“What is that?” Belle gasped, trying to hurry after me but her feet were slipping in the mud.
She stopped where she stood, looking at the mud in horror.
I’d already realized that she didn’t do anything sticky.
When she was helping me pull off the bandages, she’d made sure to get every single sticky piece that the bandages had left behind.
Even when I’d told her I would be okay.
And mud was definitely sticky.
And dirty.
And her shoes were now coated in it.
“I have some boots that I accidentally ordered in my barn,” I told her. “Come on. I’ll get your shoes taken care of after you get in there.”
She reluctantly started to trudge through the mud, her eyes practically squeezed shut as she did.
“And to answer your question,” I said, “what you’re hearing are my pigs.”
“Pigs?” she gasped. “They sound like starving cats.”
“Pigs,” I confirmed. “They’re the only fat asses that ‘can’t live off the land’ because they’re spoiled little shits.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “Did they get starved all week?”
I shook my head. “No. They can forage and live off the land. They just would rather be fed apples and table scraps like dogs.”
Her lips twitched up into a smile as we made it into the barn, and I pointed at the closet that held the new boots.
“Don’t know if they’re your size,” I said. “But I’m sure they’ll work.”
She pulled the door open and her eyes lit on all the stuff that was in there.
Random boots in all sizes, clothes, jackets. Anything someone visiting might need.
“Not my stuff, by the way,” I told her as I opened the pigs’ feed bin and started to load the wheelbarrow that was next to it. My head throbbed with each shovel full. “When I moved here, the farmer had granddaughters. The granddaughters visited at random times, so he always made sure to keep stuff handy for them. But the boots really are new. I ordered myself a pair and those were with them.”
Belle pulled the bright, shiny black boots with colorful yellow daisies on them out of the closet and smiled.
“They are my size,” she said as she walked to the nearest pile of feed sacks and took a seat on top of three bags. Then she proceeded to toe off her shoes as delicately as she could, then don the boots.
She held them up for inspection.
“Cute,” I told her, not lying in the least. “Until they get covered in mud.”
She wrinkled up her nose but didn’t complain as we walked together to the still bleating pigs.
“You have cows.” She stopped in front of a Boudin, a jersey milk cow that I’d rescued a few years ago.
And why the fuck could I remember what I did a few years ago, but the last year was a complete and utter blank? Hell, if I was being honest, I wasn’t even too crushed about it seeing as it landed Belle in my lap.
Boudin stuck her neck out in hopes of pats, but Belle was already backing away.
“I don’t do mud well,” she explained hesitantly. “I don’t do sticky. And I don’t do loud noises. Do you think that those pigs’ll stop screaming when you feed them?”
I walked to their pen and dumped the food into the trough instead of answering. The moment that the food hit the metal, and all the pigs surrounded it, the bleating stopped as if it’d never been.
Belle started to chuckle as she walked carefully through the muddy area until she was standing next to the fence.
“They probably never made a sound until they heard me pull up,” I explained. “They really do have plenty to eat out there.” I pointed to the pasture and the trees that the pigs had the run of. “They like to put on a good show, though. This’ll be a daily occurrence, FYI.”
Belle smiled softly, then bent over until she could see the pigs closer.
I had eighteen pigs, in all different breeds and sizes.
“The smallest is that black and white mini-pot belly pig. Candace weighs in at a hefty eighty-nine pounds. The largest is a big boy.” I pointed toward the fat bastard at the front of the line currently eating over his fair share. “His name is Thumper and he is a Red Wattle.”
Then there were all the sizes, breeds, and colors in between.
Belle listened intently, taking every single thing in that she could like a sponge, thirsty for more.
She asked me question after question until finally the pigs were done and started looking at me like they wanted a second dinner.
I was tempted to give it to them for not being here all week, but there were other animals I needed to take care of.
“Follow me back into the barn,” I urged as I picked up the wheelbarrow. “I have a few more that’ll need attention before we can head inside.”
She fell into step beside me, but looked over at me every once in a while as we made our way back to the barn.
“I’m not going to fall out dead,” I told her, guessing where her mind was going.
She snorted. “If I was worried about that, I wouldn’t be letting you do this.”
My brows rose. “You wouldn’t let?”
Her lip quirked up at the corner as if she had a secret that she wouldn’t be sharing.
Not yet, anyway.
“I wouldn’t let,” she confirmed. “Everything that we’ve done with each other so far, I’ve allowed you to do.”
Amusement laced my tone as I said, “And you think you could stop me if I wanted to do something?”
She raised her hands in front of her in a fighter’s stance.
“I’m not saying that I could kill you. Or hurt you permanently before you hurt me permanently. But I could make you think twice. I could defend myself long enough to get something that I could use to kill or hurt you permanently,” she explained. “I was raised by a man that saw the bad in the world. My mother…” She hesitated. “My mother was nearly killed when she was younger.”
I dropped the wheelbarrow and raised a suspicious brow. “Really?”
