by Dana Pratola
“Damn,” he muttered, and maneuvered her into the bed, covering her immediately.
Whether she was unconscious or just keeping her eyes closed, he wasn’t sure, but the shivering was worsening again. Maybe this was more than he could handle. But he wasn’t going to take her back outside to his car. He should call an ambulance. Panic was near, creeping along his shoulders, whispering in his ear that this girl was going to die right here.
Not on his watch. He did the only thing he could think of, and kicked off his shoes and climbed into bed with her. She gave up another soft moan when he turned her to her right side, slid his arm under her head, and snugged himself against her back. He felt her tremors course through him, tempting his mind to run headlong into fear, but he closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, willing her to follow suit, as he inhaled the smell of her hair, that combination of familiar shampoo, and the earth she’d made her bed for several hours.
Soon, the trembling eased enough for him to relax. So much so, that he found he couldn’t open his eyes, and after a few minutes, quit trying.
CHAPTER 7
Winsome cracked her eyelids open, torn between wanting to wake up, or return to the cradling embrace of her sweet dream. It had been a long time since she’d even had a dream she remembered, much less a good one, though she remembered only bits—soft, reassuring murmurs, being held warm and safe in a man’s arms. She could still almost feel the hot pressure against her back, and the lovely weight across her hip. She felt anchored, but not trapped. Secure. Reveling in the sensation, she drifted off.
The mild ache in her fingers roused her again, ebbing when she flexed her hand, remembering only then that she had a cast on. That heat at her back shifted, and she froze.
Slowly, she crossed her right arm to her side, making contact with skin. Not her own. She walked her fingers down, then up. An arm. Covered in coarse hairs. Before she could freak out, she scanned the room, trying to recall where she was, but these surroundings were unfamiliar.
The arm on her side lifted, and she glanced over to see a hand sliding away from her. She rolled, but met a wall of flesh. Freaking out seemed inevitable at this point. Dante—
“Welcome to consciousness.”
Caleb’s voice broke through her fright, diffusing it before it could fully form into terror. He pulled away from her, allowing her the room to roll to her back.
“Good morning.”
“Caleb. What are you doing here?” Her eyes darted around the room and returned to him. “Wherever here is.”
“It’s my room,” he said, getting out of bed. “Well, it used to be my room when I lived here.”
He was fully dressed, she noted with relief. She peered beneath the covers to look down at herself. Hmm. Hoped she might have imagined him undressing her. No such luck.
“I don’t remember coming in here.” She did vaguely remember waking up outside.
“I’m not surprised. You were out of it.”
Yes, she remembered that much, the feeling her insides were a block of ice, and the intense shivering. It must be why every muscle in her body was aching, especially in her stomach.
“I thought I might have to get you to a hospital,” he said, his voice stiff and raspy.
Winsome pushed herself to a seated position, dropping the covers to her lap. It was warm in here! He looked like he was sweating, fully dressed as he was, and under all this bedding. Had he been with her all night?
“Caleb?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you spend the night with me? In the bed, I mean.”
“Yes.”
She nodded. Then there was a good chance he had saved her life. What if he hadn’t been here? Which made her think….
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
Caleb pulled his shirt off, standing bare-chested in the center of the room.
Whatever words she had just spoken, fled, with what was left of her senses. There seemed to be nothing in the room, save him, as though the walls themselves had blurred to an ethereal glow surrounding his form. His amazing form. Wow. It was silly, but she was suddenly seeing one of those spirally wormholes with the white wavy things they always depicted in the movies. She saw Caleb’s eyes widen with alarm, and he stepped toward her.
Then, blackness.
****
“Winsome.”
Someone called her name out in the distance. Then closer, as they shook her gently.
“Winsome.”
Caleb. She opened her eyes to find him looking down at her, examining her with those glorious, mysterious eyes.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
She didn’t know. “Fine, I think.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
His voice was sharp, but his eyes were still filled with concern. She tried to sit up, but needed his help to accomplish it.
“Move slowly,” he said, helping her to the side of the bed. “Can you remember when you ate last?”
When had she eaten last? Good question. “I think I ate yesterday.” Microwavable macaroni and cheese came to mind. “Yes. I had mac and cheese for breakfast.”
Without warning, Caleb picked her up in his muscular arms and tucked her to his bare, broad chest.
“You need to eat. Now.”
As he carried her down the stairs, the realization that only the thin barrier of the borrowed T-shirt she wore separated her skin from his, made her self-conscious. She was no prude, but with each of them half dressed, she had to wonder if he was thinking the same thing.
In the kitchen, Caleb set her down in a chair and opened the fridge. “There’s eggs.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like eggs.”
He closed the door and hunted through the cabinets and pantry. There were plenty of old items: dusty canned vegetables, baking supplies and the like, but no real food. Of the groceries Finn had brought, all that remained were two boxes of brown sugar oatmeal. She’d even eaten half the box of whole wheat cereal, but she didn’t think she could bring herself to eat another scrambled egg.
“I have to go to the store,” Caleb said, after a minute. “There’s nothing suitable to eat in this house. But you have to eat something now, so I’m going to make you eggs and you’ll just have to deal with them.”
