by Natalie Dean
Oh.
Oh wow.
That had been about the last thing that Missy had expected, and she froze there, awkwardly positioned on her knees with her upper half crushed to the form of the man as he breathed raggedly into the side of her neck.
For the tiniest of breaths, she remained rigid, expecting an assault. But as that passed, she realized this wasn’t an effort to hold her down or take something from her. This was the desperate hold of someone who had thought that he had hurt her, someone who was more scared of the potential of what he could have done to her than anything else.
Carefully, her arms came up and encircled him too. Or encircled what they could. Geez, this Miller son was big. Obviously, she had always been able to tell that he was built before, but she guessed she had underestimated just how solid he was until she was pressed up against him.
Was it wrong to feel slightly distracted by the musculature pressing into her? The man was cut like a Greek statue, however, this didn’t really feel like the time to focus on that. But with his strong arms pressing her to his firm body as if she was his last lifeline, it was difficult not to notice.
She blamed the town. Ever since she hit puberty and got a certain reputation from her body deciding to hit the gas pedal in the bust and hips category, she’d learned that the boys—and then men—that she interacted with normally wanted a singular thing. And that wasn’t a relationship. Or some sort of fairy tale romance. No, it was something much more carnal than that.
As a result, she didn’t really date, and she certainly hadn’t been held like this in a very, very long time. Like she was the last bit of shelter in a storm, and the man in her arms was barely holding on.
The moments passed, and the man seemed to come to himself, his muscles stiffening even further—which she had definitely thought wasn’t possible—as he probably realized that he was clinging to a woman he had just almost killed. Slowly, he sat back, and for the first time, Missy got an up-close view of what he looked like when he was fully aware.
Wow. He was handsome. But so handsome that it bordered on pretty. He had a strong, masculine face with that classic Miller jaw and a defined, regal nose. His lips were entirely too kissable, and his green eyes were framed with lashes that were entirely unfair. In fact, the only thing that kept him from looking like some Hollywood hunk was the tortured expression on his face.
“I hurt you,” he whispered, his voice as ragged as his breathing.
Missy nodded. Denying it would have been an insult to his intelligence, and she could tell from the way his eyes moved over her, taking inventory of her injuries, that he was not a stupid man.
“Yes. But I’m here, and I’m okay.”
“I… I’m sorry,” he said flatly, seeming to deflate with his words.
She couldn’t blame him, what was he supposed to say? It wasn’t like there was an etiquette class that taught the right phrase to use after narrowly avoiding violently asphyxiating someone.
“It’s all right. You didn’t mean to,”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, however, because his face grew stormy.
“No. It’s not all right. I could have killed you.” A thousand thoughts seemed to flash across his face.
Missy felt a bit guilty. If she didn’t have her savior complex and hadn’t rushed out here in the middle of the night, he’d probably be fine. A good majority of the situation was probably her fault.
But… what if he had accidentally hurt someone else? His mother, or a worker? What if he had fallen into a pond? Or mishandled a tool? She didn’t think she was sorry, even if the situation hadn’t exactly turned out for the best yet.
“But you didn’t. Besides, maybe that’s what I get for sneaking up on you.”
His eyes widened at that, and she guessed he finally put together the part where she wasn’t really supposed to be on their land.
“Why are you even here?”
She shrugged. “It’s stupid.”
He remained quiet, staring at her so unnervingly that she eventually continued. She figured it might as well be now or never. After being nearly strangled, it wasn’t like she was going to be able to skulk around at work under the radar.
“Look, I know what’s going on with you, and I have an inkling of why you might want to keep it away from your family. So, if you’d let me, I’d like to help.”
11
Bart
Bart stared at the woman crouched in front of him, her knees damp from the wet grass. It felt like thousands of emotions were flooding through him, building on and mixing up in each other until they were a confusing mess.
There was adrenaline, of course. He always felt vaguely nauseous and panicky after coming out of one of his night terrors. And then there was confusion. How did he know if this was the real world? Sometimes the line between reality and the strange hellscape that was his brain was so blurry that it was hard to distinguish what was real and what was some strange illusion.
Thankfully, there was relief there too, seeping in at the peripherals of his mind, reminding him that he hadn't killed her. He hadn’t crossed that line.
However, that relief was quickly tainted when he realized that he could see the red marks around her neck from where his hands had gripped her so forcefully, and that made his stomach heave several times.
One of the only ways he had been able to get through the days lately was the fact that he had never actually hurt anyone. Although he had come close so many times, like that incident with his Ma and the ax—he hadn’t laid hands on someone since his first time in the hospital. Now that he was looking at this strange, bedraggled, and yet entirely beautiful woman who almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the night, he couldn't help but feel suffocated by his guilt.
The marks of his weakness were on her skin, red and angry and quickly bruising. Her skin was marred by the brokenness that lingered inside of him. He felt panic rising up in him again.
