The Path to James

by Jane Radford

  As we leave the apartment for the store I'm paranoid that Jaren is watching me, but I have the sense that he wouldn't dare try anything with both Kara and Ben by my side. My eyes scour the parking lot, but I can't find his truck anywhere. I know he's here somewhere though.

  Officer Baits' cruiser is parked at the curb, and I feel instantly more at ease. I make sure my bags and things are visible as I head to the car. I want Jaren to know I'm leaving, I want him to see me with all the things I have left in my life, leaving and never coming back. That way he might keep his distance from my best friend.

  We hop in the car and I keep my eyes open for any sign of my psycho ex. His truck, his friend's car, anything. When we back out of the parking spot to leave, I wave at nothing in particular, hoping that he sees me. Hoping that he gets the fact that I'm not coming back.

  At the store Kara and Ben walk in front of me, triggering the automatic doors to Hank's Sporting Goods. The glass slides open and the beautiful scent of outdoor gear and sports equipment wafts out to us. Heaven. I would enjoy it more if I didn't feel like Jaren was somewhere watching me.

  Thinking of exes—I head straight for the Tasers.

  I'm able to buy bear mace down the same aisle. Perfect.

  Ooh, multi-tool pocket set! Every item I grab is another step out of Jaren's grasp. Everything I pull into my cart is liberating. Flashlight, batteries, first-aid kit, compass, Camelbak. It's all just another step in the right direction.

  Next a pop-up tent, sleeping bag, bug spray, sunscreen—you know—the basics. They're all tools to help me escape. Not just potential murder, but the suffocating hold this town has always had on me.

  I'm forced to buy new hiking shoes, which I follow up with moleskin. Because new shoes and hiking don't tend to get along very well, but I'm not waiting to break them in. These boots are my ticket to freedom.

  I finish up here and we head to a grocery store.

  I grab a gallon of water for my hydration pack. I get apples, carrots, granola, energy bars. You know, food. Traveling food. Stuff that won't go bad or get too damaged after hours of being bounced around in my pack. I grab a map. I grab a notebook and pencils, because I have to write about my travels, of course.

  As I leave the check-out line I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I've never done anything like this, not on my own. This is dangerous. But what's the alternative? I could stay and continue to be hounded and stalked by Jaren, endangering my friends and myself, or I could go on the biggest adventure of my life.

  When we're in the car I get the feeling that this is it. I'm unpackaging my stuff and tucking my items neatly into my pack.

  This is crazy.

  It's an hour and forty-five minutes to Stonefield Beach. I've decided that's my starting point. I'm going to sink my hands into the Pacific Ocean, turn around and march to the Atlantic. Coast to coast in search of my new home. My new beginning. This is it.

  Everything is steeped in shadows behind my sunglasses, but my path has never looked brighter. Kara blares Homeward Bound on the radio, and I would feel homesick if I had some place to miss. Everything that was my house has been reduced to ash and rubble. There is nothing holding me back. Jaren did me a favor.

  There is a sense of finality as I zip up my pack with everything stored inside it. This really is it. I'm doing this. I can see Kara's glower from the rear-view mirror, but she doesn't understand, yet. This is the first day of my life.

  Trees are flashing by the windows, flowing in a long unbroken stream of wilderness. The forty-five minute drive goes by too quickly. Before I know it, Kara is parking the car and I'm carrying my backpack out to the edge of the water. My new hiking boots are laced up and my hair is subdued in a tight ponytail. I'm all dressed and ready for adventure.

  My best friend and her boyfriend only watch helplessly as I shuffle through the sand, past decaying logs and clusters of long grasses, walking through to the water to dip my hands into the ocean. Kara takes pictures on her phone for memory's sake.

  Saying goodbye is difficult, none of us wants to be the first one to walk back to the car or begin the solitary hike into the woods. But eventually we manage. Ben is the first one to say “bye.” He takes Kara's arm and starts leading her to the car. I can only stand and wave, a little frightened, a little anxious now that the time has come.

