by Dana Pratola
She closed her eyes and dipped her head, no doubt recalling a beating. But more than sad, she looked ashamed. That pissed him off. She had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Winsome—”
“But I never took advantage of her kindness, I swear.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Didn’t he? He paused, reflecting. No, he didn’t.
She drew her eyebrows together, reminding him of a lost little girl. He’d seen that look on Tiffany’s face occasionally, only he hadn’t known why then. He did now, and it was too late. For Tiffany, at least.
And just like that, everything he’d planned to explain to Winsome went right out the window. He saw the true vulnerability his aunt must have, and there was no way under God’s blue sky she was walking out of here and into some shelter, where her ex might find her. He’d put her up somewhere safe. A hotel.
“Winsome, where is your ex right now?”
“In jail.”
“Good.” He resisted asking if she’d pressed charges herself. It didn’t matter. But courts being what they were, he might not be there long. “I want you to stay here.”
He was just as shocked by his words as she was. When had he made that decision?
Winsome was shaking her head. “I can’t. I don’t want—”
He shook his head back at her. “I know, you don’t want to impose or whatever, but you can’t stay at a shelter, and I won’t have any peace with you wandering the streets looking over your shoulder. And I’m certainly not going to try anything….”
“How do you know about the shelter?”
“I was eavesdropping,” he answered, gesturing to the hallway.
Her eyes welled with unshed tears, and he looked down at his hands to avoid looking at her.
“Look, the offer my aunt made you is legal, and you have every right to claim it. Besides, Aunt Ruth is not one to be disappointed, as I’m sure you know. She knows you better than I do, and I trust her judgment. Plus, she’ll probably haunt me if I don’t keep you.”
She was trying her hardest not to burst into tears, an effort for which he was grateful.
“We can talk about the treehouse, or whatever, another time. But until it’s finished, you’ll stay here.”
“I…I don’t know what to say,” she said, her voice harsh with the strain of keeping it together.
“There’s nothing to say,” Cal told her. “Unfortunately, you’ll be here alone most of the time. I have my own place….” He waved his hand dismissively. “You know that, obviously.” She nodded. “You don’t mind staying alone?”
“No. I’ve been here alone before. Ruth loaned me a room off the upstairs sunroom.”
The room across from his. He stood, mindful of the cushions, and looked down at her. She looked to be about twenty-two or three, but with the disfigurement, he couldn’t really tell. Her long, brown hair hung straight down her back and curved over her shoulders, like a waterfall, sweeping over smooth rocks. It reminded him of the cartoon, Pocahontas, for some reason, and he wondered, with an odd name like Woodbead, if she could be part Native American.
Cal knew he should leave, but suddenly didn’t want to. He didn’t know his guest well enough to know if she would like him to stay, so it was better to be safe, than make her feel uncomfortable.
“Like I said, we’ll talk about the plans for the treehouse when you’re ready. Don’t feel you need to rush anything. Just concentrate on healing up.”
She almost smiled then, but the pain must have stopped her.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead. I have no secrets,” she said.
He wondered about that, but pushed the thought to the back of his mind. “How did you talk my aunt into letting you leave, knowing you might go back to that maniac?”
It probably wasn’t his business—definitely wasn’t—but now that he’d asked, he waited for an answer. Winsome sent her tongue out to tentatively sweep her bottom lip. Then she gave a little shrug, looked at him, then away.
“I told her he would find me and things would be even worse. She did everything to talk me out of it, but I was just…so afraid. I think after a while she saw the fear was doing damage too.” She sniffed. “Then one night I left while she was asleep. I knew it would be better for both of us if he didn’t find me here.”
“For both of you? Did he threaten my aunt?”
“He’s always saying things,” she blurted. “How God himself couldn’t help anyone who gets between me and him, stuff like that.”
Cal wasn’t surprised to find his blood boiling, but astonished to find his protective instinct kicking in fully and naturally for someone he’d just met.
“I don’t want you feeling sorry for me,” she whispered.
He almost hadn’t heard her, but pieced together the parts he had.
“I feel a lot of things,” he said. “First and foremost is rage. I can’t believe a guy could or would do this to a woman. Second, I’m pissed off at myself for possibly giving you the impression that I can be anything like that guy.”
She reached out and touched her slim fingers to his forearm. “No. No, I don’t think that. Just because you were a jerk doesn’t mean I think you’re capable of…this.”
It was nuts, and totally out of character for him, but he had an almost irresistible impulse to lean over and kiss her. To show her some gentleness, that was all. Some comfort, he told himself, nothing more.
A voice deep inside called him a liar. And that voice gave him three reasons why. One because despite the swelling and tinting, and the baggy shirt and sweatpants trying unsuccessfully to hide the petite shape underneath, he found her strangely attractive. Two, she seemed like a genuinely sweet girl, someone he’d like to know better. And three, for reasons he wouldn’t delve into now, he felt he could use the contact as much as her.
That made him feel worse. He had a girlfriend at home. What was wrong with him?
“I’m also feeling sorry for myself, and I won’t go into that,” he said. “But feeling sorry for you isn’t in the top three, so we’re good.”