She rolled her eyes, but his apologetic smile went a long way towards getting her to agree, and he set about cooking her breakfast.
“When you’re done eating, why don’t you shower, and if you’re up to it, you can come with me. We’ll get some groceries, then we’ll go get you some clothes,” he said, beating eggs in a bowl.
“You mean…buy me clothes?” Winsome asked.
“Yeah.”
“You buy me clothes?”
He nodded, and turned the flame on under a tiny cast iron skillet.
“No, I can’t let you do that,” she said. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”
“With one pair of sweats and no money coming in?” he asked, dropping a slab of butter into the pan.
It was humiliating, but true. Even if it was no fault of her own, she had no money and no job prospects in her immediate future.
Caleb dumped the slimy mixture into the frying pan. “This is no time for pride, Winsome. Let me help you. You can pay me back when you get on your feet, would that help?”
Logically, it was the right thing to do, but in her emotions, to admit she was lacking and accept a hand-out was another defeat. She inhaled deeply and let it out on a long, shaky exhale. As usual, she didn’t really have much choice in what situation befell her, or the outcome. She nodded unenthusiastically. He gave her a satisfied nod back, took a plate from the cabinet and set it on the counter next to the stove.
“I’m sure I have a pair of sweats you can wear for now,” he said, sliding her a glance.
He seemed to know just what to say about every little thing that popped up. Winsome envied people like him, those with real solutions to problems. Granted, they probably hadn’t had mi
sery run interference throughout most of their lives. Not that she begrudged them. That was the way it went. Some people swung life around by the tail, others were swung around by life.
Caleb scraped eggs onto the plate and handed it to Winsome. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful, and they did smell pretty good, but her stomach protested, having been empty for almost twenty-four hours.
“I don’t think I can eat these. How many is this? Three? Four?”
“Two. You’ll do fine.” He got her a fork from the drawer. “Do you think you feel well enough for me to leave you while I go shower?”
Winsome nodded. She felt stronger already, less likely to pass out again.
“I’ll be checking the trash when I come back, so don’t throw them away,” Caleb told her, aiming a finger at the trash can.
Great, she’d have to eat them now. With a small groan of complaint, she dug in.
****
Cal swept his wet hair back from his forehead and checked his cell phone. Still only one message from Dee. One. He’d been gone all night, hadn’t told her where he was going, or even that he was going out, and she’d texted him once, to tell him she was home. Hadn’t asked where he was, who he was with, when, or if, he was coming home. Didn’t she find it the least bit odd after he’d told her he wanted to talk when she got home?
He found it interesting that the text had come in at one sixteen a.m., when she’d told him she would be home around midnight, but they had probably gone for a drink after the movie. Things were strained between he and Dee lately, and she was staying out late more frequently, but he wasn’t about to add fuel to the fire when he had spent the night with another woman in his arms, innocent though it was.
The kitchen was empty when he returned, and he heard the shower running in the bathroom off Aunt Ruth’s room. Tipping the trash can lid up, he took a peek inside. No eggs.
He started a pot of coffee, then went to the back porch to take in the frosty morning air. Mid-March around these parts could be bitter cold, and he was damn glad Winsome wasn’t still out there, an icicle by now. A lifeless icicle.
The thought made his stomach dip to his knees, and he went back inside, just as Winsome was coming up the hall, wearing only a green towel, and a plastic grocery bag taped shoddily to her arm. He couldn’t prevent the chuckle, she looked that silly. Like a wounded bird, pretty and fragile, and eager to fly. To his surprise, she chuckled, too.
“I know I look silly. They gave me a plastic shower sleeve thing at the hospital, but I have no idea what happened to it,” she said, lifting her broken wing.
“It won’t be too long before you’re out of that cast.”
“Ugh! Weeks, still. But at least my rib’s mended. I guess. It doesn’t hurt anymore, only a little if I move too fast.”
They were quiet for a moment, then Cal waved her after him. “Let’s find you something to wear.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with me,” she said from behind him when they’d stepped into his room.
Cal turned and she stared up at him with huge, dark eyes, her wet hair hanging in strings down her back and shoulders. She rather resembled a child, caught in the rain.
“I want you to know I can handle my own business,” she said. “This is just a…a…really bad spot. Usually, I work, pay my own bills, and stay out of everyone’s way. I don’t ask anyone for anything. I even had a car, but…I don’t now.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He’d bet Dante had had something to do with that.
“No, I am worried about it,” she insisted. “I know I’m putting you out. You stayed here last night and that’s not okay.” Cal started to contest her argument, but she put up a hand to still him. “I appreciate it, of course, but you have your own life. A girlfriend, places you could be instead of here.”
She was right about that. The trouble was, he didn’t want to be with Dee right now. He wanted to be here, doing this. With Winsome. Even if he didn’t feel somehow obligated to care for her as part of his aunt’s last wishes. And it was his goal to at least get the girl some food, decent clothes, and a coat. Definitely a coat. And when the treehouse was finished, she would have permanent shelter, and he wouldn’t have to see her. After that, he could rest easy, knowing he’d done his best to prevent her demise.