  I don't start my journey until the two back out of the lot and fully drive out of view, all the while standing there with my hand waving. Kara mirrors my actions from the passenger seat of their little Honda, both of us acting as though we're losing our better half.

  Once I'm alone there is no going back. I didn't realize how terrified I would be staring out into the expanse of forest with the pines choking out the sun. My pack weighs me down and my shoes feel stiff and uncomfortable.

  I tighten the straps along my shoulders and flex to take my first step. It comes easier than I thought it would, and the step after follows naturally. Farther and farther I carry myself into the unknown, into my bright new beginning. And as I walk, I realize it only gets easier.

  Chapter 7

  That night I dream of dipping my fingers into the Atlantic. I'm curled up in my little pop-up tent, cozy in my sleeping bag. My body is comfortably sore and I can't help my thoughts as they meander through G-rated dreams of reaching the Eastern coast, finding my new home, running into the arms of my fantasy to R-rated sex on the beach with my dream man. I like these dreams better.

  In my fantasy he would be wearing these loose shorts that hang low enough to show off that sexy-line that only lean, male torsos possess. He would spot me on the beach a short distance from him. My see-through white dress would be light and airy against my hardened nipples. One side of my dress would hang from my shoulder, the wind would flutter the material. I'm not wearing any underwear.

  At the sight of me, biting my lip, gazing longingly in his direction, the man's expression would turn predatory. He would stalk toward me, with his hips swaying, his bare feet sinking into the sand. His abs would ripple and his short, dark hair would ruffle in the breeze. His toned arms would snatch me up before the next wave came lapping over my ankles.

  The sun is setting. Seagulls cry off the shoreline. He would squeeze me to him, my breasts firm against his defined chest, his erection digging into me. His lips seal around mine, filling me with his tongue and saliva, the taste is sweet and provocative. His scent replaces the smell of the ocean. He's pine trees and fresh air. He's warm sunshine and clean soap. His smell is addictive. I inhale to get more of him inside of me, he smells amazing.

  He would lay me on the sand, undoing the drawstring of his pants and my legs would fall shamelessly open. I want him inside of me. His solid erection would release from his shorts and I'd gasp at the size of it. It's my fantasy, of course it would be perfect. If he hadn't been quick to slip inside me, I would have slid my mouth around him, sucked him off before he got the chance to make love to me.

  “Ah!” I cry out in both my fantasy and reality as his cock slides all the way to the hilt. In my little tent, as my fingers rub my clit, “Almost there,” I breathe.

  I imagine his penis running in and then out of me. His firm stomach flexing as he gears up to ram home once again. He's panting over me. His breath is hot against my skin. My tension gathers, my pelvic muscles contract. The wave builds, builds, builds then crashes over me. It pulls me under, and I'm lost for the better.

  I'm breathing heavily in my little tent. My core contracts and releases with my orgasm. I right my panties and roll onto my side with a sigh. Where was Maurice when I needed him? I curl up into a tight little ball. Better yet, where was my dream man?

  My eyes drift closed as I focus on the continuous melodies of chirping crickets. This is my chance. I think sleepily. I'm sated and tired, I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow with it being barely the beginning. I have hundreds of miles to go. I pull my sleeping bag tighter around me. I have to find him.

  ***

  “Where the devil am I
?” My phone died last night, and I had been sent off my original course by an impenetrable cliff-face that led me farther south than I'd intended to go. I look at my map and my compass. Everything around me is forest. I'm not worried, it's not like I can get lost or anything, I just need to keep heading east.

  I pull the straps of my pack higher up on my shoulders, my map still clutched in one hand. Today is only my second day and this happened. Kara will not be pleased. My body already aches from sleeping on the ground, and my hips are sore from the miles of walking. And I want a real meal.

  Geez, when did I get so soft?

  I'm staring down at my map as I daydream of hot soup and French bread. My hair feels like dried sweat, my clothes smell like exertion. My new boots already look months old covered in dust from the trail and I'm not wearing any makeup.

  “This is private land.”

  I jump.

