Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AMES
Rattler scared the shit out of me last night, appearing as he did, wearing only his underwear.
Feeling guilty about taking the only bed in the cabin, I thought I’d been nice preparing as comfortable a place for him to sleep as I could.
My first thought when he’d opened my door was that he was going to chuck me out and swap sleeping arrangements.
My second? Well, that was when I’d gotten a look at how he was dressed, and I wondered whether he’d come to collect something he thought he was owed.
I was still in a state of shock and unable to thank him when he’d placed that flashlight by the side of the bed.
But once he’d left and I was alone again, I recognised the thoughtful gesture for what it was, though there was the question of why he hadn’t brought out the spare one earlier.
I suppose it didn’t matter. At least I wouldn’t have to go to the outhouse in the night, fumbling my way in the dark.
Once he’d gone and the door had closed behind him, I turned out the light again and tried to get some sleep. It took a good few tosses and turns, and the poor pillow got beaten up more than once, before I was able to quiet my thoughts and eventually drop off.
I’m woken by the birdsong that seems to come from directly outside the bedroom window.
For a moment, it’s tempting to burrow my head back under the sheet and pretend that yesterday I didn’t go through that sham of a marriage ceremony, which was actually real, and that I haven’t been brought to an isolated cabin, with only the jerk downstairs for company.
But my bladder, which luckily hadn’t necessitated using the flashlight during the night, reminds me now of my urgency to pee.
I’ve no choice but to get up and face the reality that’s become my life.
I’d rather have showered before getting dressed, but I suppose neither beggars nor women needing protection can be choosy.
I pull on some fresh panties and a pair of shorts, and wrestle the girls into their wire-supported captivity.
After slipping a t-shirt over the top, I check myself in the mirror.
I’m at least presentable. Finally pulling on my trainers, I venture downstairs, clinging to the ladder and choosing to go down backward.
I try to be quiet, but Rattler stirs.
“I’m just going to take a shower.” For some reason, I wave the towel I’m carrying at him.
Blinking blearily, he sits up, giving me another look at those impressive abs that I tried to ignore last night. “Don’t use all the fuckin’ hot water.”
And good morning to you too. I continue to the kitchen and then on through, opening the back door carefully, peering cautiously into the dawn light before stepping out.
Aren’t there supposed to be bears around here?
I certainly don’t want one to follow me into the shower.
Or even see one at a distance, come to that.
It seems all clear as I step out, my mouth quirking as I remember the discussions about whether a woman would prefer to meet a bear or a man in the woods. At the moment I’m undecided. Perhaps a black bear would be better company than the asshole in the cabin.
I get to the bathroom shack unimpeded, throw the flimsy lock on the door for mental satisfaction, though I know it wouldn’t keep either animal or human two-legged threat out, undress and dive into the shower.
It takes forever to warm up, but when I can finally languish under hot water, I do a quick body wash, not bothering with my hair.
There’s only Rattler here who could offer an opinion about it, and I don’t give a damn what he thinks.
Likewise, once I’ve dried off and applied my body lotion, I don’t touch my makeup bag. Why should I? There’s no one to impress out here.
I finish up and return to the cabin, dragging my feet, unsure about what the day will bring.
The only thing I’m certain of is that Rattler and I will spend the day sniping at each other.
I start wondering if this is the best way to protect me and deal with my brother, why couldn’t Bullseye have sent someone else with me?
Surely, they’ve got members who would be better than the one I’m trapped here with.
On opening the door that leads through the boot room, I’m pleasantly surprised to breathe in the welcome aroma of coffee. And when, on entering the kitchen proper, I get a cup handed to me.
“Didn’t know how you took it,” he grunts. “But you can doctor it yourself.” He jerks his head toward the table where he’s set out creamer and sugar. Then, without saying anything else, he picks up his towel and ventures out.
He made coffee. I suppose that’s a good start. Deciding to make breakfast, I potter around, getting out the usual ingredients. By the time he re-enters the kitchen, I’m plating up, and just about managing to refrain from overtly mentioning that he took twice as long as me in the shower.
I do, however, offer a snide remark. “Seems I left you enough hot water.”
He fixes me with his eyes. “Didn’t use much. Had to take a shit.”
That shuts me up.
