Betrayed

by Wodke Hawkinson

  “Oh, Lance. I appreciate that more than you can know. Please don’t let my sadness push you into making unwise decisions. They’re people of strong faith and they won’t give up hope.”

  She wiped a tear away, and looked over at Lance, watched his hands as he transferred the meat to a roasting pan.

  “Do you ever get lonely?” she asked softly. He seemed surprised by the question, and pondered it for a moment.

  “No,” he said. “Not really. At least I don’t think so. How about you?”

  “Well, I’m married,” Brook said.

  “I know.”

  She cocked her head slightly and then nodded.

  “I guess marriage isn’t a sure antidote to loneliness,” she admitted. “In fact, the last year I have been lonely. Clark is a hard worker, away a lot of the time. We haven't been as close lately as we used to be.”

  “How about friends?” Lance asked as he took the potatoes from her and rinsed them.

  “No, not many. Not any, actually. Well, I do like Lizzy from the club, but we don’t do a lot together. And my best friend, Beth, lives back in Kansas. I’m really not close to any of the other women I know. But maybe loneliness has more to do with a person’s state of mind than whether they’re with anyone.”

  “I think that’s true,” Lance said. He wondered if he would be lonely once Brook left. He could so easily get used to her presence. Not that it mattered. She’d be leaving come spring if not sooner, depending on the weather, and he’d be wise to remember that. He placed the potatoes in the pan with the meat.

  “It’s not that I mind being alone,” Brook said. “I don’t want you to think I need someone around me twenty-four seven.”

  “I didn’t think that,” Lance said. “But being around you twenty-four seven sounds like a pretty good gig to me.” She blushed from the compliment. He pretended not to notice as he opened a can of creamed soup and poured it over the meat and potatoes. Reaching above his head, he pulled an onion from a hanging bunch. Deftly, he peeled, sliced, and added it to the pan, before covering it with foil. Opening the oven with a folded towel, he slid the pan inside.

  “We’ll be eating supper rather late tonight,” he remarked, changing the subject. “Hope we can stave off our appetites until its ready.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I can wait,” Brook answered.

  “I have a few things I need to do but I’ll be done by the time the food is ready to come out.”

  “Do you mind if I heat some water?” Brook asked. “I’d like to take a sponge bath.”

  “I want you to make yourself at home for as long as you’re here,” Lance answered, as he walked to the curtained doorway. “Feel free to help yourself to anything you need.” He smiled at her before he raised the curtain and stepped through.

  Brook awkwardly brought a kettle of water to a boil and then found it was too large for her to lift. Using a ladle, she spooned water into a couple of smaller containers she could easily carry into the bathroom.

  Kneeling over the tub and using a mixture of hot water from the pans and cold water from the pump to fill a pitcher, she washed and rinsed her hair. Next, she sat in the bottom of the tub and using a wash cloth, soaped herself, shaved her legs and under her arms and then rinsed from the pitcher.

  Cleaning between her legs proved to be nearly painless and she mused over the resilience of the human body. Out of water now, she stood and dried. Glancing in the mirror she was pleased to find most her bruises gone. There was still one tender spot on her head but it was much improved. She finger-styled her hair and nodded approval at her reflection. She was clean and, in her opinion, she didn’t look too bad. Now if she could only quit feeling so dirty. If she could only heal her mind.

  Brook tidied the bathroom. Once finished, she moved back to the stove and heated a smaller pan of water so she could soak her feet.

  As Brook went about her ablutions, Lance worked in his shop. He concentrated on his project, applying his skills with the utmost care. This was a job he didn’t want to botch. Finally, he returned to the kitchen, surreptitiously slipping a cloth-wrapped bundle onto one of the nearby shelves.

  Taking a peek into the oven and inhaling deeply he commented, “Smells ready.” He glanced at Brook. “Are you done soaking?”

  Brook pulled her feet from the pan and Lance moved to pick it up. "Umm, you smell good," he said, inhaling deeply. "And your hair looks really nice." He lifted the pan, took it to the tub and dumped it, and washed his hands. Returning to the kitchen he pulled the meal from the oven as Brook dried her feet and slipped on clean socks.