  I'm pulled from my reverie, following the sound of the mellifluous voice until the man behind it is visible. “I won't tell if you won't,” I retort before I can find the source of the comment.

  “I own the property,” his voice is gruff, but he sounds amused.

  My view of a manicured lawn and the handsomest man I have ever seen had been obstructed by a line of trees. If the guy hadn't said anything, I would have passed right by. I peek around the last tree and regard the man lounging on the bench at the edge of his yard.

  He must have only heard my footsteps, he wouldn't have been able to see me. He is dressed in slack drawstring pants, and nothing else. His hairstyle is short-cropped and dark brown, disheveled from bed. His stomach is washboard abs, his arms are taut and muscular. His bare chest has a light dusting of hair that trails seductively downward. As my eyes poke out from around the trunk of my tree, he glances up from the laptop in his lap. He looks so strikingly similar to my fantasies, to my dream man, that it throws my mind out of balance, forcing me to fumble for words.

  “I'm on your property?” I breathe, I ask only because I'm not venturing through his lawn, but I don't know if he owns the surrounding area.

  “Yes,” the man shuts his laptop to give me his full attention. I look away self-consciously as his brown eyes meet mine. I'm vaguely aware of his gaze tracing down my sweaty, sun-kissed body.

  I swallow. “Do you accept bruised apples as payment for safe passage?” I'm mostly teasing, I don't think he really cares that I'm just passing through.

  “Is that all you have?” He almost sounds like he's chastising me. Like he thinks I should be able to offer him more.

  I look up alarmed and my arm instinctively goes for the bear mace clipped to the side of my pack. “What do you want?” My eyes have narrowed and my voice involuntarily goes cold.

  “No,” the man sits up and places his laptop to the side of him. “I didn't mean it that way. I'm not looking for payment, Jesus.”

  He stands and his pants slip slightly lower, just clinging to his hips, and that sexy-line is clearly visible. I bite my lip, gazing in admiration, then realize how my expression must look. What is wrong with me! I clear my throat and hope he hadn't noticed.

  He had.

  “Look,” the man comes closer to me, leaving the manicured lawn and crunching through the debris-littered wilderness. “I was just thinking you might be able to use a good meal.”

  I step back as he steps forward. My heart is pounding, I don't know this man. I look him up and down apprehensively. You know, Ted Bundy was rumored to be such a nice guy.

  Sensing my apprehension this stranger stops and leans with his arm outstretched. He is still a good four feet away, and I'm forced to close the distance between us to accept his amicable handshake. My free hand keeps a firm hold on my mace. I don't care how affable this guy appears, from what I've heard, John Wayne Gacy was thought of as quite the gentleman.

  When our hands meet, I can feel his firm hold lower inside me. I find myself biting my lower lip again. Between my legs is just warmth and tingling. My stomach flutters. What is wrong with me!

  His eyes have brightened, from a distance I thought they were entirely brown, but up close I can see flecks of green. “Will you have breakfast with me?” His lips quirk into a smile and his teeth are straight, white and perfect.

  He keeps hold of my hand longer than the span of a customary handshake. His long fingers wrap around my skin in a firm grip. It's okay though, I don't really want him to let me go.

  Thinking about the time, I pull my phone out of my pocket. Crap, I forgot it was dead. I flash this stranger the lifeless screen, as if that explains why I just rolled my eyes at myself. I look up, tracking the sun's position. He finally lets my hand go. My skin feels oddly bereft without his touch.

  “I don't know the exact time, but it's way past breakfast,” I'm deflecting.

  His grin broadens, “Lunch with me, then. And I have an outlet with your name on it,” he gestures to my phone.

  “You're inviting me to eat when you don't even know my name?” Now it's my turn to sound chastising.

  This stranger arches a brow, “Are you always this difficult?”

  “I don't know what you mean,” my eyes gleam. I reach to take his hand once more, it's an excuse to touch him again, but it doesn't feel awkward through introductions. “Alex Henton.”

