by Alicia Scott
“I don’t know,” Cain said slowly. He finished pulling on his jeans.
“I’ve never figured it out myself,” Maggie confessed. From the corner of his eye, Cain saw her reach into one of her shopping bags and pull out two Tshirts. The larger of them she tossed to him; the other she yanked down over her head. It was ridiculously large on her petite frame, falling to the edge of her skirt. But even then, she still looked appealing.
Her hands went to work braiding her long hair. “When I was ten,” she said conversationally as he belatedly returned to dressing himself, “I used to try and keep track of everyone. Stephanie had married Crandall then, and he had a baby girl from his first marriage named Charise. I got to hold her one weekend when her mother brought her. She was so beautiful and so adorable. I told Brandon and C.J. all about her, and they agreed we’d let her into our little group and when she was old enough she’d spend her summers on the farm as well. But next winter, Crandall had been kicked out and Charise was just gone. She and her mother lived in France and there was no reason for her mother to arrange for me to see her baby daughter. I sent gifts for a while on her birthday, but she never understood who I was and I didn’t know how to explain it either. When Stephanie remarried the third time, I swore I’d be smarter but I wasn’t. That man had twin boys, little five-year-old boys. Vincent and Brian. Cutest little kids. I’m not sure where they live now.”
“It’s not easy to keep track of people,” Cain said. He finished tucking in the T-shirt, looking at her warily and wishing he could follow her train of thought. She didn’t appear sad, just matter-of-fact. “Why does this come to mind now?”
“I just wanted to tell you.”
He remained watching her silently. Her blue eyes finally swept up, peering at him through her shiny red hair.
“Family can be so confusing,” she said quietly. “At least it is for me. So many stepparents, stepsiblings and half siblings passing through. It will never get easier, either. Marriage may not be forever, but divorce certainly is. One day I’ll be a half aunt to children who will also have full aunts and maybe half aunts and full aunts on the other side of the family as well. That’s a lot of aunts. Then there’s the matter of grandparents. I have two sets, but my children would probably have three—four if my father was still alive. Three to four sets of grandmas and grandpas. On holidays, where do you go? Who do you visit?
“It’s very complicated, you see. When I was little I got very anxious about it. I used to hold tea parties with my stuffed animals, each one named after one of my brothers or sisters who had moved away. And then I would cry because I thought that’s the only contact I would ever have with all these children—stuffed animals bearing their names. But Lydia told me family was family and everything could be figured out. I want to figure it out, Cain. I want to get married someday even if my parents’ marriages never worked out. I want to have children and give them a home and traditions like Lydia gave me. I want to unite all my stepsiblings and introduce them to my half brothers. And maybe I’ll start a tradition of Christmas week, and every two days will be spent with a new set of grandparents so everyone can see everyone because that’s what the holidays are all about. And I’ll get C.J. and Brandon to do it too, even if they grumble and pretend they’re too tough for holidays.
“I want to do all these things. And I thought you should know about them because someday, I want to do them with you.”
His body went very still. He thought he should say something but his mind remained perfectly blank. He could not think; he could not move. He just stood there in the middle of the room.
And he thought she was the most beautiful person he’d ever known. So many reasons to be bitter, yet there wasn’t a bitter bone in her body. So many reasons to be tough and cynical, yet she remained warm and generous and determined to save everyone. She tried so hard and the world was running out of people who were willing to try.
“Cain?” she whispered after a moment, sounding vulnerable.
He forced himself to focus. “I … I hope someday you do all that you dream of, Maggie,” he said at last. His voice was hoarse, so he cleared it and tried again. “But I don’t think it will be with me,” he finished quietly.
Her blue eyes grew luminescent. “You don’t care about me?”
He opened his mouth to agree but found he couldn’t look into those eyes and lie. “I have nothing to give you,” he amended at last.
“I don’t remember asking for anything.”
“Love isn’t free,” he said levelly. “You of all people should know that. It requires commitment, time, care. I’m running from the law. I could be running a long time. I may never get free. I won’t bind you to that, Maggie. That wouldn’t be love.”
She stared at him a suspended moment. “No,” she agreed at last. “But the fact that you don’t want to bind me to your problems—that’s love.”
He didn’t deny it. He didn’t agree with it. He just looked at her and she looked back at him, and it was simply there between them, something thick, nearly tangible, but too fragile for words.
He thought, Please, oh please, don’t let Ham figure out what she means to me.
Cain picked up her locket where it lay in a gold puddle on the floor. He placed it in her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. “You should keep it. Now gather your things. We need to leave.”
“Good enough,” she whispered, then added, “for now.”
He didn’t say anything. Instead he thought of the prison bars and the way they sounded as they closed, kchink, kchink.
The sound of regret, he thought now. The sound of someone who had made one too many mistakes.
• • •
Maggie looked over her shoulder once, then twice. There was still no one in sight.
“Okay,” she whispered, though her tone still held a faint edge of mutiny. “Now.”
