by Jill Sanders
“How is it my father’s fault?”
“Lone Outlaws, the bike gang he was in.”
“My father never talked to me about it.” Willow sighed and tucked her legs up tight to her chest.
He nodded. “I’m sure you were too young.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “And you weren’t?”
He smiled and for the first time since he’d barged in, she felt a shiver of fear race down her spine.
She watched his eyes go darker. “I was never young,” he grunted.
They sat in silence for a while. “What happened tonight?” she finally asked.
“I’ve been running from my past too long.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “It finally caught up with me.”
“I don’t understand. What has that got to do with my father?”
“He’s the reason they’re trying to kill me.”
She shook her head, not understanding.
“I’m too tired to go into it right now. Any chance I can crash here?” His eyes moved over to the sofa.
She thought about it. She had the next few days off and had planned on spending her time enjoying herself with friends. But curiosity was getting the better of her and she really wanted to know more.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t trust him. Something in his eyes told her that he wasn’t a rapist or a killer. Actually, it was kind of weird, but the only thing she could see in his dark eyes was pain, and she didn’t think it only had to do with his physical wounds.
“I’ll get you a blanket.” She moved to stand up, but his fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her.
“You shouldn’t let me stay.” His eyes were focused on her fingers.
“I think I’m old enough to make my own decisions.” She waited until he dropped her wrist. “Besides, I want to make sure you don’t open those stitches again.” She smiled down at him.
His eyes searched hers and when he nodded, she walked into her bedroom to retrieve an extra pillow and blanket.
He had moved the dishes into the sink and was laying on her small sofa when she came back into the room.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” he said when she handed him the blanket and pillow.
“It was years ago.” She tried to blow off the pain that always came when she thought about all the lost time with him.
His hand once again reached up to stop her from moving away. “If it wasn’t for your dad, I’m pretty sure I would have been lying in a gutter long ago.”
She had so many questions but could see that he’d run out of energy. “Tomorrow,” she promised and he seemed to understand her since he gave her a slight nod.
“Goodnight,” she whispered as she shut the lights off and moved into her own room.
She leaned against her door for a moment, trying to rationalize what she was doing. She was thankful that Wendy had been too distracted with her wedding invitations to wonder why she hadn’t asked her in, even for a moment.
Her sister’s life had taken a complete turn in the last year. She was excited for Wendy and Cole. Really she was. For the first time in her sister’s life, Willow could see that Wendy was completely happy.
But she knew that Wendy was against anything that had to do with their father. If Wendy knew that Willow was harboring a friend of their father’s... Willow shivered and pushed off from the doorway to crawl into bed. She lay there, trying to figure out how she could keep her sister from finding out about Caleb.
After almost an hour of staring at the ceiling, she tried reading for a while, but the mystery book held little interest since there was a bigger mystery sleeping in her living room. Turning over, she shut off her lamp and dreamed about the last time she had seen her father.
When she woke, the room was flooded with light. Willow wasn’t normally a late sleeper, but on her days off, she forced her mind and body to stay shut down for a few extra hours. Glancing over at the clock, she realized there were still a few minutes of sleep she could get in.
Then her mind sharpened and she remembered Caleb in her living room.
Jumping up from the bed, she raced to the door, and slowly opened it just a crack. It was darker in the living room than her bedroom, since the curtains had been pulled shut last night. But she could just make out a large form covered with her blanket on the sofa.
She shut the door lightly and pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a blouse. Finger combing her hair, she thought about sneaking into the bathroom and applying some makeup before checking on him.
Feeling more alive, she walked into the living room and cracked open the curtains so some light hit the sofa.
Caleb had removed Jake’s shirt and was only wearing the shorts. She watched his massive chest rise and fall with each breath. One of his arms was thrown over his head and his other was half falling off the sofa as his bare feet hung over the other end.
His bandage was still covering his wound, but she could see he’d bled through it again. It would need to be changed first thing. Walking over, she sat next to him and reached for the bandage, only to have the hand that was above him fly out and hold her wrist tight.
“What?” His dark eyes traveled all around the semi-dark room.
“It’s okay; I just need to change your bandage.” She glanced down at his fingers wrapped around her wrist.
“Sorry.” He leaned back and rested his head down once more.
There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked translucent.
Reaching up, she touched his forehead and gasped. “You’ve got a fever.” She jumped up and grabbed the bottle of medicine she’d tried to give him the night before. “Here.” She handed him two pills and a glass of water.
His eyes opened and glared at her.
“I can be stubborn too.” She tilted her head and waited until he reached up and took the pills from her.
Chapter Three
His mind was foggy and he was in more pain than he’d been in last night. How was that even possible?
Willow stood over him, her long dark hair tied back from her face, making him realize just how utterly beautiful she was. Her blue eyes showed worry and, yes, stubbornness.
Leaning up a little, he reached for the pills and water without another word. Then he watched her clean and switch out his bandages. Her teal-painted fingernails scraped his skin, sending shivers of awareness spiking over every nerve.
