6. Clara #2
“I got a call on my cell,” Cole begins after a long silence. “The caller ID said it was comin’ from this place, and when I answered it and heard a kid’s voice, I… I don’t know… I just knew.”
I close my eyes, bowing my head. I didn’t even realize I kept that damned receipt, but I’m so thankful that I did.
“He said he couldn’t reach you.”
“I don’t have a cell phone, and… that son of a bitch at the club didn’t tell me the kids had called until—” I shake my head. “I came here immediately.”
“There was some guy here, bangin’ on the door, tryin’ to get in.”
My heart lurches into the back of my throat because my first thought is that it’s him. He found us. He’s here. I find myself searching the darkness, tears pricking my eyes as fear wraps itself around my heart and squeezes to the point of pain.
“I was in Guthrie,” Cole continues, seemingly unaware of my panic. “Couldn’t get here straight away, so I called one of my… the deputy sheriff, and he came by. Said it was just some drunk, got his room number confused. It was all over by the time I arrived.”
My shoulders sag at that, but when I think just how scared the kids must’ve been, it’s like a knife straight to my throat.
Cole heaves a hard sigh, leaning back in the small chair, his long, denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him. “Now, you gonna tell me what’s really goin’ on?”
Feeling his eyes on me, I hug my knees a little tighter, staring straight ahead, at nothing in particular, my pulse thrumming loud in my head.
I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone. It’s not safe.
But it’s also not safe to leave my kids alone in a pay-by-the-hour motel at night either, so who am I to question what is or isn’t safe?
“What do you wanna know?” I ask, dreading his answer, my voice so small I don’t even know if he heard me.
Cole sniffs an unexpected laugh, and I look at him from the corner of my eye, my brows tugging together when I see a wry, dimpled smile curling his lips.
“I mean, your name might be a good place to start.” He arches a brow.
I clear my throat. “Clara.”
He nods slowly, looking at me long and hard before finally saying, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clara.”
I offer a small half-smile I know doesn’t meet my eyes, averting my gaze and quickly looking back to nothing in front of me.
“Why’re y’all here?” he asks after a pause. “I mean to say… What are you runnin’ from?”
And there it is.
A thick swallow works its way down my throat as I consider my response. I don’t know this man. But he’s here. He’s helped me. Twice, now. And, I don’t know, I could be wrong—I usually am—but I get the feeling he might actually give a damn.
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can get a single word out, the cell phone sitting on the small plastic table between us starts to vibrate, the sound jarring.
Cole huffs, annoyed, muttering under his breath. “Shit. Sorry, it’s my buddy, I… I kinda stole his truck.”
My confusion spikes as I glance at the shiny grill of the Dodge parked in front of us. It’s different from the one I saw Cole drive off in the other day outside the Stop and Shop. I cast him a sideways glance as he picks up the phone and slides the answer button.
“Yeah,” he says in a gruff greeting, his eyes sliding to me. “Yep. I’ll meet you there… I don’t know… ten minutes?” He sighs hard and I see his head fall back with a stifled groan. “None of your goddamn business… Yep.” And with that, he jabs his thumb against the screen and ends the call.
With a pained grunt, Cole stands, and as I watch him from the corner of my eye, my traitorous gaze lingers a little longer than it should on the way those dust-covered Wranglers pull a little tighter around a set of thick, muscular thighs.
But then I see him stagger ever so slightly, almost as if he’s unbalanced—dizzy.
Planting a hand against the side of the building, he catches himself at the last moment.
Instinctively, I jump up. “Are… are you okay?”
He glances at me, rearing back a touch when he sees me right here, gaping up at him.
“Uh, yeah.” Removing his hat again, he shoves his thick hair back, scoffing derisively. “Just… tired. Hell, I’ve been awake almost twenty-four hours,” he adds, glancing at his watch.
I study him closer, from the bloodshot whites of his eyes, to the smudge of dirt that lines his cheek bone.
“Cowboy life,” I say for lack of anything else, not that I’d know the first thing about cowboys.
“Yeah.” He sniffs a laugh then, his eyes meeting mine. “Somethin’ like that.”
Suddenly, here, outside my shitty motel room, beneath the unforgiving glow of the fluorescent light that buzzes overhead, I can’t be sure, but I feel something pass between us, something I can’t even begin to comprehend, something that’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“You gotta get outta this dump,” Cole says suddenly, mood shifting. “It ain’t safe here.”
My brows tug together and I can’t help but balk, hands thrown in the air as I make a point of looking around. “And where the hell are we supposed to go, huh? You already told me it wasn’t safe for us to sleep in the car. This dump is all I can afford.”
He rubs his stubbled chin, a contemplative look in his eyes. “I’ve got a place,” is all he says.
I blink at him.
“I’m only there on the weekends, but I can stay in the bunkhouse and y’all can use it. For as long as you need.”
My mouth falls open, both shocked and insulted because is he actually giving me and my kids a place to stay? Before I can object, he continues.
“It ain’t much. Just a shack on a couple acres. But it’s safe.”
With a huff, I fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t need your charity.”
“Of course you don’t,” he mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes. “But you got two fuckin’ kids in there who deserve a safe place to stay,” he says, throwing a hand back in the direction of the motel room. “And, trust me, this ain’t it.”
I stand firm.
With another eyeroll he mutters a curse, glancing up to the eave. “Fine. You can pay me. I don’t know… fifty bucks a week.”
I go to object again, but he beats me to it.
“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer,” he says, and my mind is a blank because he’s suddenly furious again, and all up in my face.
“Pack your shit,” he seethes, his voice low, gruff, borderline threatening.
“And if you’re not packed by the time I come back here in the mornin’, I’ll pack it my damn self but I doubt I’ll be as careful. Don’t fuckin’ test me, Clara.”
I rear back, shocked by his tone, but even more shocked by the fact that I don’t feel threatened or unsafe, not even in the slightest. If anything, the no-bullshit look in his eyes, combined with his words and the sound of my name rolling off his tongue is doing something to me that it absolutely should not.
As if satisfied by my silence, accepting it as submission, Cole nods once and turns, walking back to his truck.
Or his friend’s truck he stole. I don’t even know anymore.
And as I watch him back out of the parking spot before tearing off, I stand here, still frozen, wondering what just happened, and what the hell kind of mess I just got me and my kids into.