  “Hold on a second,” Lance said, arresting Brook’s moves. “I have something for you.” He took the bundle from the shelf and hid it behind his back before approaching Brook. With a flourish, he whipped off the wrapping and presented her with a pair of handmade shoes. Her hands trembled as she took them from him.

  “Oh,” she whispered. “They’re gorgeous. Did you make these?”

  “Yes, I did,” he said. “I figured there was no way you could tromp around in my clodhoppers, and socks just aren’t warm enough on this stone floor, so I thought I’d put together a pair of moccasins for you. They’re lined in rabbit fur, so they’re extra soft. They should be easy on your feet. You know, for when you’re ready to do some walking.”

  Brook hugged them to her chest. They were rich camel-colored on the outside, the interiors plush and supple with thick fur. “When did you do this?” she asked, amazed anew at the skills this man possessed.

  “Oh, I've been working on them here and there, mostly while you were sleeping.”

  “You’re kidding! You amaze me. Thank you, Lance,” she said, her eyes moist.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “Here, let me help you. Let’s see if they fit.”

  With extraordinary care, he eased one of her feet into a moccasin.

  “I feel just like Cinderella,” Brook smiled.

  “Well, these aren’t glass slippers,” Lance quipped.

  “No, they’re better. Glass slippers wouldn’t be very practical up here in the mountains.”

  Lance slid on the other shoe. They embraced her feet in cushioned warmth, a perfect fit. She took a few tentative steps across the stone floor, then walked slowly around the daybed. Her tender feet made their usual objections known, with darts of pain and soreness, but it was so much easier to walk with the shoes on.

  “I love them,” she announced. “I just love them.” To have real shoes again was a luxury, something she had always taken for granted. To have shoes made especially for her by gentle caring hands was exquisite. She wasn’t sure which helped more, the shoes themselves or the fact that he cared enough to make them. Now she had three things. Brook was beginning to feel the pride of ownership once more, and all over a tiny tree, a pair of shoes, and her old beat up purse. While walking, she made a pass by the sink and washed her hands, readying for supper. She padded over to the table.

  “Well, good then,” Lance said, reaching out a hand to steady her as she sat back down on the bench. “I’m glad.”

  Brook wished she had something to give Lance. She determined that she would give him some kind of cash reward once she got out of this. He had been so kind to her and all she had done in return was twist his life around, cause him extra work and inconvenience. Remembering their previous conversations, she realized that cash meant nothing to this man. He had plenty of money, buried out here somewhere. Then Brook had an idea. She would surprise him with a meal one of these times when he went out. She could cook. Even though she hadn’t done much in the kitchen for years, there was a time when she could turn out a pretty good meal. With that decision made, Brook could hardly wait to try it. Lance would be so surprised when he came in from his chores to find a meal already prepared. She smiled.

  Lance smiled back. He was happy, he realized. How strange. It’s odd to suddenly discover you’re happy right in the middle of a moment. Usually, you don’t recognize happiness until it’s over and you’r
e looking back on it.

  The warm glow stayed with him throughout their meal.

  Afterwards, he pushed their dishes aside and said, “I’ll clean up later. I thought you might like a tour of my humble abode, if you’re up to a little exploring. Think your feet can handle it?” He rose from the bench and came over to her side.

  “Let’s give it try,” Brook said. Her natural curiosity was coming back, and she wanted to see what was behind the curtain. She stood and Lance offered her his arm.

  “The first time I tried to tell you about my cold pantry, you couldn’t have been less interested. Maybe you could bear with me this time while I brag a little. I’m really quite impressed with myself for the way it turned out.”

  “I guess I don’t remember the first time you tried to show it to me,” she said.