She cracked a smile then, for an instant, only long enough to make her self-conscious about her appearance and look away. But Cal wouldn’t have her feeling that way over something that was no fault of her own. He brought his thumb and index finger to her chin and nudged her face back to his.
At some point he must have stopped breathing, because when he finally resumed, he had to take in a deep gulp of air to fill the vacuum. He’d also dipped his head to within six inches of hers. She stayed immobile, searching his eyes, for what, he didn’t know, but the last thing he wanted her to think was that he was trying to take advantage of her defenselessness. He licked his lips, denying them a taste of her, leaned back and dropped his hand away to scrape it over his face.
“It’s been a long day,” he said, hoping that would account for his odd behavior. “You can explain the plan to Finn, right? I’m going to get going. You settle in and try to get some rest.”
She nodded as he stood and walked away.
CHAPTER 4
Winsome had a moment of sheer panic when she heard the front door open and close with an unreserved bang. Dante. He’d come for her. It had taken a week, but he’d realized where she was and come for her. Her head snapped in one direction, then another, looking for a place to hide, her brain calculating at lightning speed, whether she could squeeze herself into the wardrobe with her cast, and at what angle, or if there was time to get to the attic. If so, then what?
Moving as quickly as she could toward the closet, she passed the window overlooking the back entrance, and saw Caleb’s car parked there.
Caleb’s. Not Dante’s.
Her relief was immediate and thorough, to the point she nearly collapsed to the floor when the air rushed from her lungs in jubilant celebration that she would live another day.
“Winsome!”
She hurriedly regrouped and shot from the room and down the stairs, uncaring that the actio
n jostled her still-sore ribs.
“Whoa, whoa!” Caleb said, almost colliding with her on his way up. He steadied her with his hand on her hip, to prevent her from losing her footing as she slammed on the brakes. “You shouldn’t be running like that.”
She smiled, too happy to be upset by his minor scolding. “I heard someone…and….”
He was no idiot, and she watched him put the puzzle together.
“It’s okay. You’re safe here,” he told her. “I should’ve called first. I’ll call next time.”
She nodded and moved with him as he stepped off the bottom step and headed into the kitchen. He was taller than Dante, probably six-foot, or six-foot-one. Beefier, more rugged by far. Yet, he didn’t frighten her. She felt safe now that he was here, and she realized just how unsafe she’d felt this past week. She’d hated the jittery feeling, stewing in her anxiety, fatigued from trying to stay alert to every sound that reached her ear. And the ones that might not until it was too late. It taxed her body far worse than the injuries.
But Caleb’s presence, coarse as it was, calmed her. She couldn’t imagine Dante ever hurting her when he was around, or Caleb ever wanting to hurt her. In fact, she distinctly remembered his wanting to kiss her the last time he was here.
She’d been too out of it, at the time, to register what was going on, but she’d since examined the event. At first, she’d tried to reason it away, telling herself he was just being nice, because no man in his right mind would want to kiss her, the way she looked. Then she’d told herself that maybe he wasn’t being nice, maybe he was just looking for sex, but had had a change of heart at the last moment. Though she didn’t know him, she dismissed that notion. Going out of his way to apologize for his behavior at their first meeting, and staying away all week, had confirmed her assurance.
That left only the bald fact that he must really have wanted to kiss her. Whether out of sympathy or curiosity, she didn’t know. Tiny shivers crept along her arms and shoulders. She would have let him. At least, she thought she would have. In that moment, she might have tried to crawl into the couch cushions.
She followed him to the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator, resting a forearm on the top of the door and leaning in. He was either looking for food or stalling, but after a moment, he closed it again.
“How’ve you been getting along? Finn told me he stocked up on groceries,” Caleb said.
Which Caleb had paid for, she knew. “Great. Thank you.”
“Have you been able to handle…everything?” he asked. “Cooking? Other stuff?”
“Other stuff?”
“Yeah, you know, dressing, undressing, showering.”
“Oh, yeah, fine. I keep my arm out of the tub when I take a bath. I’m right-handed, so everything else—like brushing my teeth, or eating—isn’t too bad. I have the most trouble getting dressed.” She looked down at herself and gave a tug on her sweats. “Which is why I’ve been living in these. Easier to put on.”
That, and the fact that she didn’t have anything else.
He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “How are you feeling? You look…slightly better.”
It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but it cheered her nonetheless.
“Yes, the swelling’s almost gone, except for this side of my nose,” she said, turning her face to the left. “And now my bruises are more rainbow, as you can see, but the rib is feeling better.” She raised her arm a little. “This’ll be off before I know it.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been.”
Cal took a good, hard look at her and followed it up with a good, long sigh. She didn’t know what to make of it, until he leaned back against the counter, resting the pads of his hands on the granite top.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been by to check on you,” he said. “I meant to, but….”
So, that was it. He felt bad, leaving her here to fend for herself. And she could tell, looking in his eyes, that he really did. But she wasn’t his responsibility.
