K-I-S-S-I-N-G

by Dana Pratola

  As soon as he sat her on the couch, he pulled the throw from the chair and draped it over her shoulders, then called the police. The dispatcher informed him they had already received a call and were on their way. When he hung up, Cal silently thanked Finn, ran to put the kettle on, and returned to sit by Winsome’s side. She still wasn’t crying, however, and that was concerning. Shouldn’t she be crying?

  Cal took her hands in his, massaged her fingers, as much to relax him, as her. He noticed then that her hand was bleeding and loosened his grip.

  “Let me go get a damp cloth—”

  She squeezed his hand. “No. Don’t go. I’m okay.”

  Right, what was he thinking? Of course, she wouldn’t want to be alone. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  She took a huge breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were clear and bright.

  “I was in the treehouse, because I thought it would be nice to be in there during the storm.” She gave him a shy half smile. “And I heard footsteps outside. I knew it wasn’t you.” She shrugged. “I locked him out, ran up to the bedroom, and when he broke in, I climbed over the deck and down the outside. That’s how I got this,” she said, turning her hand over.

  He covered the angry, red wound with the bottom of his shirt. “We’ll get that all fixed up for you.”

  “Yeah, great. I finally get that dumb cast off my arm and now I’m going to have stitches in my hand. Am I always going to be broken somehow?”

  Cal looked deeply into her eyes. “No, you’re not. You’re going to heal and be stronger than ever.”

  She let out an aggravated snort and nodded. “Anyway, he chased me into the garage and I tried to keep away from him under the car, but he pulled me out. I shot him a couple times with the nail gun, but it mostly made him angrier.” She rested her mussed head against Cal’s shoulder. “I was so scared, but I promised myself I wouldn’t die without fighting back. I’m never going to not fight back again. And I did. I did what I could without giving up. I fought him.”

  “Yes, you did,” he agreed, and pressed a kiss to her head. “You did a beautiful job, I’m so proud of you.”

  He wanted to hold her so tight and tell her how sorry he was that when she’d thought she was about to die, he hadn’t been there. But she was smiling up at him now and all he could think was how grateful he was that she was still alive. As for Dante, he might have recovered by now, and fled the property. Cal would love to hunt him down and beat him to death with his bare hands, but he had Winsome here safe, and that was what mattered right now.

  He saw a tear then, but let it roll down her dirty cheek, rather than swiping it away. She’d earned it.

  “I just didn’t want you to be the one to find me, Caleb. All beat up and bloody.” She shook her head quickly, as if she was trying to dislodge the picture from her head. “I didn’t want that to be your last image of me.”

  Cal hugged her close while the sound of sirens bloomed in the distance, and until the emergency vehicles arrived. Finally, when he heard the first vehicle door close, he released her and went to show them in.

  ****

  “His doctor tells me he could be paralyzed,” Dr. Abner told Winsome, as he finished wrapping her hand. “Looks like the nail to the back of his neck may have severely damaged vertebra and potentially severed his spinal cord. They’ll know more in a while.”

  The doctor delivered the prognosis as though Winsome should be proud of her accomplishment. She wasn’t. True, Dante had brought it on himself, but his possible paralysis was nothing to rejoice about. She couldn’t imagine what his life would be like from now on, if in fact he was paralyzed, and in prison. While she wasn’t happy, she felt no guilt over it either. He’d had every opportunity to leave her alone and hadn’t, so he’d left her no option but to defend herself.

  “The wound to the front of the throat wasn’t serious,” Dr. Abner said. “As soon as he’s stable enough, he’ll be transported to a prison hospital. I thought you might want to know.”

  She nodded, thanked the doctor for caring for her injured hand, and slipped her arm around Caleb’s waist, just wanting to end this conversation. She didn’t want to know what would happen to Dante, where he would be, or any progress he would or wouldn’t make. She wanted to begin forgetting he existed at all.

  The rational part of her knew that wouldn’t happen, that for however long their relationship had lasted, and for whatever reason, he was a part of her history now. It sucked, but she had to accept it. She glanced up under Caleb’s chin, at that sexy scar. He was part of her history as well, and she looked forward to him being a large part of her future.

  The rain had stopped, the clouds cleared away, leaving behind only an inky black background for countless stars. Fresh, cold air blew in from the one-inch gap of the car windows and she breathed it in deeply.

  Caleb was abnormally quiet on the drive home, even though he held her hand. The whole drive. It was sweet, but the stiffness in his fingers let her know he wasn’t as relaxed as his smile would lead her to believe. She wished there was something she could do to ease his mind.

  “I’m okay, you know,” she said. “I’m really okay. It’s just some scrapes and bumps.”

  “And ten stitches.” When she didn’t reply, he glanced over. “I’m sorry. I just thank God. I don’t know what I would’ve done if….” He shook his head.

  “I don’t mean that. I mean I’m really okay with…everything.”

  She couldn’t decipher the look he returned, but she thought he didn’t believe her.

  “I’m going to look into that PTSD Survivor’s group. I think it’s on Mondays,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Nothing. If you think you’re ready, that’s great,” Caleb said.

