Unafraid

by Allie Harrison

  He paused slightly, met her gaze again. “You know Charlie?”

  He seemed surprised. “Yes. He comes into my shop sometimes with his friends or alone on his way to class. You sound surprised.”

  “Charlie and I have been ghosts to one another for the past year. I just recently learned he even had friends or that he left our house.”

  “He told me how his mom…how she was sick. I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. But I’m more sorry for the time I lost with Charlie.”

  “But things are better now?” The upbeat sound of his voice told her more than his words.

  “I like to think so, yes.” He offered her a slight, reassuring grin. “And it’s only fair to tell you she died a little more than a year ago.”

  Not knowing what else to say, she again said, “I’m sorry.”

  He looked directly at her. “And while I didn’t slide into the grave with her, it’s only right I tell you we were married for twenty-three years. I was faithful to her every moment.”

  Again, she was at a loss for words. “Okay.”

  “You’re the first date I’ve…”

  “Oh.” Now she really didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she should feel scared or honored.

  “I just wanted to get that out of the way.”

  He sounded relieved that he had said something.

  “Okay,” she replied.

  They reached the hot dog cart. The sun was hanging low in the sky but it was still warm and it reflected off the silver of the warmers in the cart. It was hard for Abigail to look at it long.

  “What would you like on your dog?” he asked. And the moment of uncertainty passed, seeming to be lost in the aroma of grilled hot dogs.

  It was a night of new beginnings, a night to step into new waters. “The works.”

  “Ah, a woman after my own heart,” he muttered.

  She laughed. “As long as the dog doesn’t give you a heart attack first.”

  He laughed with her. “I like living on the edge. Give us two with the works.”

  A few moments later, they were seated at a picnic table washing down their dogs with cider that was a nice mixture of sweet and tart on her tongue. She wanted to ask him more about his wife, but it appeared he’d told her all he wanted to share. “Well, I suppose since we’re being honest here, there’s something I think you should know.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re my maybe fifth or sixth date in five years.”

  “You don’t like dating? Or…you don’t like men?”

  She took a bite and chewed it slowly as she weighed her words. “I like men. I just…Five years ago, I had an ex that, um, wasn’t very nice. If I had maybe talked to his past girlfriends, I would have discovered that under all his over niceness, he really insisted and expected to get things his way. And when he didn’t, he wasn’t very nice about it. The first—and only—time he hit me, I was so shocked. Surprised and shamed. I was overwhelmed with it. About thirty seconds later, I was pissed about it. I left right then, ignored his phone calls, his text messages where he apologized profusely. No one had ever hit me before. My father never even spanked me or my brothers. I felt stupid because I hadn’t seen it coming. I had just finished my business degree. I was a strong, capable woman, not some weakling who deserved to be knocked off my feet for leaving the toilet seat down. I was working out the paperwork trying to get a loan so I could start my own business.”

  The episode sounded easier than it had been. Abby discovered there were no words to actually describe how things went and she supposed it might have been the same when he spoke of his wife. She didn’t want to ruin the night with words or memories, so she finished with, “Things got worse. So I came here.”

  She pursed her lips and let out a long breath. “Oh, that’s wasn’t quite as hard as it has been in the past. I just wanted to get that out of the way, too.” She found she could still take a bite, still chew it up and swallow it and not feel the need to throw up. Either time really had healed her, or John’s sense of safety made it easier. Either way, she was glad she’d let it out. Never before had she shared her experience with her previous few dates. But now, it was no longer hanging over her head like a dark thundercloud she had to keep watching.

  He took a bite, too, but kept his gaze on her. “Where is he now?”

  “Prison. Down at Menard. I got a letter today informing me he’s up for parole and that I’m welcome to attend the hearing and put in a statement.”

  He took a slow drink of his cider and set the cup down with a muffled thunk. “You still are, you know?”

  “Still am what?”

  “A strong, capable woman.”

  “Thank you. For everything. For this. For listening to me. I haven’t told anyone. Here.”

  He shrugged as if hearing his date tell such a horrid story was nothing new, and he finished off his hot dog in one large, last bite. “You’re welcome.”

  He looked around as she finished hers, and she wondered what he was thinking. Finally, she got up the courage to ask. She thought, hell, why not? She’d just shared at least part of the most horrible thing imaginable with him. What more harm could her question cause? “Are you looking around for a way to ditch me?”

  “No.” He met her gaze. Evenly. And held it for a long moment. “I was just looking at the orchard. Those trees over that way on the end,” he pointed, “have the most apples on them. We should pick over there. Are you about ready to pick a bag of apples?”

  They each got an empty bag.

  While they waited in the wagon loading area for the next tractor-pulled wagon to arrive, he asked, “So what else do you like besides hot dogs? I have to admit, I hope you don’t like sappy movies.”

  “I don’t like to cry, so as long as they don’t make me cry, I’m good with just about all movies. Musicals and action-packed thrillers are my favorites. And I eat almost anything besides liver or organ meats,” she shared.

