Chapter Eight
ELLY
THE DELICIOUS smell of roast and potatoes tickles my nose, pulling me out of oblivion, and makes my mouth water as I half open my eyes to the darkening room. Rustic decor is all around me, all the furniture is wooden and looks antique, and there are Native American tapestries on the walls.
The gray light through the clouds outside is the only light in the room, and the big window framed with heavy drapes hanging on each side has frost on some of the edges.
It's hard to tell if the light outside is darker because of the clouds and sleet I hear softly tapping on the glass, or if the sun is moving into early evening.
I’m nestled in soft, warm bedding, a welcome relief after the past couple of nights in a hotel bed.
The fluffy comforter is maroon like the accents in the tapestries and the sheets are tan and soft like silk.
My eyes snap open all the way as the familiar smell on the pillow drifts into my nose, it smells like the big guy, Gray, who held me against him to warm me in front of the fireplace.
Shit. I spring up into a sitting position and it makes my head reel and it feels like it’s swelling and deflating like a balloon with each throb over my eye.
Reaching up, I touch a bandage taped across my eyebrow and forehead and let my fingers glide down the side of my face that’s been wiped clean of the blood.
Someone cleaned me up.
The comforting smell of campfire and sandalwood on his bedding takes me right back to sitting in his lap, his arms tight around me, holding me hard against his chest while his big hands slid up and down my back to generate heat.
Even after yesterday, when he and his brother told me to leave and not come back, he still wanted to help me.
Even knowing who I am, he still put me in his bed. My panic eases just a bit, and I let my head rest in my hands for a minute to wait out some of the throbbing.
Closing my eyes, I remember the feel of his beard scratching against my head, my cheek against the solid muscle of his chest, and his deep voice when he told me to put my hands under his arms. Demanding but caring at the same time.
Opening my eyes, I slowly lift my head and glance around the room to confirm it's a bedroom that’s in use.
It’s clean, I’ll give him that. On the bedside table, under the lamp, is a picture of the little girl who was standing so confidently in front of me, telling me her dad would make everything okay.
In front of that is a book, Lonesome Dove.
It looks like a western and the edges of the paper cover are frayed and splitting.
On the tall chest of drawers across the room is a small framed family picture that, judging by the age of the little girl, is old.
Gray is holding the little girl, who’s also in the picture by his bed, on his hip, but she looks like a toddler, and he's standing with his arm around a pretty woman with long brown, wavy hair. The little girl’s mother?
She's beautiful. She’s cuddled into his side and her hand is on his stomach and her smile is bright.
He looks much more friendly and carefree in the picture than he did yesterday in the barn.
So different from the severe look I saw yesterday.
I wonder what took that happiness away.
Closing my eyes again, I reach into my memory to recall what happened when I got here.
The big guy warmed me up and held me in front of the fireplace, there was a woman with black hair and green eyes who gave me cocoa, and another woman with blond hair and blue eyes who covered me with a blanket. I don’t remember much after that.
There are flicks of pictures in my head, like the blond taking my wet clothes off and helping me put on dry ones, and the other one standing over me with a washcloth on my face.
I open my eyes and look to the other side of the bed; my phone is on the bedside table, and I grab it to check for calls or messages.
Thank God! No calls from work.
But it’s almost dead, and my charger is in my hotel room.
If someone calls and I don’t answer, my dad will send Harris to check up on me, I just know it. Maybe I can get one of them to give me a ride back to my hotel; if not, maybe I’ll call a cab or something.
A bottle of water and a bottle of ibuprofen are sitting next to where my phone was with a note that says ‘take me’ and a smiley face drawn on it.
The handwriting is a pretty script, and I don’t think a guy would draw a smiley face.
My hand stops midair half-way to the bottle of water as I wonder if I need to worry about anything being in it, my dad’s voice plays in my mind: you’re not going there for a cordial visit, Elly, you’re going there to take their land.
Feeling stupid for even having the thought, I pick up the water bottle, leaving the ibuprofen, and shake it - no leaks. The lid is still intact, and I feel like some kind of paranoid lunatic, I’m the one who is here to ruin their lives, but I’m questioning them.
Guilty conscious much?
The thought moves across my mind like a bowling ball wrapped in razor wire.
I never wanted to be this person.
Fuck Harris for putting me in this position.
Get up, Elly, do the job and go home.
I shake my head and scan the room to find my bag on a comfortable-looking chair in the corner by the window, water stains from the sleet and freezing rain marring the pink leather.
Throwing the covers back, I take in the clothes I’m wearing that are not mine; they are a little big for me, but all clothes are big for me since I was unlucky enough to inherit my mother’s slight frame.
The same small frame that gets me comments like: You’re like a doll, or, do you carry a step stool with you everywhere you go or, my personal favorite, I could just put you in my pocket.
Not to mention literally getting looked down at. By everyone. All the time.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I slowly stand up and see a sweater laying over the foot of the bed.