His fingers reached out and touched the tips of her hair, which almost brushed his elbow. “You used to be blonde.” His mind had been playing over the one image he’d seen of the two girls, years ago.
She frowned down at him. “How did...” She shook her head and went back to her task. “I’m sure my father showed you many pictures.”
He shook his in return. “Just the one.” He remembered seeing the two girls locked around their father in the happiest family moment he’d ever witnessed.
Her dark eyebrows shot up. “I’d like to hear more, but I think you need some additional rest. I’ll make you some tea.”
He made a face. He didn’t like tea. What he wanted was a strong shot of whiskey to get him back on his feet.
“You may not like tea, but you’ll drink at least a cup of it for me.” She moved away from the sofa, taking his dirty bandages with her. “I didn’t see signs of infection,” she said as she moved around the small kitchen. “That’s a good sign, but I’ll want to...” He must have zoned out while she continued to chat with herself as she prepared his tea. He woke when she shook his shoulders.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and tried to sit up. He stopped when he noticed that she was frowning down at him.
“You’ve been out for almost four hours.” Her hand went to his forehead where a cool washcloth covered his eyebrows. “I tried to wake you.” Her frown increased as she shook her head from side to side. “I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.” He noticed then that her hands shook when they removed the washcloth from his forehead.
Reaching out, he took her hands in his
to steady them.
“Willa?” His voiced sounded so far away. His eyelids felt extra heavy. “Don’t be scared. I’m okay.” He reached up to run his fingers through her hair as he shut his eyes once more.
“No, you’re not. Your fever is getting worse.” He felt her cool hands on his face. He could tell she’d laid another cloth on his chest, but so far, all he could feel was the heat coming from the core of his body. “You need a hospital.” Her words made it past the fog in his brain. Opening his eyes, he took her hand in his and pulled her close until his eyes could focus on her face.
“You promised.” It came out as a growl.
“And I intend on keeping my promise. But—”
“No!” he barked out, stopping her next words.
“Caleb, I can’t sit back and watch you die.”
“I’ll be fine. I just need some rest.” His eyes slid close. He didn’t even realize she was still pressed fully against his chest. All he knew was that for the first time since he’d lain down on the small sofa, he was finally comfortable.
Willow was squished against Caleb’s heated skin, his fingers still tangled in her loose locks. Her hands were wedged between them, but for the first time in hours, he was breathing normally.
She’d made him soup instead of tea, but when she’d walked over to wake him up, he hadn’t budged. At all. She’d even shook him as hard as she dared, fearing she’d open his wound again.
But his dark lashes had stayed closed and his breathing had been labored. She’d paced, worried, and then covered his burning flesh with cool washcloths, which had seemed to help.
She hadn’t even realized how much she’d worn herself out worrying about him until she felt herself relax against his chest. Soon, her breathing matched his and she allowed her eyes to close for just a moment.
Her cell phone ringing jolted her awake a few minutes later. Untangling herself from his arms wasn’t an easy task. Finally, she rushed over to the table and answered her sister’s call with a whisper.
“Were you still asleep?” Wendy’s voice was drowned out in a sea of shouts.
“No,” she whispered and decided to move into the bedroom so she could talk normal.
“Then why are you whispering?” Wendy asked.
“I’m not,” she said as she shut her door and leaned back against it. “You’re just in a really loud bar.”
“True, the game is on.”
“Game?” Willow rubbed her forehead and thought about taking an aspirin herself.
“Yeah, remember? You, me, my fiancé and his family... Pizza, beer, game.” Wendy sighed. “You forgot.”
Then she remembered. “I’m sorry, I woke up sick.” She hated lying to her sister, but there was some truth behind it. Her head was starting to pound from all the worry.
“I’m sorry. Do you need me to stop by?”
“No!” She almost shouted it and then took a couple deep breaths. “I wouldn’t want to get you sick. Not with all the wedding planning you still have to do.”
Wendy chuckled. “The wedding isn’t for two months.”
“I’ll be okay. Really. I’m going to spend the weekend in, watching reruns.”
“Okay, but if you need anything...”
“Thanks. Have fun watching the game.”
There were some muffled noises, and then her sister came back on the phone. “Cole and his family say hi and hope you feel better.”
“Tell them thanks.” She sighed and closed her eyes as she shut her phone off.
There was a light knock on the door, causing her to jump.
“Everything okay?” Caleb asked from the other side of the door.
She swung the door open and looked up into his face. He was leaning against her door jam, still pale and half-naked, but his eyes actually looked clearer.
“Are you okay?” She leaned in and felt his forehead.
“Much better,” he said as she watched him sway a little.
She reached over and took his shoulders, making him walk back towards the sofa. He stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes focused on his small bed area.
“I’ll sit anywhere but there. That thing is uncomfortable.” He rolled his shoulders slightly.