  “I bet you like roller coasters, too, don’t you?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  A wagon arrived. John laughed before he climbed up then turned and held a hand out to her to help her up. Again, the touch of his hand was nice, comforting as well as comfortable.

  John sat down on the wagon seat beside her. Except for the story she’d told him about her ex, he was thoroughly enjoying this night with her. Her perfume was just a bit exotic, enticing, and dared him to lean closer to her. The weather couldn’t be more perfect—warm, the setting sun with a touch of crisp fall air, the smell of leaves, nature, apples and hay rich in the air. The crunch of the gravel drive combined with the jolting of the tractor pulling them sent him bumping against her thigh time and again. She didn’t seem the least bit put off by the action. “So you like musicals?”

  “Very much.”

  “Do you sing?” he had to ask.

  “Not a note. But I can read it. I play a little piano.”

  “Maybe you can play for me sometime.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He found himself wanting to hear her music. He found himself wanting to know everything there was to know about her.

  There was a family of four at the front of the front of the wagon. Other than that, no one was around to hear their conversation. “What about you, can you play an instrument?”

  He considered telling her he could assemble a rifle in a matter of seconds. “I prefer to listen to music made by others.” At least they were asking questions that genuinely allowed them to get to know one another. Nothing was wasted with questions such as what a favorite color was. When the wagon stopped near the row he’d indicated earlier, he held her hand to assist her off and they headed toward them, their conversation still light, exploring, but easy.

  He helped her reach some higher apples her short stature didn’t allow. She laughed when he stepped on a rotten apple on the ground and it turned to mush beneath his shoe. “I guess I should be grateful it doesn’t stink like dogshit.”


  She laughed harder. “If that was the case, I’d wrestle your keys from you, steal your truck, and you’d have to find another way home.”

  He laughed with her, enjoying her sense of humor. For some reason he couldn’t identify, he felt more at ease with her than he had in a very long time. He liked the sound of her laughter. He liked her smile. He liked her honesty. He was drawn to her courage. He knew there was more to her story about her ex than she told him. Guys didn’t go to prison for hitting girlfriends. That being said, he knew she’d been through more than most people he knew, and he’d been around the world and had met a lot of people. “I could just ride in the back and you could drive.”

  “That’s true.”

  They each filled a bag, and only had to wait a few moments for the wagon to return to pick them up. This time, he took her bag from her, set them both on the wagon before he helped her climb aboard.

  “The sun’s sinking. Do you think we have time to check out the pumpkin patch?”

  He met her gaze, feeling odd with the idea that he’d make time for whatever she wanted. He told himself that a little over a year ago, he was having to make time to do whatever was necessary for his dying wife. He wasn’t given any choice in it, he just knew he had to and he did. Without hesitation, without question. It was as if a two-ton monkey had been pushed off his back. He didn’t have to do any specific thing with or for this woman. He could do what he wanted to do. Right then, he wanted to hold her hand more. How long had it been since he’d allowed himself a touch, other than the nurses touching him a few weeks ago as he healed from his gunshot wound. He reached out and took her hand with his healing arm as the motion of the wagon jostled them. Hell, the action didn’t hurt in the least, didn’t cause even the slightest twinge. He realized then the wound hadn’t itched all night.

  That must mean being with her was meant to be.

  “Are y’all wanting to head back to the barn to pay for your apples?” the tractor driver called back to them.

  “We need to stop by the pumpkin patch first,” John called back.

  “The pumpkin patch it is.”

  There were hay bales at the entrance to the pumpkin patch. John placed both their bags of apples there. He found it interesting to see the kind of pumpkin she was drawn to pick—short, round and fat. He complimented her by picking the tallest orange one he could find.

  As dusk swallowed the orchard, they climbed back onto the wagon with their fall goods. With the setting sun, the air turned cooler and dewy. By the time the wagon stopped beside the huge barn where they were to pay, darkness had almost taken over completely. The paths were lit with old fashioned lantern type lights. Not far from the barn, where there were more hay bales, a bonfire crackled and lit up the dark.

  John balanced the two pumpkins in his arms, and Abigail held the two bags of apples. The barn felt warm after coming in from the chilly night air. But there was no line, and they were able to set their wares on the large counter.

  “What’s next?” she asked as the apples were totaled.

  “They have something called fried apple biscuits. Care to try them?”

  “That sounds worth losing my waist over.”

  He grinned. “I kind of thought so. Let’s put all this in my truck, then we’ll go find them. We could get some hot chocolate and sit over there by the fire for a while.”

  A short time later, he was sitting close to her on a hay bale, the heat of the fire almost as warm as she was. The apple biscuits were more like apple fritters, flaky, sweet with apple and good enough to melt in his mouth.

  “I’m going to have to learn to make some of these or see if I can buy them to sell in my shop. They’d be perfect this time of year with my fall spice coffee,” she said.