“It’s fine,” she said, giving him a careless wave. “Finn comes by every day. He even had dinner sent over last night from some upscale place in town.”
“I know, but—”
“No, you’ve already given me so much more than I expected,” she said, taking a half-step forward. “Opening your home to me is…everything. I don’t expect you to babysit me, it’s not your duty.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, offered her a half smile, that didn’t reach those incredible—for she’d decided they were incredible—cool-as-ice eyes.
“I could use a favor, though,” she said, after a long pause. He lifted his eyebrows in question. “Can you bring me a paper next time you come? I mean, if you come again. There’s no computer here, and I have to look for a job. I asked Finn, but he forgot, and I don’t want to bring it up. I notice sometimes he gets nervous if he forgets things.”
Cal tilted his head to the right. “It never occurred to me you might work.”
What was that supposed to mean? What did he think she did, live off others?
“What I mean is, that you might have a job you can’t get to, or can’t work because of…” he tipped his chin toward her broken arm.
She widened her eyes for a second. “Yeah, well, this isn’t the problem,” she said, lifting her arm. “I lost my job before I broke my arm. My ex saw to that.”
“You didn’t break your arm, it was broken for you.”
The vehemence in his voice gave her pause, and she retreated a few inches. Which Caleb noticed.
“I’m sorry. It just kills me to hear you taking any of the blame, even if it’s just a matter of phrasing.”
She gave her head a tiny shake. “No, I get what you’re saying. I know what you mean.”
But he looked at her like she didn’t really get it. And maybe she didn’t. She realized that for every time she caught herself dumping the blame back on her own shoulders, there must be five times she missed it.
“Well, I’m sorry. For other things, too,” he told her.
“You already apologized,” Winsome said. “Please, let’s just move past it.”
“This is for new stuff.”
Her face must’ve displayed the confusion she was feeling, so he continued.
“Like for not considering you might need more than food. You’ve been wearing those same clothes the whole time, right?”
She was self-conscious enough as it was, and now—
“Not that you look bad,” he interjected.
“They’re clean, I used the washer and dryer, I hope that’s okay.”
Cal reached out to touch her shoulder, but fell just short. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I mean that, I’m assuming you have belongings somewhere, but none with you.”
An involuntary chill shot down Winsome’s back. “What little I had is in Dante’s apartment, and I’m never going back there. Ever.”
“Dante?” Caleb asked. She nodded. “The asshole that did this to you is named Dante?”
The only thing amusing about this was the way Caleb pronounced Dante’s name, with all the ridiculousness it deserved, but she couldn’t stifle a giggle.
“What were you expecting?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Carl? Keith? Billy?”
“Those are typical abuser names?”
“Well, you may have a Wayne or Tony thrown in there, but yeah.”
Winsome laughed. Not a mere chuckle, but an all-out laugh that seemed to rattle something loose deep inside. Caleb laughed with her, bringing a whole new dimension to his face, making him even more handsome, and approachable. It felt so good to use her lungs, face, and body this way after having had so little to laugh about over the last nine months. Well, over the last several years. Honestly, even though her rib ached with each contraction, she didn’t know if she could stop.
But after a minute, she gasped in a breath and took a peek through watery
eyes at Caleb. His somber countenance had reemerged and he stood staring at her. The contrast of his stoic expression to her hysteria, was sobering, and she suddenly had no trouble pulling herself together.
She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Sorry. That was funny, though.”
“Don’t ever apologize to me for having fun,” Caleb said, quietly.
There was that fleeting feeling again, like he would lean in and kiss her. To her surprise, she wanted him to. Really wanted him to. She leaned in just enough to bring her closer, but not to be obvious. At once realizing what she had done, she pulled back. It was a foolish move and she definitely did not need another complication in her life.
Then he swallowed and shifted his weight, so that he stood straight and tall, and further from her.
“I’m going to go out and check those trees. See what needs to be done to get started on the structure,” he said.
Winsome watched him walk out the back, pulling the back door tight behind him.
****
What the hell was wrong with him? Was nothing sacred? Winsome was susceptible to influence. An abuse victim. Easy prey. She shouldn’t have to worry about whether a guy was trying to kiss her. He gave the hickory tree a thump with his fist. Not that that’s what he was trying to do, but she might think so. It may have been his imagination, but she looked like she was okay with the idea. He had to remember she was used to being threatened and beaten. He couldn’t rightly judge the intent of a girl who was likely to say or do anything a man wanted, to be accepted or avoid getting hit.
And he had a girlfriend! He couldn’t ignore this point, especially when he lived with her. He’d moved in with Dee only months ago, and now here he was thinking about another woman. True, he’d done it solely to make Ruth happy, because he thought if she believed he was settling down, she might stop worrying, but still.
He wasn’t a cheater, he really wasn’t. He’d dated Dee for a year now, and in spite of numerous offers tossed his way, as well as the continued arguments, had never even considered cheating on her. But he had to admit he’d thought of Winsome off and on all week, including when he was with Dee. Not in a sexual setting, but it wasn’t right, and he knew it. Still, there didn’t seem to be much he could do to prevent the thoughts from coming.