She nodded towards the kitchen table, and he followed her to sit down.
“I can heat some soup.”
“Sounds good.” He leaned back in the chair.
She busied herself heating a pan of chicken noodle soup and threw a loaf of French bread in the oven to heat up. When she sat down next to him, she realized she hadn’t eaten yet that day.
“This is good,” he said between bites. “Better than that stuff from last night.”
She nodded. “My neighbor brought it over earlier.” She took another bite. “Mrs. Kingston’s daughter died a few years ago. Since then, she’s doted on me.”
He finished his soup and bread and leaned back. “It’s strange, but I could use another shower and a nap.” He shook his head and she watched him roll his shoulders once more.
She tried not to watch his muscles flex with each movement. But he was still sitting across from her in just Jake’s old shorts.
“I could see if I have a larger T-shirt?” she blurted out. She watched his eyebrows rise up a little. Then he looked down and frowned.
“I didn’t want to get blood on your boyfriend’s stuff,” he mumbled.
“He’s not... We’re no longer together.” She couldn’t connect with his eyes, so instead, she watched his hands as he picked up his bowl.
“You don’t have to clean up.” She quickly stood to grab the bowl and spoon from him, but he moved it up high above his head.
“I may have never had a family or a place of my own, but I know how to clean up after myself.”
She dropped her hands to her side and frowned at him.
“You didn’t have a family?”
He blinked a few times and just looked back at her.
“The bike gang was my only family.” He set the bowl in the sink. “The gang and your dad.” He walked back and sat down at the table once more.
She set her bowl next to his and then went and sat across from him, tucking her legs underneath herself and wrapping her arms around them.
“And?”
He signed and looked at her. “Let’s just say, I know exactly why they want me dead. Actually...” He tilted his head and squinted his eyes slightly. “Tony mentioned something about taking me back to pay. So, I’m pretty sure there are others wanting to pay me back as well.”
She leaned closer and bumped her knees against the table. Reaching out, she steadied it. “Back? Back where?” She waited.
“Home.” The word came out in a sarcastic half laugh.
“Where is home?” she asked.
“I have no home.” His voice had grown darker.
She shook her head, not understanding.
“Home base for the Lone Outlaws,” he said and she shivered at the name of her father’s motorcycle gang. He noticed and turned his lips upward in an almost sneer. “You should fear them.” He nodded slightly. “I do.” He closed his eyes and rested his head back. “Home base is just outside of Miami.”
She frowned. “Dad always said...” When he sat up and watched her, she shook her head and stopped talking.
“What?” He leaned on the table, trying to get closer.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She rested back.
“Willa, if you know something.”
She stood up quickly and looked down at him. “I told you, don’t call me that. Only he called me that.” She walked over to the sink and started washing the dishes that had piled up. She needed something to do with her hands.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was right behind her. When his hands rested on her shoulders, she jumped a little and spun around. Her wet, soapy hands splashed on his chest.
She glared up at him. For some reason, the fact that this stranger knew more about her father than she did really set her off.
“Tell
me more.” She turned back to finish the dishes, feeling the need to finish her task. “How did you meet him?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the countertop next to her. “I delivered a package to him.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “A package?”
“Drugs,” he said flatly. “To him and the gang.”
“How old were you?” She was beginning to doubt his story. After all, she’d been two months’ shy of her tenth birthday when her father had died. There was no way he was more than five years older than her.
“A week after my thirteenth birthday.” He turned his head and looked out into her living room. “Back then, they had a standing rule.” He closed his eyes and she could tell he was remembering. “No messengers survived.”
“What?” She almost dropped the dish she was drying.
“Like I said, you should fear them.”
She shook her head. “I find it hard to believe that my father...”
He took the dish and the towel from her and took her shoulders into his hands. “No, like I said, your father saved me.”
“I don’t...”
“Willa... Willow, sit down.” He started to move them towards the sofa, but she stopped him.
“Are you telling me that my father was friends with killers?”
“No, what I’m telling you is that he was a member of a gang who were—are—killers.”
She reached up and touched her forehead, feeling even more of a headache spread. “I’m not following you.”
He let out a deep breath and then nodded to the sofa. “Sit.”
She crossed her arms over her chest in defiance, but she knew that the only way to get the whole story from him was to give him what he wanted. Walking over, she sat near the end of the sofa and tucked her feet up underneath her.
She thought he would come and sit next to her, but instead, he walked over to her sliding doors and peeked out the heavy curtains. He stood there for a few moments while she waited. He was trying her patience. She was just about to jump up and demand that he start talking, when he turned around.
“I was born in a small town just outside of Vegas. My mother was a whore and from the moment she conceived me, she did everything in her power to get rid of me. Short of murder. Needless to say, when I was nine, I was picked up by the police, and she took that as a sign that I should be on my own. I was doing okay, living on the streets of Vegas, until the night a guy on a bike asked if I wanted to make a thousand bucks just for delivering a package.”