He was supposed to protect people. He was supposed to be a man. Men didn’t hurt innocent women and—
His eyes looked over her for possibly the fifth time in as many seconds, drinking in as many details as he could. It was like she was an anchor, pulling him into the now and holding him there. Telling him that this was real, this was tangible. The screams and the dark couldn’t reach him here, as bizarre as the situation was.
But what he hadn't noticed before were the bright fuzzy pink socks on her feet, the only bright pop of color in her casual clothes. They were the same style as the ones that had been on him when he had awoken that strange morning in the family room.
Bart looked back to her, to her bloodshot eyes, to the grass in her hair, and the tear tracks down her cheeks. He looked at her like she was some alien come to life because at that moment, it felt like she was. What kind of human snuck out in the middle of the night to help a man nearly twice her size fight against his nightmares? No one that he knew.
“Who are you?” he asked incredulously, taking her in.
It was then that his mind supplied that he had seen her before. On the farm. She had been the buxom woman who had been cleaning out the stalls. The one that had disappeared when they made eye contact. That had bothered him at the time, making him wonder if his illness had become such common knowledge that even a new worker was aware, but he was beginning to think that maybe it had been another reason entirely.
“My name is Missy Dominic. I’m one of the workers here on the Ranch.”
“And your duties are staying after hours and wrangling a would-be murderer?” he asked cautiously.
He didn’t know how to act in this situation. While things had been dangerous from time to time overseas, he almost always knew what to do. There were protocols and training. There were rules of engagement.
Here, in the real world with a strange woman staring at him, his handprints on her like he was some kind of beast, there was no rhyme or reason. He felt like he couldn’t even tell which way was up.
“No,” sh
e blushed a bit, and if it had been any other situation, he might have thought the color looked pretty on her sun-kissed skin. “That kind of happened on accident.”
“How does that happen on accident?”
Good, put the questions on her. Then he wouldn’t have to think for a moment. He could just intake information.
Her cheeks colored further. “Well, back on that first night, I couldn’t get any sleep. And I remembered that there was a hill here with such a great view of the sky and I thought I’d be able to do some amazing star-gazing.”
He swallowed, looking up. Oh yeah, there were stars out. They were pretty, in a way that seemed entirely removed from his situation. Maybe she really was an alien.
“You do that often?”
“Not as often as I’d like. I, uh, have a thing for constellations and stuff. I like the cosmos, makes everything else feel…not so important.”
“And that’s a good thing?”
“Yeah, you know, when the world is feeling like it’s closing in and every little thing seems like the absolute worst. I can look up at the stars and I know that, in comparison, everything that’s bothering me really doesn’t mean much of anything.”
Huh. He had never thought of it that way.
“And so, you were out here, looking at the stars, when I stumbled across you?”
“Yeah, that’s basically what happened.”
“Did I—” he had to stop to take a breath. It felt like his mind was whirring, trying to keep up with everything. His worst fears were happening, and yet there was a woman in front of him telling him that it was all right. She was talking to him like he was a normal, everyday guy and not someone who’d just been squeezing the life out of her.
His stomach throbbed again. He had really been about to kill her, hadn’t he? What would have happened if she hadn’t managed to slug him a couple of times on the side of his head? How close had he come to hurting a civilian?
“Hey, you there?” she leaned in a little, her face coming closer to his. That pulled him out of the whirlwind in his head, and he blinked at her.
“I’m here,” he answered quietly.
“All right. Good. And so you know, you didn’t hurt me. You let me guide you back home and get you inside, and that was that. I was hoping that this would be similar.” She grimaced. “Obviously it wasn’t.”
“Why?” he asked, still not understanding her. Although he may have been out of his mind, he knew what era they were living in. How dangerous it could be for a woman to be out alone with a strange man. “Why would you ever risk that?”
Another shrug. “It seemed like the right thing to do. You were in pain, and I was there to help. It wasn’t like I was trying to psychoanalyze you or anything, which I’m not qualified to do. I was just getting you home.”
“A lot of people wouldn’t consider that a ‘just’ kind of thing.”
He couldn’t get her. He found his brain urgently trying to take in every detail of her. She was just as curvy as he had originally thought, but there was a strength to her too. A solidness to her arms and back and thighs, along with that alluring womanly shape that once upon a time had been quite a distraction to Bart.
He remembered before, when he almost seemed to be another person, how he loved to flirt with the best of them. He had a series of girlfriends, nothing serious like his older brother with his high school sweetheart, but fun little flings with plenty of kissing and holding, and maybe a little bit of feeling up where he wasn’t supposed to as a godly young man. He was nothing like his youngest brother, Bryant, who was the definition of a cat on the town, but he wasn’t a pious schoolboy either.
“I guess I’m not like most people.”
Her voice brought his attention back to her visage. She had a heart-shaped face, with big eyes and full, cupid-like lips. She reminded him of a librarian, but perhaps in more of an adult-video sort of way than any actual, blue-haired keeper of books.
“Are you seeing a doctor?”