One sharp downward blow and Cain popped open the ignition of stolen vehicle number three. He moved fast and quick beneath the canvas top of the Jeep, but Maggie was no longer impressed.
She’d wanted to buy an old junk car rather than steal another vehicle from some poor, innocent person. Cain, however, had pointed out that you generally needed ID to purchase automobiles, plus you had to fill out paperwork. All of that could be used to track them down.
So could a stolen vehicle, she’d countered.
Yes, he’d agreed. But stealing a vehicle was faster and a lot less bureaucratic.
So they were on the road again, this time in a Jeep.
Cain relaxed visibly once they were back on highway 20. It was just after eight and there wasn’t much traffic. No sign of cops, no sign of pursuers. The pavement was still wet but drying fast beneath the warm embrace of a bright spring sun.
Maggie studied Cain for a while beneath the cover of her lashes. And then, because she couldn’t help herself, she reached over, touched his cheek and smiled.
“You’re ridiculously happy for a hostage.” His lips were curving as well.
“Must be the company I’m keeping.”
He grinned at her, and for a moment everything was all right.
She put back the top, letting in the cool spring air and scent of rain. The wind tangled through her braid. The sun caught her hair and lit it on fire. She leaned back against the seat, closing her eyes and tilting up her cheeks to the clear blue sky.
Big fluffy clouds looked like wads of fresh cotton. The distant tops of verdant mountains offered a beckoning horizon. Everything smelled spicy, fresh and green.
She thought it was a beautiful day.
• • •
Cain spotted the cop car first. It wasn’t behind them. Actually, it was heading right toward them, barreling westbound in one hell of a hurry. Automatically Cain’s grip tightened on the wheel.
“Remain calm,” he muttered. Maggie wasn’t sure if he was speaking to himself or to her. They were just coming up on signs for 395 north, and they were the only vehicle on the road.
; She sat a little straighter, watching the police car take shape. As it grew on the horizon, dust and waves of heat shimmered behind it.
“Do you think he’ll recognize us?” she whispered.
Cain glanced at her, then at the canvas top she’d pulled back. “Your hair,” he said simply.
Her hands fingered the bright red strands self-consciously. Then with a belated flurry of movement, she grabbed the baseball cap from his head and stuck it on her own just as the cop car went flying by.
“What do you think?” she demanded to know, twisting in her seat to watch the brown vehicle whiz past.
She had her answer in less than five seconds. The brake lights lit up; the tires came to a screeching halt. Dust abruptly flew and rubber burned as the cop did a lumbering 180 and headed back toward them.
Cain wasted his breath on one succinct word; then the wail of sirens cut through the morning.
“Hang on,” he called to Maggie, and pressed down hard on the gas.
She grabbed the roll bar above her head, her other hand holding the cap on her thick hair as the compact Jeep sprang forward like a well-trained beast.
Cain didn’t fool around. The turnoff for 395 came and he took it, the cop car right on their heels. Its engine was more powerful. Cain was more desperate.
He watched the car come closer and closer, thought of all the buddies the cop must be calling on the radio. He wanted to swear more; he wanted to curse.
He had to remain focused.
“Maggie,” he called above raging sirens, “do you trust me?”
“What?” she yelled back.
“I said, do you trust me?”
“Of course!”
“Good!” He cranked the wheel hard.
One minute they were burning up asphalt; the next minute they hit sagebrush and the little Jeep was airborne. They hit the dirt hard, moist earth and crackling brush cushioning the jarring blow and momentarily wrestling with the tires for traction. This time, the Jeep proved more stubborn than the mud and the vehicle leaped sluggishly forward.
The cop car followed, sirens growing louder as it, too, hit the air. It landed with a choking screech and the engine groaned loudly as the mud grabbed hard.
Maggie risked a look back. This close she could see the cop’s face clearly, old and leathered beneath his brown hat as he leaned forward, putting his body behind his urging. The heavier vehicle remained stuck, though.
Maggie didn’t have time to gloat. As the Jeep jostled and bounced her like a rubber toy, she saw the sheriff pop open his door and climb out of his vehicle. Then she saw him place the rifle against his shoulder and level it steadily.
“Cain, look out!” she screamed.
Gunshot cracked the sky, echoing in the vast sky and ringing in her ears. She flinched and ducked, losing her hold on the roll bar and almost getting bounced out of the vehicle. Cain simply tucked his head against his chest, not relinquishing his hold on the wheel even for gunfire. Another shot rang out, then another.
She heard the melodious tinkle of a rear light shattering, then the sharp thud of a bullet burying itself in the back fender.
“Faster!” she cried. “Faster!”
“No kidding!”
Then abruptly the ground opened up beneath them. One minute they were bouncing along, staring at flatland; the next they realized how much the horizon had fooled them. The ravine gaped open. They went sailing into the air.
Maggie had one moment to grab the dash. The Jeep plunged into the narrow ravine, burying its nose against the mud wall and ending with a whimper.
She went flying forward. The dashboard was very friendly.
Everything went black.