It wasn’t entirely true that he wouldn’t see her again. If he lived in this house—and that was how he was leaning, more and more every day—how could he not? But he was getting ahead of himself. It was a matter he needed to discuss with Dee and though occupying it himself seemed the best way to go, Dee didn’t like the house or the isolation. And it certainly wouldn’t sit well with her to have Winsome on the property.
Mentally shelving that dilemma for later, Cal pulled open the bottom drawer of his dresser and took out a folded pair of gray sweats.
“These have a drawstring, so you can probably manage with them.” Her waist was incredibly small. He rooted through the drawers looking for the smallest shirt he owned, which turned out to be a blue T-shirt with a band logo, and handed it to her. “Do you need help dressing?”
“No,” she said, blushing slightly.
“Okay, I’ll meet you out back in a few minutes,” he said, and left her to change.
CHAPTER 8
She couldn’t help watching him as he drove. Though she tried to steal peeks, when he wasn’t looking, he had caught her several times and glanced away, confused. Winsome found it amusing, that a man as attractive as him wasn’t used to being looked at. Or maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he just couldn’t believe she was looking at him.
There was no question she wasn’t in his league, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate his appearance. She watched cooking shows all the time, it didn’t mean she was going to feast on lamb tartare or prime rib, but she could drool over it like anyone else.
“Something funny?” he asked, catching her gaze for a second.
Winsome realized she had a smirk on her face, but couldn’t quite erase it. “No. Just thinking of prime rib,” she said.
“You just ate,” he replied with a chuckle.
“And thank you again for lunch. And for making me breakfast.”
“No problem.”
The silence descended again, and Winsome returned her gaze to the passing houses, mailboxes and trees. This was such a pretty landscape, a seamless combination of suburb and rural farmland, connected by wavy, twisty roads and lush tumbling hills, property lines drawn by natural rock formations and hand-hewn fence posts. Houses were far enough from each other that you wouldn’t hear the neighbor’s business, and the town was only a five-minute drive away, far enough that, while you had to drive for a loaf of bread, it wasn’t so far that you had to make a day of it.
Ruth’s house was in another area all altogether, secluded at the end of a private road, no neighbor’s visible in any direction except from the top of the hill, where one was provided a sloping view of the west end of town. To Winsome’s mind, it was heaven, so far removed from the overcrowded lower middle-class neighborhood she’d grown up in, where car alarms and barking dogs were the soundtrack for a life of mediocrity and boredom. So different from the neighborhood where she’d shared an apartment with a maniac.
She looked down at the borrowed sweats, wishing she hadn’t had to lose everything she owned. It wasn’t an outstanding wardrobe, but she’d had a few nice things, and even a couple favorite things—a pair of black suede boots with a low heel, and a bulky turquoise sweater she’d found at a consignment shop. There’d also been that sleek little red dress Dante wouldn’t let her wear, and her scarf collection. Not much, but it was hers.
Winsome sighed, rubbing her palm over her thighs. She was better off without those things. It was better to start naked, penniless and alone than to keep anything that might have a memory of Dante clinging to it, lingering like the stench of decay and extraordinary sadness.
She looked behind her. Aside from the groceries in the trunk, the back seat held
numerous bags from different clothing stores. Caleb had wanted to buy her a lot more, but she’d only allowed him to purchase what she thought she could reimburse him for in a reasonable amount of time once she got working.
He’d bought her a couple pairs of jeans, some tops, undergarments—so embarrassing, even if his face remained impassive as they were rung up—shoes, and a coat. In fact, before they’d purchased anything at all, he’d taken her hand and pulled her to the nearest sales clerk to ask where the coats were. She must have really shaken him up last night.
No more than he had, her. Waking this morning to find that he had undressed her and put her to bed, and stayed with her the entire night, was…endearing. She was learning quickly that his gruff manner was mostly a smoke screen to cover his concern. She’d never met another man like him in her life, and already she was starting to lament the day they would part and move ahead with their separate lives.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
It was strange, but in that moment, nothing was wrong. She was clothed, fed, safe, and enjoying the company of a handsome, albeit, not entirely cheery, man. She didn’t have a job, or a real home, but for now she had a place to relax and heal. She just had to keep herself from becoming attached to this life, and to Caleb.
“Thanks again,” she said.
Caleb emitted a brief growl. “Stop thanking me. You’ve said thanks. I get it, okay.” He slid her an exasperated look and his grip tightened on the wheel. “You’re welcome.”
He returned his intent gaze to the road ahead and missed her answering smile. He was cute when he was trying not to be surly. She turned her head to the view out her side window. People had said she was nuts for staying with Dante. They would probably hold to their opinions if they knew she found Caleb’s gruff manner attractive. Maybe she really was nuts. But it was just his way….
Wasn’t that what she’d told herself about Dante? He was short with her because he was worried when she hadn’t come straight home and she hadn’t been considerate enough to call him. A shove was just his way of expressing the alarm she’d caused him. He was very passionate and expressed himself with his hands. And the mean, disgusting things he said to her were just the way he’d been taught by an alcoholic father. Excuses.