CHAPTER EIGHT #2
I watch him grab the rope in his hands, and instantly, my wrists begin to tingle.
They burn and itch, and I rub them up and down my dress.
With the rope wound around his hand, Radisson takes the lead while the rest of the men stay on the edge.
He climbs down and gets in the stream, slowly approaching the stuck animal through the swift current of the water.
Like before, Radisson’s closeness only stresses the calf, and it starts shaking and bellowing, struggling to get free.
But instead of either forging ahead or retreating, Radisson freezes.
He unmasks his face and looks the poor animal in the eyes.
He raises his arms, his fingers splayed wide, the rope still wound around his right hand, as he speaks.
I can only watch his lips move, plump and bisected by his scar, and I have to bite my own as I wait, like everyone else, for something to happen.
Slowly and continuing to speak, he takes a step closer.
The calf stays still as it watches Radisson.
He advances a few steps before something spooks the poor critter again and Radisson has to stop to prevent the animal from injuring itself in its struggle to be free.
He speaks to the animal in what I can only assume to be hushed tones.
The animal’s body relaxes by slow degrees, and when it appears calm enough, Radisson resumes moving.
Finally, when Radisson is close enough to put his arms around it, the calf yelps and shakes harder than ever.
But Radisson strokes its back and its sides to get it to calm down.
Bent over, he rubs circles around the calf’s flanks, while also inspecting where its leg is stuck.
Still murmuring to the calf, he flings the rope over the animal and signals with his hand.
A few ranch hands climb down to the stream while Radisson keeps the calf distracted and ropes it around the middle.
When the men reach them, they grip the fallen trunk and Radisson throws his burly arms around the scared animal.
On another signal from him, the men pull at the trunk while Radisson lifts the injured animal free.
A harrowing cry sounds from the calf as the pressure is lifted, and it struggles in Radisson’s arms. But somehow, he manages to keep his grip on the animal as he throws the other end of the rope to the hands waiting on the edge.
When the calf is relatively calm—but still in pain; there’s a streak of blood on its hooves—Radisson hands it over to one of the men nearby as the others on the edge pull at the rope and help carry the calf up to the bank, safely and securely.
Again, there’s a lot of commotion around me, this time because everyone is relieved, and I realize my eyes are wet.
My eyes are also locked on the man who just saved the day.
I knew he would, but that doesn’t make what he did any less awe-worthy.
Or any less painful. Wasn’t there a time when I thought that’s what he was: a savior?
That no matter what, he’d always come to my rescue.
What a stupid thought. He might be a savior for everyone else, but not for me. Not for the Turner Princess.
He’s still down at the stream, talking to some of the ranch hands, when I notice something.
Something that I couldn’t have before because his face was covered.
Now that it’s not, it’s so plain to see: People around him don’t look at him.
Not really. They talk to him, these men who work under him; listen to him, all very diligently and respectfully, but they don’t look directly at him.
They don’t look at his face, and if they do, they look away quickly.
Like they can’t bear to see whatever is on there.
They can’t bear to look at his scar, and I…
I want to scream.
I want to get up in their faces and demand that they look at him.
I want to shake them and punch them and fucking kick them in the nuts for being so cruel and mean and just plain ignorant.
Can’t they see how utterly beautiful he is?
How capable and strong? How he was the one who saved the day.
Him and no one else. Without him, they’d still be standing around being the waste of space they are, while that poor little animal would still be stuck and writhing in pain.
A scar doesn’t change any of that. A scar doesn’t change him or define him.
If anything, it’s a testament of his strength. It’s proof that he lived. He survived.
My angry thoughts come to a halt when he tips his face up and his eyes land on me.
Even through the space, the force of his startling green stare is so potent that I have to take a step back.
I have to clutch at my dress in tight fists when his stare moves.
Takes my face in, which I’m sure is flushed and sweaty from everything that has gone on, before sliding down my throat and heaving chest to my belly and bare legs.
I say “slide” because that’s what it feels like, smooth but also heavy and laden with intensity.
“Hey.”
I flinch at the greeting and quickly look away from him to acknowledge Haven still standing beside me. “Hey.”
That I was staring at Radisson hasn’t escaped her notice, and she watches me carefully. “Are you okay?”
I know what she’s asking about, but I try to distract her and pretend she’s referring to my bumpy ride on the ATV.
“Yes, much better. Being outside helped, thanks. I didn’t, uh”—I tuck my hair behind my ear—“think I’d be this affected.
I’ve ridden on an ATV before, I promise.
This was total city girl behavior, huh.”
I expected her to at least crack a smile at my self-deprecating joke, but she keeps watching me with the same look. Then, “You know I wasn’t asking about that, right?”
The side of my face prickles, and I know it’s because he’s watching me still.
I wish he wouldn’t do that, and I wish I wouldn’t blush at his stare the way I am.
I keep my eyes on Haven, though, as I say, “You kept it from me on purpose, didn’t you?
Last night.” I swallow thickly. “When I was asking about him, you didn’t tell me it was my…
My father killed his parents. Everything he went through is because of my… ”
His accident, his injury. The bullying. His scar. The fact that people still haven’t gotten over it. Everything he’s suffered is because of my family, my father. And I don’t know how to feel about that.
Haven shakes her head. “I didn’t say anything because whatever happened to Rad, it happened years ago, and it doesn’t affect what’s happening now.”
“How can it not affect things now?” I say, my voice all rough. “My family killed his family. My father murdered his father and his mother, and he went through—”
“Still, it has nothing to do with you,” she states.
“But—”
She squeezes my arm again. “No, it has nothing to do with you, Peyton. None of this has anything to do with you or Reverie. Not the war between our families, not Arsen’s revenge, not what happened to Rad.
What’s happening is wrong, do you understand?
You shouldn’t be here and neither should Reverie.
I don’t agree with what’s happening, but I can tell you one thing: These men, no matter how they seem, have honor.
If they said they’ll let you go at the end of this, they will.
Mr. Grayson will make sure of that. He’d never go back on his word. So that’s all you need to focus on.”
By “Mr. Grayson,” she means her husband, Marsden.
I don’t know and can’t imagine why a wife would call her husband by his last name, but I hope that man treats her right.
Because in less than the forty-eight hours since I met her, I’ve already fallen in love with her.
I’ve only ever had one friend in my life because I don’t let anyone get close to me.
But if circumstances were different, I know Haven and I would be best friends.
“And as I said before, as long as you’re here, in my house, you’ll be safe.” She squeezes my arm again. “Even from him.”
Like Reverie, she’s noticed it, too, then.
Not that he’s hiding it or anything. Because I can still feel him watching me, tracking my every movement, probably plotting ways to torment me.
That’s what he wants from me, isn’t it? That’s why he won’t stop watching me even now.
It’s because of my father, because of what my asshole dad did to his family, to him.
It isn’t about the land for him, or some stupid war between families.
It’s personal. And therefore, he’s more of a danger to me than any of these Graysons.
But what’s even more dangerous is that I can’t find it in myself to blame him for that.
For hating me the way he does. For watching me the way a hunter watches his prey.
But I thrust all of this aside because what Haven said is also right.
I should focus on one thing: getting out of this place.
Making sure they don’t go back on their word.
And I found something. Something crucial during my snooping with Reverie earlier this morning.
And if that something leads to what I think it’s going to, then we’ll have enough leverage against the Graysons that they’ll have no choice but to let us out of this hellhole.
This is risky.
I’ve known it from the beginning, and I know it now. But it’s the only way to make sure these people don’t go back on their word when the time comes.