  “That’s because you were busy planning your ‘great escape’.” Lance smiled down at her and she felt her heart do a small flip. They walked to the kitchen and he opened the pantry door. Icy air rolled over them as he explained the principle behind the design of the cold storage. “By keeping the walls really thin, it stays pretty damn cold in there. And it’s bigger than almost any refrigerator on the market, except for maybe industrial ones.” She admired the small room, honestly impressed with not only his handiwork, but also with the amount of food stored there. “It’s a good feeling having this thing full, I can tell you that,” he said. She understood his sentiments exactly. She too found comfort in the sight of its well-stocked shelves.

  He closed the door and led her past the stove and sink area to the curtained doorway. “You haven’t seen my bedroom or workroom yet. I think you’ll find them interesting.”

  “You have a bedroom?” Brook paused outside the curtain. “I thought I was sleeping in your bed.”

  “I should be so lucky,” Lance murmured, only half-kidding. At the shocked look on Brook’s face, he quickly said, “I’m sorry. That was totally inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  Brook gathered her composure. Yes, she had been shocked. But not outraged, just taken by surprise. It had been a while since a man had openly flirted with her. Feeling reckless, she tossed her head and looked him in the eye.

  “Why not?” she challenged. “Didn’t you mean it?”

  Now, Lance was surprised. He stammered a bit before she let him off the hook with a grin. “I can tease, too,” she said. “Don’t worry so much, Lance. I can handle a little good-natured banter now and again.” He exhaled his relief. So, it was okay after all if he joked with her. Trouble was; he wasn’t entirely joking.

  “Anyway, it’s good to know you have a bed. I pictured you sleeping on a pallet in a walk-in closet or something. I felt really guilty for taking your bed. And other times, I thought you had been sitting around in that closet in order to give me some privacy.”

  Lance laughed lightly. “No need for guilt,” he said. “I have a very comfortable room and a big soft bed of my own with plenty of warm blankets. You’ll see; come on.”

  He held the curtain back for her. She entered his bedroom, Lance right behind her.

  “Wait right here,” he told her. She stared into the shadows until he turned up the lantern on the bedside table. He then reached up and pressed a button on the battery powered ceiling lamp and the shadows fled.

  “Wow,” she said as her eyes took in the tree trunk stretching from floor to ceiling in the corner of the room. “I mean wow. What else is there to say?”

  “I didn’t want to remove the tree, so I built around it.”

  Lance’s bed sat under a shuttered window, the tree on one side and a small nightstand on the other. The mattress was covered in a beautiful quilt that featured the same strong colors as the rugs in the living area.

  “That blanket is gorgeous!” Brook exclaimed.

  “Thanks,” Lance said. “I got it from the same lady who sells my jewelry and sculptures. Handmade by a local craftswoman. She does fine work. I like to buy stuff from Denise whenever I can, and keep money in the local economy as much as possible. The Outpost is a great venue for Colorado artists, potters, and other crafters.”

  “Sounds like a shop I would like,” Brook said, still looking around. A couple of books sat on the nightstand next to the lantern, and several pegs on the wall held some of Lance’s outerwear. He turned her gently, and she noticed a small open closet built into the wall behind her. One side had shelves that held folded clothes and bedding, and the other had a short clothes rod with more clothing hanging from it. Several pairs of shoes lined the floor of the small space.

  Lance’s room was plain and unadorned except for a high shelf on one wall with more books, and a couple of guns mounted on racks under that. Even as austere as it was, she found it cozy and full of his presence.

  “You built this room?” she gave him a look of admiration.

  “I did. The cabin was originally just one room. I added on these extra rooms.”

  “I have to say I’m impressed. It’s very nice, Lance.” She was so absorbed; she had almost forgotten her sore feet for a few minutes.

  “Thanks, Brooklyn.” He couldn’t help but be a little proud as he showed her around. He offered her his arm again and she took it gratefully. There was enough room to walk around the bed, and not much more. On the other wall was another door. Lance escorted her through that doorway into a larger room. Again he had her wait by the door while he lit some lanterns. To her delight, this room also had a tree growing through it about midway along one wall. There were more shuttered windows here and the rough walls were stained a light color, making it much brighter than the rest of the cabin. Cabinets lined one wall and a generous sized worktable took up the center, its surface holding some sketches, a few tools, and a metal project in the making. A small square wood stove squatted in one corner radiating warmth, and a tall stool sat next to one side of the workbench.