  “Alex,” he breathes my name, and my pelvis tenses. “I'm James,” I note the absence of his last name, and I feel immediately shortchanged.

  “Lunch then, Miss Henton?” The 'miss' is as much in question as the meal. I flush when I notice he is holding his breath in anticipation. I'm suddenly more aware of my own scent, of my sweat and grime coated body, of my unwashed clothes and skin.

  “Can—” I shift uncomfortably. I am not entirely certain why I'm asking this, “can I use your washing machine?” There. I said it, can't take it back now.

  James cocks his head, assessing me.

  I pinch the form-fitting fabric of my tank-top, peeling it away from my skin. “You have no idea. You don't want me in close proximity in this condition.”

  “Debatable.”

  “What?” I had to have misunderstood him.

  “I would be perfectly happy to wash your clothes for you,” he doesn't repeat himself. For a moment I think I see his eyes heat. “I also have a shower, but I wouldn't want to sound too forward.”

  Oh, this just got worse. I'm biting my lip again. Fine, I'll get to the real reason I am hindered in making a decision, “You swear you won't...ax-murder me?”

  James' mouth falls open a second, he is actually stunned. He falters. I stunned him, I beam. I can't help but feel proud of myself.

  “I swear,” he manages after a moment, “no murdering of any kind.” He gives me a peculiar look.

  I've never felt so attracted to someone, I can't stop staring. Even when I didn't know Jaren was a psychopath, I'd never felt this kind of desire before. I eye James a moment longer. He is handsome, so what the hell? “Lunch, then.”

  His grin returns, and my heart melts. He doesn't seem like a crazy person, but I've been fooled before. As he leads me inside, just as a precaution, I keep a firm hold on my bear mace while I have my mind trained on my Taser.

  Chapter 8

  “Towels are in the linen closet,” I tell Alex as she shuffles timidly through my home. I point to the closet as we go by. She reminds me of a frightened animal, all wide-eyed and twitchy. I don't think she's listening to me. “Here is the bathroom, leave your clothes outside the door and I'll get them washed for you.”

  Alex's eyes scan everything but me. She looks as though she is waiting for a trap to spring.

  Do I really appear that menacing?

  “Are you okay?” I ask. I wish I knew how to put her at ease. I want to reach out and take Alex's hand again, but I don't want to make things any worse.

  “I'm fine, sorry.” She flushes, pulling a lock of hair behind one ear. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Thank you for your company,” I sound like an idiot. I squeeze my eye
s shut. “I am going to change into something more presentable. Make yourself at home,” I continue down the hall refusing to turn back to stare at my guest.

  There is an audible click of the bathroom door behind me, and I sigh in relief at the sound. The way she was acting I thought she was going to dart off. When I first saw her, I don't know what came over me. She was just...perfect. Tan and lean, a sheen of sweat glinting off of her skin. She was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen. If I hadn't gone to work outside today, if I had gone in for breakfast when I had originally planned, if I hadn't fully charged my laptop last night, I could have missed her. She could be gone and I would never know what I had been missing.

  I can hear the shower switch on from the bathroom. I grab boxer-briefs from my top drawer, followed by jeans and a t-shirt.

  Alex's full lips come to mind as I loosen the drawstring around my waist. The curves of her body and the way she looked when she blushed. Her mannerisms and her sense of humor. I step out of my current outfit and go for my boxer-briefs. Even her voice was soft and sweet, it made me think first of her tongue—then lower.

  I can't help the oncoming erection as I think about the woman down the hall. I lift my leg to step into my boxers when there is a knock at the door.

  “Sorry, where did you say the towels—” Alex pushes into the room without a response from me. And here I am, fully nude with a mostly hard cock hanging out. “Jesus! I'm SORRY!” She slams the door closed and I scramble after her.

  I'm terrified she'll bolt. I'm still naked, my underwear in one hand, as I chase after her. “Wait!” I call for her. “Alex!”

  She turns around at the sound of my voice, then her face heats to about a thousand degrees. Shit! She averts her eyes. Now that she has stopped, I can at least put some underwear on.