah, I already knew what she’d say. The same thing she was always pushing me to do. Confess my feelings and go for it. Part of me wishes I could. But the man had just regained consciousness from a head injury I caused. He probably wasn’t thinking straight. Even though it looked like he wanted to kiss me, I couldn’t let that happen. Not unless I knew it was real.
I couldn’t bear to have him tell me later that it was a terrible mistake. Or worse, he might not remember it at all. He did have a serious concussion.
Distance. That’s what I needed. If I had a little more space to myself, it would allow me to get my feelings back in the box where they belonged. I glanced around the tiny cabin. Distance was impossible in those close quarters, and I needed to keep an eye on him and his injury.
How about distraction? Maybe if we found something to get our minds off our situation, it would help us both.
“Hey, Nash. How about we read another one of those letters? I think it’s your turn.”
“I’m game. But you’ll have to read. My head still hurts too much. I don’t think I can focus my eyes enough to read.”
I walked over and pulled the next letter from the stack. As I started to take it back to my corner, Nash grabbed my arm.
“Can you sit here and read it? There’s plenty of room on the bed.” He patted the space beside him.
I hesitated. Being that close to him was the last thing I needed. But his eyes pleaded with me in a way I’d never seen before, and I was powerless to resist. So much for keeping my distance.
I sat on the very edge of the bed, taking as little space as possible, and trying to maintain my boundaries the best that I could. Even from the opposite side of the mattress, I could feel the warmth of his body wrapping around me and tugging me closer.
Nash propped a pillow against the wall next to him. “Here. Lean back against this. It’ll be much more comfortable for your aching back.”
My groaning muscles agreed with him and spasmed in response. I tried to move the pillow over to my side, but Nash held onto it. I shot him a glare, but his gaze held firm and intense. At least until he closed his eyes and brought his hand to his head.
“Are you okay?” I moved in to get a better look at him. His bandages appeared clean and in place. Guilt stabbed my heart along with images of all the times I’d banged his wounded head on the ground while trying to drag him.
“I will be. Just sit here and read to me,” he mumbled. “Please?”
“Fine.”
I slid over next to him and leaned back against the pillow. Even though we weren’t touching, the potency of being this close to him made it hard to remember what I was doing.
Oh, yeah. The letter.
Clearing my throat, I carefully unfolded the stationery, unable to see the words in the shadows. I had to angle my body to use the light from the window to read. Unfortunately, this also made me lean into Nash.
I caught Nash peeking over at me through his nearly closed eye, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. I nudged his side with my foot. “Knock it off. It’s hard to read in this lighting.”
“Admit it, you just wanted an excuse to be closer to me.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Who knows, maybe that’s why you knocked me out, so you’d have an excuse to touch me.”
I smacked him on the shoulder. “You wish.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head away. I swear I heard him mutter under his breath something that sounded a lot like, “Always have.” But I couldn’t have heard him right.
I stared at him, trying to figure him out. Something I hadn’t accomplished in all these years.
When I didn’t start reading, he cracked one eye open to peek at me. “Let’s hear it, Tweet. Read the letter already.”
I sighed dramatically. “Fine.” I shook the page straight, cleared my throat, and began reading.
Dearest G,
I can’t believe your mom actually told you the only way you’d get a husband is if you mastered the art of cooking a perfect pot roast. Is that really an art form? I know they say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. But a pot roast? I worry about the kind of man you’ll attract with that. Not that you need anything additional to attract one. Your beauty and kind heart will have them lining up. I promise you.
My love life, on the other hand, is a dreadful wasteland. I really wonder if there is any hope for me. Maybe I should take your mom’s advice and cook him a pot roast. With my abysmal skills in the kitchen, he’d take one bite and keel over. Then I’d have a whole new slew of problems.
You said in your last letter that I should just kiss him. I’m not sure I can be that brazen. Just the thought of it sends me into a panic. And what if he pushes me away and wipes the kiss from his mouth in disgust? I’d be humiliated and would definitely have to run away and join a convent, never to show my face in town ever again.
My gut clenched as if I’d been punched. This letter could have been ripped out of my own diary. I quickly folded it and turned away, ready to leap off the bed. I stretched and faked a yawn. “I’m actually too tired to read this now.”
Nash’s hand reached back and latched onto my arm, preventing my escape. He turned over to look at me. I ducked my head, hoping to get my emotions back where they belong before letting him see them all over my face. I tried to pull my arm away, but he held firm.
“Where are you going? I want to hear the rest.”
“Then you read it. I’m done.” I slammed the letter against his chest and escaped to the other side of the room to stare out at the rain gliding down the window. My eyes stung, but I refused to let the tears fall. I’d cried over that memory too many times.
I heard a rustle on the bed as Nash shifted to catch the light from the window. Then his deep voice picked up where I left off.
I know I’m being dramatic. But revealing my true feelings and then finding out that he feels nothing would be worse than watching him marry someone else. At least I think it would be. Wouldn’t it? The convent is sounding better all the time.
Oh, G. I’m a mess. Why you stay friends with me, I’ll never understand. I’m so grateful that you listen to my ramblings and offer such thoughtful advice and encouragement. It means the world to me.
I’m happy to return the favor. I have a feeling you’ll be meeting your Prince Charming sooner than you think. I bet he falls head over heels for you at first glance. Be sure to tell me all about it when he does.
As ever, your crazy friend,
T
The soft rain falling outside helped to calm my breathing as I rested my head against the glass. Focusing on the steady sound, I tried to get control over my emotions, but with all that had happened since coming to this god-forsaken place, they bounced around like squirrels.
I jumped with a start when a hand gently touched the top of my shoulder. Apparently, I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t even notice him approach.
His dark eyes met mine with surprising tenderness. “Can we talk?”
I shrugged, crossed my arms with a defiant attitude, and looked back out the window.
“Come sit down with me. Please.”
“I should probably get some more work done on Gladys’ painting, so it’s done when we’re able to get out of here.”
He moved back in front of me to maintain eye contact then winced in pain.
“You should be laying down. What are you doing out of bed? You have a concussion.”
“If you come sit with me, I’ll lay down. But only if you come with me.”
My need to take care of him over-rode everything else, and I dragged him back to bed. “Do you need any more pain pills? Or a bottle of water? I’ll get it for you.”
He closed his eyes and held his head with one hand. “No. Just sit here with me.”
I sat down on the end of the bed, as far from him as possible.
“Come on, Tweet. Work with me here.” He patted the pillow beside him, where I’d sat when reading the letter.
”I’m fine where I am.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“What’s wrong? Is it your vision? Are you nauseous? What can I get you?” A caretaker part of me that I never knew existed, rushed over and started fussing with his pillow to try to make him more comfortable.
In one unexpected move, he slid his hips over and pulled me to sit on the edge of the bed next to him and wrapped one arm around my waist to keep me from getting away.
“Hey. What are you doing?” I tried to get away. Being that close to him was dangerous. To my heart, anyway. But man, it felt good to have his arm around me. I couldn’t let myself get caught up in what my heart wanted. It would only lead to misery. I tried once more to wiggle free of his hold, but I was no match for his iron biceps.
“We need to talk,” he said, “and you wouldn’t cooperate. If dragging you here and holding you down is the only way to get you to sit still and talk to me, then so be it.”
Talk. That’s all he wanted to do. I could talk. But why did it feel like the conversation we were about to have would change everything?