  It was what he left unsaid that bothered her. Like his look, she couldn’t identify this any more clearly, but it was there, like a partition between them. It could just be the circumstances, the violence, the hospital, talking to police…. They were both exhausted and upset.

  When they reached the house, Caleb started for the front steps, Winsome held back.

  “I’m going to go see how much damage there is,” she said, hitching a thumb over her shoulder toward the treehouse.

  “All right,” he said, and moved to go with her.

  “I’d…I’d rather go alone—if you don’t mind,” she said, reaching out to him, but not touching. “I just need a few minutes to myself.”

  Caleb nodded slowly. “Sure, no, I get it. Take all the time you need, I understand completely.”

  He didn’t look like he did. Truth was, she wanted him with her, but since he’d taken her back to the house after finding her in the garage, he’d been looking at her much the same as he had when they’d first met, like she was this wounded woodland creature he felt compelled to nurse back to health. They’d come so far together in mutual trust and respect, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—go back to being pitied. She had to start proving to him that she was strong, even without him. And she needed to do this alone, just to prove that she could.

  The temptation to look back was powerful, but she held her spine rigid and trekked the distance to the treehouse, catching herself several times looking for Dante’s boot prints in the wet earth. Even if she’d found any, they could belong to Caleb or any of the men who’d worked here. Fortunately, the rain had wiped everything clean. For some reason, she held her breath the whole way up the ramp.

  The front door hung at an awkward angle and she might have paused to give it a closer look, but feeling Caleb’s eyes on her, she stepped immediately inside, not wanting him to think she was afraid. Though she was. Sighting the book face-down on the kitchen floor, her heart pounded, instantly recalling how it had gotten there. Running for her life. Just a matter of hours ago, she had been hunted and nearly executed by a madman.

  She choked back a sob and stood there in the middle of the room, hand at her throat, willi
ng back tears. She wasn’t overreacting, she knew that. Maybe purposely underreacting so that Caleb wouldn’t think her weak. But she needed to feel her own feelings, whatever they were.

  She didn’t know how much time passed, but she wandered quietly through the tiny house until tears were no longer a danger. Maybe that was bad, maybe she really was suppressing her emotions, but she was still able to see this treehouse as the fantastic gift it was.

  Winsome determined, right in that moment, that she would not think bad things here because of Dante. He’d ruined enough of her memories. This house would stand to always remind her that she was strong, and that she had stretched that strength further than she’d imagined possible, and withstood a monster. Like a fairytale heroine.

  Ideas for candles exploded in her mind then. Fairytale themes, bold colors, dangerous monsters, beautiful princes. And with them, the name for her shop. Out on a Limb. It was perfect. It not only expressed where the shop was located, but where Ruth and Caleb’s support had taken her. And how she’d escaped to emerge victorious. Yes, the more she pondered it, the more suited it was. She couldn’t wait to tell Caleb, or to start work in the morning.

  Actually, now that it was on her mind, why wait? She went into the work room, and took one of the sketchpads and the pencil set Caleb had supplied, and brought them back into the living room. Drawing started hesitantly, with random concepts and disjointed dashes, but within a few minutes, her pencil could barely keep up with the flow of ideas. When her hand started cramping, she kept going. Even when her eyelids started drooping.

  CHAPTER 20

  Cal found her asleep on the couch amid a flurry of papers. He picked one up, arching his brow, surprised at the drawing of a candle that looked like an intricately designed wedding cake. Another that looked like an ogre eating an ice cream cone. Could she really pull this off? The ribbon candle she’d shown him looked simple compared to this.

  Another drawing drew his eye, this one of a long plank sign. Out on a Limb. So, she’d finally chosen a name. He liked it, he really did. He’d get started on it as soon as he could.

  He returned the drawing to its spot and looked down at her, snoring softly, with her right hand tucked beneath her cheek, her left, bandaged hand curled beneath her chin. Yes, she could do anything. She had skills and gifts she might not even be aware of yet. Her candle business was going to be a success because she was going to make it a success. The fact was, she didn’t have to lean on him.

  That stung a little. Of course, he didn’t want a helpless female reliant on him for her every need, including her ultimate happiness, but it was in his DNA to want to feel necessary. He wanted her to be capable, independent—and she was—but what was wrong with wanting to do for her all the things she couldn’t do for herself?

  He reached over and touched her shoulder. “Winsome,” he whispered.

  She stirred, twitching her nose and shifting her shoulder, looking a little miffed, like a woman being reluctantly pulled from a sweet dream.

  “Winsome,” he repeated, nudging her a little harder.

  She opened her sleepy brown eyes and the smile that slowly spread on her lips made his heart clutch in his chest.

  “Hey.” She sat up, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her fingers. “Guess I dozed off. I was just dreaming we were on a sailboat. And you didn’t know how to sail, but you kept saying ‘It’ll all work out. It’ll all work out.’” She yawned. “What time is it?”

  “A little after three.” He was ridiculously pleased to be featured in her dream.

  “Really?” Her gaze scanned the papers scattered around her. “I started drawing and just kept going,” she said, with a smile.

  “You sure did.” He helped her to her feet. “Hey I see you decided on a name,” he said, nodding down at the paper.