She nodded once. “Really. When she was a teen, her father woke her and all of her siblings up in the middle of the night, tied them to chairs, and then shot them while doing the same to their mother. Two of their siblings didn’t survive. The rest that did only did because my father had taught my mother how to escape from zip ties one day. Shot and hurt, she helped her remaining brothers escape from that house and the fire after their father shot himself in front of them. Needless to say, my dad thought that teaching us how to survive was a good thing. I know how to hunt for my own food, shoot, survive in the wilderness over an extended period of time. Hot wire a car, evade someone that’s following me, and protect myself if I need protecting.”
My lips curved up into a small semblance of a smile.
“What?” she asked, her brows lowering so that she was all but scowling at me. “You think I’m lying?”
I grunted out a ‘no’ and then moved to the next feed bucket. The cats came running from all corners of the barn and from outside.
The moment I had the large trash can lid filled up with food, I set it on the ground for the eight cats to eat from.
It was only after they were fed that I said, “I was thinking I should’ve let you drive home. I had no clue you could take care of yourself.” I paused. “And I was also thinking that instead of stealing that person’s car keys, I should’ve just let you hotwire a car.”
Belle sort of collapsed in relief at my words. “I thought you were going to tell me that you didn’t believe me.”
I snorted. “Hardly. If I thought you were soft, you wouldn’t be here right now.” I turned to face her fully, my hands going to my hips as I said, “The next week, or two depending on how long it takes for these morons to figure out what’s going on and what happened to me, or for my brain to finally get with the program, are going to be filled with danger. I don’t think that we’re going to be able to stay here indefinitely without someone findi
ng it. I’m hidden out here, and there are a lot of hoops and tunnels, but eventually I will be found. We’ll be found. And you’ll need to stay strong throughout it all. So, what I’m saying is, this will likely be a lot of work on your end to make sure you can keep yourself safe. I should feel bad that I invited you into my world.”
“But you don’t?” she asked.
I shook my head. “But I don’t.”
CHAPTER 13
Back in my day, it was during a game of dodgeball that you found out who really didn’t like you.
-Text from Belle to Booth
BELLE
His house was amazing.
I’d never gone into someone’s house and felt instantly at home like I had with Bruno’s.
I didn’t even feel this particular sense of calm when I went into my parents’ house. I walked in the door, and everything had a place. There was no clutter. No messiness. No bright colors. No weird smell.
It smelled masculine. Like cedar and pine.
That must’ve been where Bruno’s smell had come from. His house.
From the outside it looked like a normal house, but on the inside, the walls were exposed wood and cedar beams. The floors were an extravagant coffee brownish/black. And there wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere on the floor.
I immediately toed my boots off in the entrance, happy to see that he’d done much the same as he’d walked inside and I followed behind him as he made his way into the house.
It wasn’t a huge house.
Based on looking at the outside, I had to guess that the house was a three bedroom. But when I walked into the entranceway and was immediately thrown into a room that had such high ceilings—vaulted and absolutely stunning—I knew that my guess was likely wrong. I’d obviously not gotten the big picture from just seeing the outside.
“Wow,” I said as I took the house in. “This place is stunning.”
The front door faced the back door, and the whole room seemed to be lit up even though all the lights were off. The ambient lighting was sensational.
“I don’t remember building it,” he admitted. “I know that this place is mine. The plans obviously are mine.” He looked around. “I remember designing the room with a lot of lighting when I sketched this place out, but I don’t remember getting it built.”
I looked at him curiously. “You designed this place?”
He nodded once as he gestured toward the kitchen that was off to the left of the large room. “Come wash your hands. Then I’ll show you to your room.”
A pang of sadness hit me at that.
I’d spent the last nights in his room, with him. I didn’t want my own room.
Yet, that would be a bit irrational of me to request seeing as the man barely knew me—even if he did have his memory back—so I kept my mouth shut.
He walked over to the kitchen sink and washed his own hands before he gestured for me to take his vacated spot.
“I’m going to go shower.” He paused. “I feel like I’ve been ground into the dirt and left to fester for days. Let me show you to your room on the way?”
I finished washing my hands, grabbed a paper towel, and then dried my hands off. Then the counter where we’d both dripped. Followed by the sink.
Then the floor where I’d watched a few droplets fall.
When I was done, I came up blushing.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to do…”
He shrugged. “Don’t care.”
I blinked.
Then decided that I didn’t care either.
Jerking my chin in his direction, I walked around the counter and fell into step with him as we made our way down the back hallway.
The entire length of it was one long tube that was quite dark.
When we got to the end, one way led to a bedroom, and the other door led to another.
“That’s my room.” He gestured toward the door on our left. “This is yours. There’s a bathroom through here.” He pointed out as he pressed against the back wall.
The door slid open, and I blinked at the bright, open and airy room.
“Wow,” I said as I took in the glass shower that dominated the middle of the room, as well as the toilet that was on the right, followed by the vanity that was on the left.
