by Nella Tyler
She nodded. “Must have been. I was so upset I didn’t even look at it. It must have just gotten into my head without my realizing it, and that’s why I dreamed it. It was just a coincidence that it’s where you took me.”
Cole nodded and patted her thigh. “See? A logical explanation, after all. I told you there was nothing to be frightened of.”
“But…” she began.
They pulled up to his apartment building, and Cole quickly said, “We’ll discuss this upstairs.” He handed some bills over the seat to the driver and opened his door, pulling Gilda behind him. He took her inside and the doorman nodded, grinning inwardly that he’d been right. They always make up, he thought to himself.
As they emerged from the elevator on Cole’s floor, he pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her. “Gilda, I would never do anything to hurt you; don’t you know that? I’m your protector, in more ways than one. I took you there tonight because I thought you’d like the playful atmosphere. I had no idea all that would come of it.”
“I know,” she said, muffled against his chest.
He petted her hair, feeling its silkiness beneath his hand. “It was just a coincidence, and you’re overly emotional. Can we talk about this? Can we get to the bottom of what’s bothering you?”
She sniffed, unsure what to say.
“Look, go in and sit down. I’m going to the kitchen to get us some wine and a couple of sandwiches. Neither of us have eaten, and we need something to relax with. Go on, now. There’s a good girl,” he urged, patting her on the ass.
Gilda did as he asked, sitting on the end of the sofa with one of the cushions tightly held against her. She was shaking and still unnerved from the odd experience. Cole came in with a tray and held out a glass of wine.
She accepted it and curled into a tiny ball at the end of the sofa. He sat close to her, pulling her so she leaned against his chest. Like feeding a child, he broke off pieces of the cheese sandwiches he’d made and fed her in small bites, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin every few bites.
She liked how it felt, this coddling. She’d never had that before in her life. Cole was patient and caring, and it felt wonderful. She began to consider whether she had tagged him unfairly. Was it possible that he’d learned how not to behave from his rich father and friends? Could she be short-changing him?
“Now, let’s you and I have a talk,” he began once the last bite of sandwich was gone.
Gilda opened her mouth to protest, but she thought better of it and bid her time. Let him ask the questions to see how far he wants to take this, she told herself. She leaned into him harder, and he pulled a crocheted afghan off the arm of the sofa and covered her with it.
“Now then,” he began. “Tell me about Gilda Sawyer. I want to hear everything, from the day you were born up until the moment I sat down here next to you.”
She looked doubtful. “Most of it’s boring,” she cautioned him.
“Nothing about you is boring to me, sweetheart. So, start at the beginning…” he urged her. She wriggled her toes and considered where to begin.
Chapter 12
“Mama raised me alone,” she began. “She never would tell me who my daddy was, and I’m not altogether sure she even knew. She was like a late life flower child: full of sunshine and love long after it was no longer fashionable. Somewhere along the way, she’d picked up this little scratch farm. Wasn’t much. Oh, she put in a little garden, but between the weather and her wanting to play in the creek rather than weed and hoe it, well, it didn’t give us much in the way of food.
“She was always good to me — to everyone, really. She’s not bitter or mean, but don’t let that fool you. She can get real angry if she thinks someone is out to hurt her or me. She didn’t like Scott. No sir, not at all.”
“Scott? Who was that?” Cole was beginning to suspect this person, whoever he was, had something to do with Gilda’s exaggerated reactions to things.
She was quiet for a few moments, as if trying to arrange the words in an easy way to voice them. “I was married to Scott.”
Cole jerked. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t that. Gilda felt his movement and knew it had come as a bit of a shock.
“You didn’t know I was married, did you?”
“How could I since you never told me?” His voice was quiet and somber.
She felt the intimacy leave the room, and it frightened her. “Does that make a difference?”
He mused her question briefly and answered, “No, not really. I guess I just never considered you’d been married. It couldn’t have been for long; you’re not old enough.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She decided that the less she said, the less likely she was to get into trouble.
“How did you meet him?” It was a direct question, and he hoped she would fill in more information so he wouldn’t have to voice the questions.
“We went to the same school. Scott dropped out and got a job at the lumberyard. Nobody was surprised, really. He’d never been one to worry about getting into trouble, just sort of barreled through life, taking what he wanted.”
“And, were you one of the things he wanted?”
She nodded. “I guess so. He’d come by the house and honk his horn and call my name. He wouldn’t go away, and the neighbors didn’t like it. So, I’d have to go out and tell him to leave. But he wouldn’t leave unless I gave him a kiss. Always was stubborn that way.”
“And, how often did you kiss him?”
“Pretty near every day, I guess. At least, at first. He was a little older than me, and I thought it was really cool to date an older guy, you see?” She cocked her head around to look at him and realized by the look on his face that just maybe this story wasn’t having the same effect on him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she protested, trying to sit up.
“No.” He put his hand up in protest. “No, no, it’s fine. I asked.”
“Yes, you did,” she nodded and agreed.
“So, how did you come to marry him?”