  “Tools and materials in those.” Lance gestured to the cabinets. “This is where I do most of my work, so I designed it to have more light. You’ll have to come see it in the daytime.”

  “I will,” she promised. She turned to him. “I love your home, Lance. It’s really hard to find words, but it’s so unique. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a sanctuary, like a warm comforting cocoon. It envelopes me.”

  Lance stared down at her, meeting her earnest upturned eyes, and let his gaze wander over her. He drank in the curve of her face, the blush on her cheeks, and the fullness of her lips. The urge to kiss her came over him and she leaned toward him as if she shared the feeling. Time lingered in the moment and his pulse picked up. Brook closed her eyes, and Lance almost gave in. He was so close to actually doing it, he could almost feel her lips on his. At the last second, he settled for putting an arm around her shoulders. She sighed, telling herself she had misread the moment. She leaned against him and he led her back to the living room, seated her on the rocking chair, and then returned to the back rooms to put out the lights.

  Once in the privacy of his bedroom, he stood against the wall for a few minutes. He was suffused with the aftermath of the emotion he had just experienced. It felt good and bad at the same time, but more good than bad. He put his hand to his eyes and rubbed them, took a deep breath, and let it out. Calmer, he returned to the living area where he found Brook with a book in her hands.

  Lance started some water heating, and then turned on the radio. “I’m going to wash up these dishes,” he told her.

  “Not without my help,” she asserted.

  “Oh, really!” he grinned at her. “Well, I’m not going to argue with someone who sounds that determined. How about you wash and I’ll dry?”

  “It’s a deal,” she said as she laid her book aside and got up. Her feet complained a bit, but she ignored the discomfort and walked to the counter. They worked companionably, chatting while the music played in the background. Every so often they brushed against each other or their hands would touch, and the air around them was full and ripe with the promise of
desire that they both tried to ignore.

  Shortly after, they went to bed and each fell asleep in separate rooms with the warm new excitement of knowing the other was only a few steps away.

  Chapter 38

  “Do you have paper and a pen I can use?” Brook asked one evening.

  Lance looked up from a sketch he was making. “Sure.” He left the room and returned in a minute with a lined pad and pencil. “Will these do?”

  “Perfect.” Brook said. She immediately moved to the table, wincing from the soreness of her soles, in spite of the cushioning of her soft shoes. Sitting, she chewed the side of her finger for a minute and began to write. She worked diligently for a long while, turning from one page to another frequently.

  Lance could hear her sniffling and realized she was trying hard not to cry. He unobtrusively listened, ready to go to her if she needed him, but he did not interrupt.

  Brook finished working after an hour or so and held her head in her hands as her shoulders heaved.

  “Brooklyn?”

  “Not now, please.” Brook’s voice broke and she rose and went into the bathroom. When she returned she lay on her bed, closed her eyes. Lance soon noticed her breathing become even and he realized she was asleep.

  He glanced at the notepad she'd left laying on the table. He thought about looking at it but decided he should wait until invited; unless, of course, she left it lying there too long. In that case, he might have to take a peek.

  The notepad remained on the table for two days before Lance picked it up. Brook was in the bathroom, soaking in a tub of hot water. As Lance read, understanding flickered across his face. Realizing these pages contained the descriptions of the people who had hurt her, he grabbed a second pad and began sketching, using her imagery as a basis. Soon, he had four rough drawings. He left his pad next to hers and waited for her reaction. It came soon.

  Brook exited the bath, relaxed and feeling more herself. She ambled to the table and noticed the second pad lying next to her notepad. She paused a minute and then picked them both up. She froze. Staring from the top page was Jase, at least a likeness of him she recognized. Brook dropped the pad and turned to look around the room. Lance was seated in a chair by a window, reading. “You did this?” Brook asked, pointing towards the table.