  “Yes. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s perfect,” he said.

  “Really? Are you just—”

  “Winsome, I wouldn’t say I liked it if I didn’t.”

  She smiled and nodded. “True.”

  “You want to come to bed?” He slid his hand down to hers and started for the front door, but she paused.

  “I’d rather…just sleep here,” she said. “Is that okay?”

  Her face was suddenly still. Not cold, but less happy than she’d been just seconds ago, and her tone told Cal that she meant to stay alone. At least he thought it did. He wasn’t about to pressure her and ask.

  “Oh, okay, sure, whatever you want.” He took his hand back and stuffed them both in his front pockets. “You have a bedroom, that’s what it’s for, right?”

  She stood there with a bemused half smile, and for a moment, Cal wondered if she was expecting him to persuade her to let him stay. The trouble was he didn’t know if she wanted him to or not. Her behavior since the attack had him suddenly off balance, and he didn’t know which way was up. It was probably for the best if they stepped back tonight, gained a little perspective.

  “I was going to fix the door for you. I wanted to give you a little space first…but it closes, pretty much, so I’ll do it after work.” He paused. “Well, get some rest.”

  Her eyes were sad. Again, he didn’t know how to interpret it. He walked out and closed the broken door as best he could behind him. Of course, he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep.

  ****

  Cal repositioned the blanket over his shoulders and continued what he’d been doing the past couple hours—sitting on the front porch staring at the treehouse. There was a light on, and once or twice he’d seen Winsome’s shadow moving around inside, but he didn’t know now whether she was asleep or awake. He didn’t dare go see, no matter how much he wanted to.

  His chest hurt, as if someone had punched him in it, and his head was buzzing with questions. Why was she acting this way when everything had been fine before the attack? Did she resent him for not being there? Was it something he’d said or done? Or not said or done?

  He wished his Aunt Ruth was here now to talk to. She would probably know exactly what was wrong, where it had taken a bad turn and how to get it back on track. He shot the lightening sky a dirty look, just in case she was looking down shaking her head in that way she had.

  He had to go in to work for a half day today, and there was no point trying to sleep for two hours until it was time to leave. Still, there was no point sitting here freezing, either, when he could be inside flipping channels on TV.

  ****

  Winsome hadn’t wanted Caleb to leave last night. Telling him she was staying in the treehouse seemed the perfect open door for him to take her hand and climb into the loft with her, but he’d gone instead. To let her rest.

  She was pretty sure she’d seen that look in his eyes, the one where he was trying to figure out what the wounded deer needed. The truth was, she needed him, but on a level she hadn’t expected. Not to fulfill all her emotional needs or coddle her, she just needed to have him in her life, to be connected. She’d thought—no, she’d known—they’d had that connection. Until Dante had come along and forced her into the victim role once again.

  Suddenly angry with herself, and Caleb, she took a deep breath and let it out in a boisterous rush. She’d fought back. Yes, a terrible act had been perpetrated on her, but she wasn’t a victim, and he had better stop viewing her that way.

  She checked Caleb’s refrigerator to see if there was milk for cereal. Nope. And since she wasn’t a fragile victim, she popped open the cardboard box, stuck her hand inside and came out with a handful of bland, dry flakes. It wasn’t as good this way, but she was flexible, capable of adapting to the situation without falling apart. She proved it to herself by scooping flakes into her mouth.

  “Aaaagggghhhhhh!”

  Whirling on her right foot, she threw the cereal box full force against the refrigerator, flakes exploding and sliding in every direction. What was wrong with her? Why was she standing here qualifying her emotions? There was nothing wrong with being annoyed that she was out o
f milk. People ran out of milk all the time, and they got annoyed. Caleb wouldn’t think her weak if she got annoyed because there was no milk!

  Dropping her hands on her hips, she hung her head. She didn’t have to worry anymore about how he or anyone else reacted to anything she said or did. She was her own person. An independent person. A brave woman who’d saved her own life yesterday by driving a nail into Dante’s spine. She was a survivor.

  Of course, she had only been able to do that because Caleb had distracted Dante long enough for her to get her hands on the nail gun. Without Caleb, she wouldn’t be here now driving herself mad over the whole thing, no matter how hard she’d fought.

  A moment later, she heard his car tires on the gravel outside, and pressed a hand to her chest. It wasn’t fear over what he would say about the kitchen being a mess that caused her heart to accelerate, but the anticipation of seeing him, and the infinite pleasure of feeling he was coming home to her. She held herself back from running out and launching into his arms.

  He came up the steps, opened the door, and stopped at the threshold to look around the kitchen. “Something you want to tell me?”

  “Yes.” She walked up to him, stood toe to toe with him, and looked him directly in the eyes. “I want to thank you for saving my life. I didn’t before, and…I want to now. So, thank you.”

  Caleb’s brows drew down deep between his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but the ball of emotion in her throat wouldn’t go down easily. She swallowed hard. “Don’t I look okay?”

  He waited until he’d set his keys on the table before answering. “You look good. How’d you sleep?”

  “Better than I’d expected,” she lied. She’d tossed all night, just wishing he would come and hold her, like he had the night she’d nearly frozen. “You?”