• • •
“Open your mouth for me, Maggie. That’s it.” Her cracked lips parted on command and sweet, thick juice trickled between them. Orange juice, she thought dimly, and drank deeply.
At the last minute, the liquid disappeared. She heard a faint groan of protest, then realized it was her own. Her eyes reluctantly cracked open.
She was sprawled out on the seat of the crumpled Jeep. Cain loomed above her, his face pale and grim as he looked down at her. She blinked a few more times and his body stopped wavering sickeningly.
“How do you feel?” he asked quietly, the concern obvious in his voice. He reached down and brushed back her hair once, then twice, then three times. Finally, he settled for keeping his hand on her cheek.
She turned her head into his palm, wincing a bit from the movement. “Like I’ve been in a car accident,” she muttered against his fingertips. “And you?”
“The same.”
Belatedly, she hefted herself to sitting. Her head hurt. She could feel a nice-sized lump growing on her forehead. But she still had two arms and two legs that functioned on command. She twisted at the waist, grimacing a bit.
“How long was I unconscious?”
“A few minutes.”
“Is the cop coming?”
“I imagine we’ll have all sorts of company shortly.”
“Oh.” She looked up at him miserably. “I’m sorry,” she said automatically.
His lips curved, almost tenderly. “It’s not your fault. I knew from the beginning that escape was a long shot. Do you think you can walk?”
“Yes, of course.” She could walk. She could dance on a tightrope if he would just keep looking at her like that.
He hopped down from the Jeep, clutching the bag of their meager supplies in one hand. She followed more gingerly, but the wooziness was clearing rapidly. She must not have hit her head that hard after all.
Then she realized for the first time that he was limping.
“You hurt your leg!”
“Yes.”
She scurried around to the left side of him, and her eyes widened. It was hard to tell, given the already disreputable shape of his jeans, but a wet stain appeared to be spreading along his thigh. “Cain, you’re really injured!”
“I checked it out. It’s not much.”
She didn’t believe him for a minute. He finally arched a single brow. “Do you know first aid, Maggie?”
She shook her head.
“If it is seriously injured, is there anything you can do about it?”
Once again she shook her head.
“Then its condition is moot. Even if it’s serious, there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“We can sit here and rest!”
“I’m sure the police would appreciate that.” He continued walking along the floor of the shallow ravine, looking around himself and assessing the situation with his cool gaze.
Maggie scowled at him, but she didn’t know how to make him stop.
“I wonder how far this goes,” Cain murmured out loud.
“What?”
“The ravine. My guess is that helicopters will be brought in shortly. The land here is fairly flat. So the ravine could come in handy, such as it is.”
Maggie understood his point. The ravine was only about six feet deep and ten feet wide, more like a gully carved out by rushing water. But its top was obscured by thick, tangled brush, helping hide their progress, and it did appear to be long, snaking around so that they couldn’t see the end, just rich red dirt where it twisted around another corner.
“Do you really think we can make it on foot?” she asked.
Cain didn’t reply, but his lips got very tight.
And she knew it then, as he must have known it all along. He wasn’t going to make it. They’d been spotted and they were now on foot. In probably less than thirty minutes the area would be crawling with state troopers, county sheriffs and miscellaneous bounty hunters. They’d bring in helicopters; they’d bring in dogs.
Cain was smart, probably as smart as Brandon. And he was strong, probably as strong as C.J. But he was still just a man.
The police would find them. She would be “liberated” and Cain … oh, Cain.
“You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?”
He
still didn’t reply.
“Getting yourself shot rather than going back to jail would be pretty stupid,” she said more vehemently.
“No one will know the truth if I’m dead,” he said at last, his voice perfectly expressionless.
That scared her. Tucked away in the cool shadows of the ravine, she wrapped her arms around her waist.
“Keep walking, Maggie.”
So she did.
They heard the first sound of helicopters after twenty minutes, the pounding beat of blades almost deafening. Cain didn’t say anything. Instead, he halted and turned back to her long enough to brusquely tuck her red braid inside her T-shirt. The black baseball cap he pressed lower on her head, momentarily pushing loose tendrils behind her ears.
His face was expressionless, but she could see the strain etched in the corners of his eyes and the grim set of his mouth. His green eyes were determined, but she could see fatigue there as well and hints of pain. His steps had grown more labored.
She reached out her hand toward his chest, but he intercepted it in midair. His fingers closed around her wrist, gentle but firm. He replaced her hand at her side, his gaze level on hers.
Then he turned away from her and, without ever saying a word, raised the camouflaged hunting jacket over his own head to disguise his blond hair.
He resumed walking and, after a tortured moment, she followed.
The helicopters came and went. Once Maggie thought she heard barking, but the sound seemed very far away and things were distorted by the tunnel shape of the ravine. The barking never got closer, or the shouts of men. The ravine led them deeper and deeper around, until Maggie no longer knew which direction they were even headed, though they seemed to be headed up. She had the ridiculous thought that they would miraculously emerge in the courthouse in downtown Portland where all this madness had started.