Chapter 10 #2
Maybe at the end of the week, he’ll just pay his brother my wages earned, and I’ll be able to put Bellamy into a working car and we can hit the road again.
That should be a comforting what if, but my pulse doesn’t slow down any. It’s not easier to breathe as I envision us heading into the prairies.
The promise of endless straight roads through wheat fields kept me going through the mountains, the interior, and the mountains again.
But now it feels like I’ve hit a breaking point, like I stopped running just long enough for the panic to catch up with me, and now the thought of fleeing again is overwhelming. Just as it was for three years on the compound.
I open my mouth to tell him that I’m leaving. Better to test him now, to see his reaction, than to wait and find out later that I’m trapped again.
But then I feel an imaginary flutter in my belly, and my bravery seizes up.
It’s too soon to actually feel the baby. I have weeks at least, probably even months, before there are any visible clues that I’m pregnant.
I have time. I don’t have to challenge anyone yet. I should take that phone and use it to figure out my next steps. Slowly. Carefully.
Patience can be brave, too.
My heart lodged in my throat, I force myself to keep moving along the shelf. Past the books I’m so tempted to read to the plant stands in front of the window.
The four plants on the top are in various states of distress. A succulent going mushy at the base. A peace lily with brown-tipped leaves, drooping in a pot that's sitting in a tray of standing water. Two small pothos vines, yellowing at the edges.
I look at them for a long moment as the dizzying fear skitters across my skin, trying to take hold in my brain. Making my face hot.
"Do you like plants?" Zane asks.
“Not really,” I murmur.
“That’s ironic, then.” When I turn slightly toward him, my question apparently obvious, he adds, “Because you’re spending all day harvesting kale. And apparently you’re good at it.”
"I suppose you could say my relationship to gardening is complicated."
"Fair enough. Like me and rodeo."
That’s enough to make me turn the rest of the way and look at him. "You still like it? Even though it didn't like you?"
"When I was little—" He pauses, seeming to think about how much to give me. "The rodeo was freedom. I looked forward to that weekend all year. Hyped it up bigger than it was in my head. It’s funny, because now as an adult—”
I raise my eyebrows when he cuts himself off.
“Nevermind, I was just rambling.”
“No, it’s okay.” I wave in the direction of the laundry. “I’ve got nothing but time.”
“Well, I was just going to say, now it’s just another weekend.
I don’t know if you saw the sign on the way into town, but we have some kind of fair every other month.
Thanksgiving Harvest Days in October and a Festival of Lights in December.
An annual pond hockey weekend in February.
The rodeo is in April, you just missed it, and then in June we have one that’s literally just called the Town Fair, capital T, capital F.
In August, we have the Raspberry Jamboree.
That’s my favourite, so you should stick around for that.
There’s a big barn dance and we get really good bands for it. ”
“I read about the fair and the jamboree on a poster at The Friendly Table.” And there’s my opening to test him. “We’ll be gone by then, I’m afraid.”
There’s no flare of anger, no tightening of his jaw. “Maybe the Town Fair. No dance, but they do a great funnel cake.”
“Maybe.” I turn back to the peace lily and cup one browning leaf in my palm.
We could probably bring this guy back to life before I leave.
"When I was little, I thought plants were amazing. I didn’t have a natural green thumb, so I overwatered the first few plants I got.
But I learned they could bounce back. That if you neglected them, it wasn’t the end of the world.
A bit of sunlight, the right amount of water and some nourishment for the soil, in the right order, and they can come back to life. I liked that resiliency.”
“I like it, too. Not that I’ve figured out the right ratio or order of sunlight and water for a small pot—or temperamental plants. I’m much better with pastures of grass.”
“Working with Mother Nature on the sunlight and water thing?”
“You’d think, but it turns out a lot of ranching is irrigation work.” He groans and rubs his forehead. “Fuck.”
Tension yanks my shoulder blades together. “Do you need something?”
“No, it’s nothing. I just…forgot to tell Ridge about a conversation I had with Cash.” He picks up his phone and starts furiously texting someone.
The tension rolling off him is too much, so I scurry back to the romance bookshelf and pull another book out to read the back. This one’s a cowboy romance, with a rugged, larger than life hero on the cover.
He has a moustache.
That’s far too close to reality for comfort, so I return it to the shelf. The next one is a medieval damsel in distress, which is still not far enough from reality, despite the historical setting.
Maybe I don’t need to read anything new tonight.
I turn around and find Zane looking at me. He’s not staring, it’s more of an interrupted glance, and he doesn’t jerk his attention away when our gazes connect. His phone is still in his hand, like he looked up mid-text.
But as soon as our gazes collide, his glance turns into something more serious.
I can’t look away, either.
You’re safe here. He said it yesterday, and I didn’t hear it. But in his quiet, steady gaze now, I feel it.
I take a deep breath, then share a tiny piece of myself. "Until yesterday, greenhouses gave me nightmares."
He hears me. Waits. And then, when I don’t add anything else, he says, "You came to work for Luna anyway."
"Some nightmares are worse than others."
"I want to ask you more about that." His voice is so careful, so deliberate, like he picks each word up and checks its weight before he uses it. He wants to ask me more. And then in case there was any doubt, he makes that explicit. "But I won't if you don't want me to."
The thing is—
I do want him to. Here in this warm library in his old shirt, with the mountains all around us, dark and enormous, hiding us in this little valley. Everyone else asleep….I’m drawn to him. I want to confide everything in him, and let him wrap it up and throw it away for me.
He’s the type of guy who would find a way to protect me forever, I imagine. A true romance novel type of man, who can carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
But there’s a trade-off in trusting a man like that. It’s not enough to take what they give you, you have to give something too. And I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do that again.
Which makes me deeply, deeply sad. The weight of the secrets I’ve been carrying for the last couple of years is so heavy.
Too heavy to share with someone like Luna, who has her own scars. She'd be kind about it in a way I don't think I could survive right now. Her particular sweetness would unravel me completely.
But Zane’s quiet steadiness…it’s inviting.
The words are right there.
They stay right there.
"Another time, maybe," he says, softer again. Like he sees how close I am, and thinks maybe tomorrow I’ll make a different choice.
I nod. My throat is too full for anything else.
He tucks his own phone in the back pocket of his jeans. Closes up his notebook and sets it neatly to one side of the desk. “Will you be all right by yourself on the main floor if I head downstairs to bed?”
Another nod.
He crosses to the door in a few long strides.
Don’t admire his body, don’t admire—
And then he’s gone.
I exhale in a rush, heat flaming my cheeks. My knees feel a little weak, which means I’m weak, but we survived that, which is all that matters.
Crossing to the small table that he put the book and the phone he’s loaning me on, I touch the screen gingerly.
It lights up, no passcode required.
Wide open access to the whole world. Something I haven’t had in four years.
I stare down at it like it might bite me.
“Oh, I forgot I wanted to ask you—” Zane strides back in.
I jump away from the phone like I’ve been caught being naughty, spinning away from the table and into his path.