The t-shirt I'm wearing hangs to mid-thigh and big, fluffy socks are pulled up to my calves over a pair of thick leggings.
I've seen these types if socks online and I've wondered how comfortable they are. They're pretty damn comfy.
Picking up the sweater from the bed to put it on, I wrap it around my body. It's soft, thick and immediately takes the chill off, even though it hangs to my knees. If only I didn’t look like someone dressed me in too-big clothes.
Regardless, I need to change into my clothes so I can see about getting back to my hotel in Tulsa.
Each step I take around the bed to the chair sends a throb of pain across my head, I wince as I bend over to open my bag and it feels like my head is filling with blood.
The file folder that had my copy of the letter I left in the barn yesterday is on the wrong side of the center divider and the letter is gone.
Good, they’re looking at it.
Surely those figures will get their attention.
But my clothes aren’t on the chair anywhere. I slowly look around the chair, careful not to move my head too fast, but only find my ruined suede boots on the floor next to it.
A soft tap on the door just before it opens has me turning around too fast and my head swims, making me reach for the arm of the chair as I press my palm on my forehead. The woman with dark hair pokes her head in and looks around the room for me.
When she sees me, her eyes widen, and she pushes the door open all the way to hurry to me.
“Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.
I half expected you to still be sleeping.
” She softly takes my hand in one of hers and grasps my arm with her other hand as she says, “Here, come sit on the bed.”
She’s tall for a girl, maybe five foot seven, oh what I would give to be tall like that, and she moves gracefully, like a dancer. I let her lead me to the bed, and she stands in front of me when I sit down, her eyes looking at me in question, like she’s afraid I might pass out or something.
Her porcelain skin is clear, and her green eyes are the lightest shade of green, her coal-black hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun that some tendrils have escaped from and are trailing down her slim neck to her chest.
She’s beautiful.
She seems convinced I’m okay when the look of concern morphs into a smile. “I’m Sloane, how are you feeling?” Her voice is soft, and watching her worry about me makes my chest squeeze with guilt.
They’re more bothered with my comfort and safety than I am about upending their entire life. I feel like the biggest ass in the world.
Setting my signature smile on my face, I say, “Ellyot Royce, but everyone calls me Elly. I’ve been better.” I force a chuckle and she responds with a smile. “How long was I sleeping?”
“A few hours. I wanted to check on you since dinner is ready, I thought you might be hungry.” She clasps her hands in front of her slim frame. Next to my five-two, she has to be almost half a foot taller than me. Tall, lithe girls like her have always sent a pang of jealousy through me.
I’ve always considered myself an excellent judge of character, it’s an uncanny ability I’ve had since I was a girl. The energy standing in front of me feels friendly and warm, but I’m willing to bet she can turn unfriendly on a dime.
Since she opened the door, the smell of dinner is thick in the room and my mouth is watering, so right on cue, my stomach growls loudly since I didn’t have breakfast this morning. I set my hand on my stomach, “I guess that answers your question, but can I ask, where are my clothes?”
She tilts her head and a little line forms between her eyebrows, “Don’t you remember? Your clothes were soaked through, so Marley took them to wash, she also wanted to see if she could get the blood out of your coat.”
Looking down at the floor, I try to piece together the slideshow in my head from earlier, but shake my head. “Sorry, everything after seeing the big guy at the side of the house is a blur.”
I’ll never forget the relief that washed over me when I saw him walking toward me, the terror at freezing to death that was niggling at my brain vanished when I saw him. His hazel eyes were full of concern even though yesterday they were filled with resentment and irritation.
“You mean Gray. He was the one who caught you when you fell, he brought you in the house and got you warm. After he brought you in here, Marley and I tried to clean you up and make you as comfortable as possible.”
Keeping my smile on my face, even though on the inside I feel like the worst person on the planet, I wonder why they would go out of their way to help me knowing why I’m here.
Who does that? Everyone I know would have turned their backs.
My head feels like it is going to explode and I press my cool fingers to the sore spot on my forehead where I hit the steering wheel. “I appreciate that, I’ve never experienced weather like this before.” I glance at the picture on the dresser. “This is his room, isn’t it?”
She looks around and nods, “Yeah, he’s a pretty straightforward kind of guy, pretty quiet.” She points at the picture of the little girl next to the bed, “That’s his daughter, Lainey Rai, she helped take your coat off.”
“My dad will make sure you’re okay.” I can still hear the confidence and security in that little girl’s voice as she unbuttoned my coat.
Envy for even a fraction of the confidence that comes from a healthy father-daughter relationship pinches in my gut.
When I was a girl, my dad would never have helped a person in need, he would have walked right past an injured person while expecting someone else to take care of it. She doesn’t know how lucky she is.
Before I can feel worse about myself, I shake my head and meet her eyes. “Do you think my clothes will be ready after dinner? Maybe someone can give me a ride back to my hotel.”
Her eyebrows go up in surprise and as she takes a breath to respond, another deep voice answers from behind her, “The ice is too thick to drive on, no one is driving you anywhere today.”