We descend into an uncomfortable silence as I place two plates on the table and start to eat. Nothing is said until I’ve finished my breakfast, and he’s almost done.
Suddenly, he points his fork toward me. “I like your hair like that.”
Unconsciously, I touch it. To me, it seems untamed and wild, and could do with having some proper product put through it. “I didn’t even bother to wash it,” I admit.
“The curls suit you.”
He realises he’s paid me a compliment and slams his mouth shut. Well, except for the necessary opening as he shovels the remainder of his food into it. When his plate’s as clean as mine, he stands and reaches for both, saying gruffly, “You cooked. I got this.”
I sit astonished as he clears the table and, yes, washes up.
Maybe he’s got some redeeming qualities after all.
Not one to sit doing nothing, I follow him into the kitchen and start another pot of coffee. “What’s the plan for today?” I ask.
His brows rise as he swings around to face me. “Plan?”
Shrugging, I explain, “This area is popular for vacations. And we’re on our honeymoon. Perhaps we could explore and see what’s on offer?”
“Woman,” he snarls. “That wedding license? Fake, you got it? If you and I were actually on our honeymoon, I wouldn’t have wasted money on this place for a start.
I’d be somewhere where all there was was a decent bed, which I’d keep you in for days.
” He then frowns and reconsiders his words.
“Well, not you, but a fictional wife who I really wanted to fuck. Not that that will ever happen.”
“Oh, shut up,” I throw back, startling him. “You’re a commitment phobe. I get it. And for the record, you’re not my Prince Charming.”
I walk to the window. The sun is blazing down outside, not a cloud in sight. If he thinks I’m going to stay cooped inside all day, he’s got another think coming. I move toward the back door.
“Tell me you’re going for a piss.”
“I am,” I confirm. At least that’s the first thing I’ll be doing.
I don’t know what gave me away, but as I exit the bathroom, he’s waiting outside.
Narrowing my eyes, I tell him, “If you’re going to be using the shitter, I’d give it a moment if I were you.” I only peed, but hell, I’ll take my amusement anyway I can at the moment.
He ignores me and jerks his head back toward the cabin. “Inside.”
I hold my middle finger up to him. “Fuck you!” Then I turn and deliberately stride up the path that extends up the mountain behind us.
When I hear his clomping footsteps behind me, I start to run.
I’m wearing trainers, and he’s in motorcycle boots.
I think I know who’s got the advantage. I also like running, and my training includes incline, so the steep gradient doesn’t bother me.
Him? Well, I can hear the wheezing behind me.
Feeling I’ve been cooped up for weeks, I just let my feet find a rhythm. The air is thinner at this elevation, so I concentrate on steadying my breathing and finding a pace that I can settle into.
“Get your ass back here!” he calls with a decidedly out-of-breath shout.
Nah, I don’t think I will. I’m enjoying this, so I ignore him.
I’m rising higher. The trees are getting thicker.
I’m not even sure how long I’ve been running before it dawns on me I’m completely unprepared.
I have no compass with me. If I get turned around, I could easily get lost. I also forgot to bring bear spray.
I might not like Rattler, but I didn’t intend to run aimlessly from him, and realise I’ve gotten carried away.
Now, coming back to my senses, a few moments of freedom are not worth potentially doing Malachi’s job for him, by, for example, falling into a ravine.
My pace slows. I have run in a straight line, haven’t I? Turning to look back, all I can see are the trees closing in around me. The path I’d followed has long since disappeared. Leaning forward with my hands on my thighs, I catch my breath.
“Fuck! Shit! Oh fuck!”
I stiffen. The distant shouts come accompanied by the sound of crashing. I realise fast Rattler’s not simply swearing in frustration at losing me. It sounds like he could actually be hurt.
Hopefully not seriously. He’s supposed to be my protection. Wouldn’t it be fucking stupid if, in order to get away from his restrictions, I’ve inadvertently managed to kill him? Way to go, Ames. I start to quicken my steps as the shouts come again, gradually getting louder.
“Ames! Get your ass back here!” he roars, proving he’s not dead yet. Or dying, if the strength of his voice is any indication.
For a second, I hesitate. Are his shouts just a ploy to get me to do what he wants? And even if he is hurt, with his attitude, it would serve him right to stew for a while. Out here it’s peaceful, in his company, nothing like.