  “Is that what I smelled in your shop this morning—fall spice coffee?”

  “Yes.” There was pride in her voice and her smile.

  The firelight reflected off her hair and in the gray of her eyes. Watching her was as good as what melted on his tongue with the apple biscuit. “I almost bought it on the smell alone.”

  “Really? It’s my own recipe.”

  “I’ll try it next time instead of my usual.”

  He watched her for a long moment, studied her, somehow felt as if he’d known her for a long time, not just a matter of hours. He’d met enough people to recognize a good heart when he saw one. She gave him a hesitant, almost embarrassed smile. It didn’t make him stop looking at her. In fact, it gave him an idea.

  “What? You’re looking at me like you’re thinking about something more than my fall spice coffee.”

  “I have a proposition for you,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Abigail didn’t know what she expected. But it wasn’t this.

  Up until that moment sitting by the fire, the date had surpassed her expectations. A little hand holding. A nice fire. Sunshine. Great food. Apple biscuits that melted in her mouth like nothing else she’d ever had. All had been great.

  Then he asked her if she could help him out and sell some of her coffee out of a lunch truck the next morning.

  Now she stood in John’s house in an office. “What I’m about to show you, everything I tell you—you can’t tell anyone—ever. If you can’t keep my secret, I’ll take you home now.”

  “You hardly know me and you’re trusting me with something I can’t tell anyone—ever?”

  He met her gaze with a hard look. “I’ve always had a good instinct about people. I feel as if I can trust you. And if I discover I really can’t…” He shrugged. “Things would be bad.”

  The calm, easy way he said it with a distinct lining of hardness told her he was serious.

  He reached down and opened a trap door in the floor. Abigail stared at a hidden set of stairs. For a moment, she caught the bizarre idea that he might lock her down there if she ventured down. Maybe he was one of those crazy guys who tied girls up in his basement. A shiver slithered up her back and it was suddenly hard to breathe through her tight chest. In her mind, she screamed, no no no. This could not happen again. She could not date another psycho.

  “I think perhaps I should go home. I can call Uber.” How she kept her voice from shaking like everything inside her seemed to be, she had no idea.

  Then one of the guys who’d been with him in the coffee shop earlier that day—the guy with the carrot-top orange hair—came into view at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing, Marlin?”

  “Marlin?” she asked.

  “It’s my code name.” He directed his attention to carrot top. “I could ask you the same thing. I thought Al was supposed to be here tonight.”

  “His kid had some sports thing tonight, one of those things that got rescheduled from the other night when it was raining, and I told him I’d fill in for him.”

  He talked to John, but he stared at Abigail.

  “This is Abigail.”

  “I know, from the coffee shop this morning.”

  “Abigail,” John said, “this is Monty.”

  Abigail worked to breathe again and couldn’t ignore the sudden tension in the room. “Nice to meet you,” she forced out. Again, she was amazed at how calm she managed to keep her voice. She tried to command her feet to run, but they weren’t getting the message.

  “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Monty asked.

  Abigail was wondering the same thing.

  “I thought I’d recruit some help.” John took her hand.

  “Help?” Monty asked.

  “Recruit?” Abigail asked at the same time.

  “What better person to sell coffee from the lunch truck than a nice lady who sells coffee for a business?”

  “I think I should leave,” she tried again. Maybe if she said it enough, she’d manage to get herself moving toward the door. She took a step. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

  “You trusted me enough to go out on a date. Have I done anything at all that makes you think you can’t trust me right now?
”

  She found she did trust him. No, he’d done nothing but make her feel safe. Until she looked down those stairs. “You don’t have torture equipment down there, do you? You’re not going to tie me up or lock me down there?” Her heart still hammered in her chest, but common sense—at least she hoped it was common sense— was sending her thinking in another direction. If he had wanted to harm her, he could have done it any time they were alone in his truck.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll go down first. Come down far enough to see what’s down there. If you still want to leave, I’ll take you home, and we’ll go on as if I never showed you my basement.”

  He let go of her hand and took the steps down as if to not give her time to consider his choice. Foolish though it might be, her curiosity got the better of her. At least he was first and no one was behind her to shove her. She took four then five steps down and stooped down below the floor to look into the basement.

  Computers, monitors, recording equipment, shelves of canned foods, a few cots filled the concrete-walled, windowless room that was obviously as big as the full length of the house. Oh, he was way more than military.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea, Marlin. She’s civilian.”

  “Hi, Abigail.”

  A voice from the top of the stairs startled her so much, she jumped and bumped her head on the floor/ceiling next to her. “Ouch.”

  “You okay?”

  She looked up to see Charlie standing in the office room above her. He took a few steps down next to her.

  “I think so. Hi.” She wasn’t so sure. She just discovered he and his father had some sort of command center in their basement. She didn’t know what it was for, but if it was for something illegal, that would be a real shame. After all, both Charlie and John, and even Monty, who still stared at her, seemed like such nice guys. And she was beginning to like John.