There was a bench at the back of the room that I assumed was there to get dressed on…or stare outside at the pigs. I wasn’t sure why there would be a bench.
But whatever.
“My room is through this way,” he said as he pushed open another door that was once again hidden. “We share this bathroom, so make sure you lock both sides, and unlock both sides, before and after.”
I followed the doorway to the bed that was in direct line of sight from the bathroom, and gasped.
“You have silk sheets,” I mused.
He grunted out a ‘yeah’ and then turned around and led me to the spare bedroom.
“This one only has a bed,” he muttered. “I will give you a pillow off mine for now. Tomorrow, I’ll have some more. I’ll do overnight delivery off of Amazon. You have any preference on type?”
I blinked. Then blurted, “Firm. It has to be that stuffing-filled type. It can’t be the pieces of foam, the memory foam, or feathers. Otherwise it… I won’t sleep,” I settled on.
He nodded once. “Mine is regular filled, I believe. You can come pick the one out that you want while I shower.”
I nodded and he led me back to his bedroom. Then he shut the bathroom door between us, leaving me staring at the bed with my eyes wide, and listening to him strip out of his clothes behind me.
I swallowed hard and walked toward his bed, then face-flopped down onto it and all but snuggled down into his sheets.
The bed smelled like him.
Even better, his sheets felt like heaven.
I groaned—both at the smell of him surrounding me and the feel of his sheets that I pretended his hands would feel like as they glided across my skin.
Which, I knew wouldn’t be factual. Because I’d touched his hands—and they were rough hands. Hands that were used to doing work. They wouldn’t feel like the sheets.
I sighed and rolled over onto my back, my hands going up to reach for the pillows as I brought the two that there were on the bed close to me.
Though his house had been orderly, his bed most certainly hadn’t been.
It looked like he’d been roused from sleep in the middle of the night, and he’d left in such a hurry that he hadn’t been able to put his bed to rights before he left.
One pillow was all the way across the large king-size bed while the other was shoved far down into the sheets almost by the foot of the bed.
And the comforter for the bed, a black and red buffalo plaid flannel heavenly thing, was practically falling off the end side of the bed. I hadn’t even seen it until I’d reached for the far pillow.
After righting both pillows, I next righted the massive comforter that was surprisingly much heavier than it looked, and then made myself comfortable in the bed.
That was how he found me.
I heard the shower turn off, then the slow roll of the barndoor pushing open, telling myself to keep my eyes firmly shut.
I hadn’t seen any clothes in there. Nor had I seen any towels.
Then again, that didn’t mean anything. I hadn’t seen the doors, either, yet they’d been there.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sounding slightly amused.
I didn’t bother to open my eyes as I said, “I’m testing out which one I like better. So far, I’m leaning toward the other one.”
It wasn’t because it was more comfortable, either. It was because it smelled more like him.
It was obviously the one that he chose to sleep with.
“I kind of thought you’d just take one,” he admitted as I heard him move across the room to what I assumed was his closet.
I hadn’t explored—even though I’d wanted to.
That was my downfall. I lov
ed to have information of all kinds. That didn’t matter if I had to snoop to get it.
Hell, I’d once gotten into trouble as a young teen because I’d seen a medical condition in a person’s chart that’d intrigued me while at the doctor’s office. Needless to say, neither the nurse practitioner nor my mother had been amused.
“I didn’t want to bother you in the middle of the night if the other one was unsatisfactory,” I told him.
He paused, as if he was trying to ascertain if I was serious—I was—and chuckled softly. “Noted.”
I rolled over so that I could get significant side action from both pillows and then groaned.
“Maybe you’ll just possibly need to take the guest bedroom,” I muttered, thinking about the plain cotton sheets that I’d seen on that bed.
The bed dipped beside me, and then I felt the distinct slide of a body entering the other side of the bed.
Seconds later, I was being picked up, rolled over, and then deposited on the other side of the bed farthest away from the door, and then the pillow I was using was shoved underneath of my head.
It wasn’t gentle, either.
It was all rough manhandling, which somehow made his touch not repulsive.
Or maybe it was the man.
I didn’t know.
But when I opened my eyes to orient myself with my new position, it was to find Bruno on his back in the bed, using the pillow that I’d deemed as ‘his’ for the night.
He was also pulling the covers up past his chest and sighing.
“I don’t remember this bed,” he rasped. “But I’m starting to think that my body does. Think the pillow is wrong, too. But you can use that one for the night anyway.”
I was going to with or without his permission.
I smirked at him.
He didn’t open his eyes to see it.
I studied his features in the harsh overhead light, taking in his jaw that was covered in a beard more than a five o’clock shadow now. The dark circles underneath of his eyes. Then the bruises and contusions that were still very prominent.
Despite all of that, he was still sexy. Masculine beauty had never made sense to me, but Bruno, I decided, had it in spades.
“What are you staring at?” he grumbled, still not opening his eyes.
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