Her question reminded him that it took two to make a conversation, and he swallowed once more before answering.
“I am.”
He still was trying to puzzle it all out. Why had she helped him? Why was she still here? Why was she acting so calm? Even though it had only been a few minutes since he had come to, he could already see the print around her neck darkening.
“Is what they’re doing working for you?”
What a bizarre question to ask. Her eyes were getting more bloodshot, and he could still hear a roughness to her voice.
Obviously, therapy wasn’t working for him.
Yet he found himself giving a more coherent answer. “We’re trying different treatments,” he said slowly. “I’ve gotten better in a lot of ways, with some symptoms fading, but the night terrors are obviously still a thing.”
She nodded, her hazel eyes looking him over. But he still didn’t see terror written across her features. Why wasn’t she scared? She should be scared. Right?
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Talk about it? What? Who was this woman? Yeah, he knew her name and that she was a worker, but none of it was really computing. She looked young. Weren’t there options for her in town? It was rare for a young woman not involved in the family or farm originally to come out to the ranch.
“No,” he said simply, and she seemed to take that for that, not pressing him for answers.
“Okay then. Do you wanna get off the ground?”
Right. They were still both kneeling on the ground, the damp soaking into their knees. The cool wind was beginning to chill him, and if he was cold, he was sure that she must be really cold.
“Sure. That sounds like a good idea.”
He stood carefully, offering her a hand. She looked from it to him, and he realized that his hand might not have some good associations for her after what happened, but after a beat, she still gripped it and allowed him to haul her up.
Once they were both on their feet, he found himself staring at her again. He had no idea what to do now. They were off the ground, but what did that mean? Where did they go from here?
“Should we get you inside?” Missy asked, wiping the dirt from her hands off on her thighs.
“Yeah. That would probably be wise.”
It felt like the world had been ripped out from under him, and he couldn’t help but think that something was wrong. So very wrong. This woman wasn’t reacting right, and it was making him feel confused.
“You coming?” she asked, already taking a couple of steps away.
Bart swallowed, trying to center himself. His therapist had told him that breathing slowly, counting with each inhale and exhale could help him, so he tried that.
They walked in silence, and it seemed that she was just as awkward as he was. The conversation was done, with not a single word spoken by the time they reached his front door. But there was nothing uncomfortable about the silence.
“Well, here you are,” she said.
“Here I am,” he responded slowly.
Her eyes went from him to the door, to the sky then the ground, before repeating the whole cycle over again.
He may not have known her that well, but he could tell that she wanted to say something. “What?”
If she took offense to his monosyllabic questions and answers, she didn’t say. Instead, she blushed again and heaved a sigh. “Look. I, uh, I know that I’m not really supposed to be here after hours, and I might be breaking a rule and all, so I’d be real appreciative if you didn’t tell anyone about it. Ya know, keep this between you and me?”
He couldn’t help it; he stared at her as if she had grown another head. Because to him, it seemed exactly like that. He had almost just killed this woman, and definitely caused her bodily harm, but she was asking him to not tell anyone.
Was she crazy? He knew at least a hundred other people who would have used this opportunity to either sue the pants off his family or try to blackmail him. It was one of the reasons why he w
anted them to put him away. Every moment he was out on his own, he was a risk to the ones he loved.
But this woman, with her blond hair, and womanly figure and too-knowing eyes didn’t seem to care about that. Was this a trick? It had to be a trick, right?
“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” Bart said.
She smiled gratefully at that. “Well, I mean you can tell, like, your therapist if you need. But I’d ask you to leave it at that.”
His mouth was going dry the longer he stood there in the night, the anxiety churning within him. “I can do that.”
“All right. Awesome. Good night then. If that’s possible.”
“Good night.”
Somehow his body took him through the doorway, leading him to the large bay window in the sitting room. He watched her as she crossed to her vehicle, her shoulders back and her strides certain. She slipped into the truck like she hadn’t almost just met her maker, and once more their gaze connected as she turned her head to look back at the house.
That moment sat for a while, his heart thundering in his chest before she threw her car into gear and headed out. He watched her until even her taillights weren’t visible, before drifting to his room.
He didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know what to feel. When his mind came back to him enough to look around his surroundings, he saw that his clock said it was two in the morning. He knew that she started her day quite early with all the other muckrakers, so he wondered if she would call in sick.
Goodness knew she deserved a break. He resolved to try to keep an eye on things tomorrow and make sure she didn’t get punished for taking a day off so soon into her hiring. He had only seen her around the ranch once, so she could only be a couple of weeks into her employment.
Settling into bed, he was surprised to find himself sagging into the mattress. He supposed it was just him coming off the adrenaline and shock, but still, he found the idea of sleep terrifying.
What if he did something again? What if he somehow hurt someone else?
He didn’t know, and he certainly didn’t get any answers from his ceiling. Instead, he drifted off, wondering about that strange woman and if she would ever show up to work again.