She took a deep breath. “You have to remember, I was a young girl in a backwoods town, so any attention at all was rare and heady. His personality was strong, and he made me feel protected. He made the decision for the both of us, actually. I wasn’t given a lot of input.”
“How’s that?” Cole’s voice was just inquisitive, but Gilda heard suspicion; it was shades of Scott all over again. She could feel herself become defensive and begin to pull within herself.
“He was just a persuasive person.”
“In what way was he persuasive, Gilda?” He knew they were on the edge of something revealing, and he had suspicions what it could be. He had some familiarity with the ability to sidestep these touchy moments.
She didn’t answer.
“Was he kind to you?” Cole began the question gently.
“Sometimes,” she allowed.
“And the rest of the time?” he pressed, knowing he had to let that part of her life surface or they would never be able to entirely connect.
“Not so kind.” Her voice was so soft that he had to bend to hear her soft words.
“Did he beat you?”
She nodded.
“Did he rape you?”
She hesitated, but nodded again.
“Okay, I get where this is going. You’re safe, and I’m here now. This will never happen to you again, I promise you. You divorced him, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, I saved up bits of money until I could run away.”
“I see. Does he know where you are?”
“I’m not really sure. Maybe. I hired an attorney long distance and communications went through a girlfriend close to home.”
“How about your mother? Would she tell him?”
“I don’t know for sure. That’s why I haven’t talked to Mama since I left. She doesn’t know where I am, not really. She knows I’m in New York City and that I’m safe, but nothing more.”
“Does she have some
issue with you? Is she angry? Spiteful?”
He was narrowing in on her one vulnerability, and Gilda couldn’t let that happen. “Let’s change the subject, can we?”
“It’s okay. I won’t ask any more questions. I’m sorry. But, Gilda, you need to understand that I care about you very much, and you have to feel safe enough to trust me. You need to know you can talk to me about anything, including everything that happened with Scott. Will you remember that? Please?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to ask you a question now,” he continued. “And, I want you to understand that you are fully able to say ‘no’ and I won’t hold it against you or get angry in any way. I’m just feeling as though you need someone strong and protective right now. You’ve had a scary evening, and I’d hate to put you in a cab to go home alone.
“Will you stay with me tonight? I won’t touch you; you can lie on the other side of the king-sized bed and go right to sleep. I’ll give you a shirt of mine, and you have my word that I’ll leave you alone. Will you do that for me, Gilda?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.” She was protesting verbally, although in her heart, she wanted so badly to accept his offer.
“You have my word that I won’t lay a hand on you, Gilda. I care too much about you to force myself on you. I just want you to feel safe; to feel as though there is somewhere you can come and no one will harm you. If, at any time, you feel endangered, I’m laying the money for a taxi right here on the coffee table. You only have to get up, grab the money, and head downstairs. The doorman will call a cab or you.”
Gilda looked up at him and finally, she nodded. She knew Carson was safe, and she knew if she went home tonight, it would be hard to ever come back or to justify to herself why she didn’t stay in the first place. She had to learn to trust again — there was no question about that.
Cole stood and took her hand. They went back to his bedroom, where he folded down the quilted comforter and puffed the pillows against the headboard. He picked up two of the pillows and laid them, end to end, down the center of the bed. “See? I’ll even put a boundary. Just like in that old Cary Grant movie.”
She nodded. Cole went to his closet and pulled out a shirt. “Here you go. You’ll find towels, soap, and new toothbrushes in the linen closet. Take your time. I’m going to flip on the television and watch the news. I’ll be right here.”
Gilda smiled her thanks and went into the bathroom, where she readied for bed. Climbing out of the hot bath water, she looked at her mascara-stained face in the mirror and used cool water to dab it away. She had a brush in her purse and took extra time making her hair soft and shiny.
When she emerged, her clothes were folded neatly over her arm and she laid them, with her purse, on the padded bench at the foot of the bed. Cole pretended to watch the television, but she knew he was following her from the corner of his eye. She folded back the blanket and slid beneath, kicking her feet upward to loosen the blankets. “Never could stand for my feet to feel trapped,” she commented, and he nodded in acknowledgment.
“Are you ready to shut it down or would you like to watch some television?”
“Maybe a little TV; how about an old movie?” she asked demurely.
“Of course.” He lifted the remote and flipped to a channel that played movies from the ’40s and ’50s. There was a Tracy-Hepburn film on, which he thought would be innocent enough. He looked to her for approval, and Gilda nodded and smiled.
Cole turned back to watch the film, his mind reeling with what he’d learned that night. He felt extremely protective of Gilda, although they hadn’t known one another for long. He knew something about abuse and how toxic it could be to carry with you for the rest of your life.
He turned to ask her something and stopped short. Gilda’s eyes were closed and her soft, strawberry-blonde hair had fallen over her cheek. She was breathing gently, evenly, and he knew she had fallen asleep. It filled him with a mixture of emotions. On one hand, she felt safe enough to instantly relax and fall asleep, and on the other hand, she was extremely alluring, and he felt himself grow hard.
