Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Waking in a soft, warm bed feels like hitting a lottery. I can’t remember the last time I was so comfortable. I tap the touch lamp beside the bed and look at the clock in the dim glow. Six a.m. I slept like a rock for almost ten hours.
My mouth is dry and I guzzle down the glass of water I left on the nightstand, then lie back. The house is quiet, other than the low hiss of the radiator, and a random creak or pop of wood as the wind tries to find its way inside.
What’s Troy waking up to? Is he waking up at all?
Tears fill my eyes and I blink them away.
I can’t think about that. The brutal truth is if they’re going to kill him, they already have.
They’d either do it quick to blame him for Nolan’s death, or they’ll cover up the death and keep him working while they hunt for me.
I’m in trouble, deep trouble, but for the next few days at least, there’s nothing I can do for either of us. It’s a hard thing to accept, but letting the fear and worry overwhelm me isn’t going to help. I know my plan, but it’s on pause for now.
In the meantime, I’m going to try to enjoy the things I can like this warm bed.
Troy taught me to find joy in little comforts because for some of us, that’s all we’re going to get.
Pleasure can be a quiet rebellion, even if it’s just a good book read under the covers or an iced tea on a warm night.
I’m going to start with a hot bath in that tub.
Snow still falls heavily outside the window, making it hard to tell how much is on the ground.
It’s a world of white. The pipes bang a little when I turn on the faucet and the sound of the water running is loud in the silence.
I hope I’m not waking Alex. I peruse the small shelf of books and choose a battered VC Andrews paperback.
I find body wash, shampoo, and conditioner in the cabinet, along with a washcloth and towel. The guest room door doesn’t have a lock, but the bathroom does, so I bring my clothes in with me. The water is almost too hot to bear which suits me just fine, and I sink down, letting it cover my breasts.
I spend a glorious half hour soaking and reading before I wash and reluctantly get out. I should keep a list of good things that happen to me to tell Troy. Number one, a hot bath.
There’s a small hair dryer under the sink that I use to blow dry my hair before putting it up in a ponytail.
The clothes from Alex’s sister fit me okay.
They’re definitely better than the rags in my bag.
Dressed in loose jeans and a sweatshirt, I quietly make my way downstairs.
The house is dark, but I can hear the faint sound of a shower running. Alex is awake.
The least I can do after he let me stay here is make breakfast. His fridge is stuffed full of food.
He wasn’t kidding when he said he prepared for the storm.
You could feed an army for a month. I’m not sure what he likes but omelets seem like a safe bet.
I pull out a green pepper and an onion along with some ham and eggs.
While the pan warms up, I gaze out the kitchen window.
The wind lets up for a few seconds, just enough to give me a glimpse of the car. At least part of it. It’s buried up to the windows. “Holy shit,” I breathe.
Alex’s chuckle from behind me makes me jump.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He stands in the doorway wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt.
His hair is damp and he shoves it back off his forehead with his hand.
He steps up closer to get a better look out the window.
“Holy shit is a good assessment of the situation. I’ve never seen this much snow. ”
“And it’s still coming down,” I point out. “I thought I’d make us some omelets for breakfast?”
“That sounds good. I like lots of peppers in mine.” He strides over to start the coffee maker. “How did you sleep?”
“Great. The bed’s very comfortable.” Miles above a mat on the floor.
“Good.” He dumps food into Clover’s bowl, and she tears into the kitchen, her feet scrabbling against the tile.
“Now don’t act like I never feed you just because we have company,” he teases, then glances at me.
“Don’t let her convince you to give her a taste of table food.
She has a sensitive stomach. Every time I give in, I regret it. ”
“I won’t,” I promise. “But I can see how that face is hard to resist.”
By the time we sit down to eat, the awkwardness of the situation we’re in feels like it’s fading fast. We talk over breakfast and get to know each other a little.
Guilt coats everything I’m doing because Troy’s stomach isn’t full.
He didn’t sleep in a warm bed last night.
If he were here with me like he should be, this would feel like a dream vacation instead of a survival situation.
Still, for the first time since I was a kid, I’m not worried about what the next hour will bring.
Goats. That’s what the next hour brings.
Adorable, furry, mischievous goats that keep a smile on my face.
The walk to the barn isn’t fun. It’s a full body blast of snow and wind, but the coat and boots Alex loaned me help.
The barn is heated and the blizzard becomes a dull roar once Alex swings the large door closed behind us.
“They’re so cute!” I exclaim, as he steps into the pen with the goats. “Can I pet them?”
“Sure. Just watch out for that one.” He points to a golden red one with black stripes on its face. “She’s an asshole.”
Sure enough, as soon as he starts spreading hay along one area, that goat rams two smaller ones out of the way to get to it.
The others also crowd in immediately, jostling and bleating, as he delivers hay to a second feeding area.
There’s more than enough to go around, but the way they react makes me laugh, especially when I see a white one with tan markings snatch the hay right out of another’s mouth.
“They’re the cutest savages ever,” I exclaim.
I grab a handful of hay and hold it in front of one of the smaller goats, who’s struggling to fight through the others. She eats it right out of my hand. Then begins to nibble on my glove. “Whoa, there’s more. No need to eat me,” I laugh.
“Everything is food until proven otherwise as far as they’re concerned,” Alex says, filling up a water trough. “I rent them out as a yard service during the spring and summer. They’ll clear underbrush better than any machine.”
I scoop up a bigger bunch of hay and sit down. The goat instantly lies down in my lap, munching away while I pet her coarse fur.
Alex looks amused, smiling over at me. “She likes you. Keep spoiling her and she’ll want to go home with you.”
If only I was sure where home would be. I’d be lying if I said sticking her in my backseat for the rest of my fugitive road trip isn’t tempting. “I could think of worse roommates.”
Alex nods to the other side of the barn. The other half is a workshop, full of projects, wood, and tools. “I have a little work I’d like to get done. If you want to stay and visit them for a while.”
“Just come back for me at dark,” I joke, reaching to pet a black one who nuzzles up to me.
He laughs and leaves me to it, but he isn’t far away.
I spend an hour with the goats, watching them play and cuddling the more affectionate ones.
I can’t wait to tell Troy about them. Part of this almost feels like a dream.
Am I really sitting in a barn in nowhere Kentucky in the middle of a blizzard? Am I really free?
I know one thing. A whole world exists that I’ve been missing out on, full of good food, hot baths, and new experiences. So many unknown goats are still out there waiting to be petted. I’m not going back. They’ll have to kill me first.
Alex’s workshop is a treasure trove. He’s working on a small table when I brush the straw from my pants and wander over. “I’m almost done,” he says, “but the back door is unlocked if you’d like to go back inside. You don’t have to wait for me.”
“That’s okay. I’d love to watch if you don’t mind.” I lean over to get a closer look at a bookshelf that’s threaded with what looks like tree branches set right into the wood. “This is beautiful. Where did you learn to do this?”
“I learned the woodworking from my older brother, but the resin has just been trial and error.” He stirs a container of blue liquid then pours it into a shallow basin that runs the length of a thick slab of wood.
With a look of concentration, he guides it where he wants it to go then adds a line of white resin.
I watch in fascination as he lightly blows on it, mixing the edges of them together and thinning the white until it looks like waves. “You’re an artist,” I blurt out.
“I don’t know if I’d say that. I tried my hand at painting for a while, but I don’t have the skills or patience to learn it. This is much easier.” He stands up and wipes his hands with a rag. “Okay, that needs to dry. Ready to brave the blizzard again? I could use a second cup of coffee.”
I follow him, walking in his boot prints through the deep snow. We shed our coats and boots, then he starts the coffee maker and picks up the phone. After pressing the talk button a couple of times, he sighs and returns it to the cradle. “Well, the phone lines are down.”
He doesn’t sound the least bit alarmed but anxiety crawls over me. That means I’m cut off from any way of communicating. If we get stuck here for too long, I can’t call for help for me or Troy.
The tension must show on my face because he smiles at me. “It’s okay. I’m surprised they held up this long. My guys know we’re out here waiting. Would you like something to drink?”
There’s no way to describe how hard waiting is when every hour is another away from the man I love, another hour that I don’t know what’s happening to him. “No thank you. I think I’ll go look for those knitting supplies.”
I need something to distract me, and some time alone where I don’t have to pretend to be fine.