From his vantage, the shirt was opened just low enough that it sagged forward and revealed the curve of her full breast. He longed to reach over and gently run his finger over her nipple. He wanted to slowly unbutton the shirt, to smell her tender skin, to taste those nipples and what lay below.
With a sigh, he turned back to the movie, trying to take his mind off the sleeping siren at his side. He felt powerful and in charge, and he liked how that felt. As far as he was concerned, Gilda would never know another moment’s terror throughout her entire life. He would see to that.
He felt restless and didn’t want to wake her, so he carefully slid out from beneath the covers and went to stand at the long windows overlooking the pulsing city below. He knew his position as a cop would take him to many of the alleys and dead ends in the less desirable parts of town. He knew he would be in danger and that the odds of him getting injured, or worse, were high.
He asked himself whether he had the right to bring a woman into his life at this point? What if something did happen to him? What if he wasn’t able to protect her the way he wanted to? Being a cop’s wife was a rough life. He was frequently gone, always on alert, and always in danger. Was it fair of him to even think of putting Gilda back into a lifestyle that would be so intense?
A part of him said that she would be his incentive to stay alive. Another part suggested that he would be kinder to send her away now, before she fell in love with him. To end this now would save her from a lifetime of worry, perhaps even tragedy. Did he have the right to ask that of her? Did he have the right to ask that of any woman?
Frustrated, he turned away from the window and decided to make himself a cup of tea, hoping it would settle his mind and allow him to sleep. As he passed by the foot of the bed, Gilda stirred. In a sleepy, semi-conscious voice she queried, “Carson?”
Cole froze. Who is Carson? His stomach flopped, and his heart felt crushed. Who would she cry out for in her sleep but someone she trusted and perhaps even loved? Was he a cop? Was he perhaps even a husband? Whomever he was, she wanted him, and Cole grew cold inside at the thought of it. He continued on his path to the kitchen, stopping long enough to flip off the television with the remote.
Cole made himself the cup of tea and settled on the sofa in the darkness, the skyline of the city lighting the room to define his outline. He sipped slowly, fighting his emotions. His fingers tapped his thigh unconsciously. He realized he was mentally deeper into this relationship than he’d thought. How could she already inspire protectiveness, and even jealousy — all without so much as an offered kiss?
“Cole?” He swung around and there she stood, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and yet draping beneath her hands. Her hair was tousled, and her cheeks flushed from her recent bath and the short nap she’d had. He could see the imprint of the pillow’s binding on her cheek. She looked, for all the world, like a small child who’d had a bad dream and was looking for solace.
His heart melted, and he acted without thought. He held his arms out, and she took quick steps and crawled into his lap. He folded his arms around her, pulling the afghan over the both of them.
“Shhh…” he whispered and kissed the top of her head. “I’ve got you, baby. Cole is here now. I’m going to look after you. I swear.”
She nodded sleepily and burrowed closer against his chest. He sat there with her for a long time, his thoughts softening as he felt her warmth through the cotton of his shirt. He acknowledged that whatever happened, whoever Carson was and whether Scott could ever find her again, he had already taken on the job as her protector. Even if it meant sacrificing his own heart’s security. And why not? Who better for the job?
Sometime in the night, he laid her back on her side of the bed and slid beneath the covers on his side. With a sigh, he rolled over and went to sleep.
Chapter 13
Cole awakened the next m
orning, groggy from having had such little sleep. As memories returned, he reached instinctively for Gilda, but there was nothing but a pillow with a note to be found; all it offered was a simple thank you. The covers were neatly pulled up and tucked beneath the pillow.
He rolled from the bed and went into the living room, hoping against hope that he’d find her sipping coffee. Instead, the room was empty and the money for taxi fare still lay on the table.
With a heavy heart, Cole went into the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee and some sausages with eggs. He wished Gilda had stayed long enough that they could’ve talked about what had gone on the night before. It was Sunday, and beginning tomorrow, he would have to be at the training center early. He expected the training to be grueling and knew there would be little time for socializing. He had hoped to settle things more with Gilda before he started.
He reached for his phone with the intention of calling her, but put it back down, deciding instead to wait to see if she would call him. He knew there was a point where he must stop pushing and she must begin coming toward him. That was the way trust was expressed; that was the way relationships began. They couldn’t be all one way.
At three in the afternoon, he still hadn’t heard from her. To hell with it, he told himself. He tapped her number on his phone and listened to it ring four times before it went to voicemail. He wondered whether she was busy or whether she was, instead, avoiding his calls. He tried again at four, and one last time at seven in the evening with the same result. After that, he needed to go to bed. Miserable and feeling lonely, he climbed beneath the covers and wondered when he would see her again.
***
Gilda sat on her sofa and pretended to crochet some old yarn she had found in the top of her bedroom closet. It kept her hands busy. Carson was lying on the floor in front of her, watching an old Western movie. Her thoughts were on anything but the movie.
Cole had been true to his word. He had not touched her, just as he promised. She remembered waking and looking over to find him gone. Climbing from the bed, she had gone into the living room and saw him silhouetted against the city lights. She was lonely and frightened, even disoriented. She had gone to him, and he had welcomed her with open arms.