by Jade Powers
Carson barked a pained laugh. He said, “I would have rather heard you say those words in any other circumstance.”
Their eyes met. Before he shuttered them, Wendy could see the aching want in Carson. To Wendy it was a surprise. She said, “But you didn’t want me...that night in New York. You turned me down.”
Carson seemed to straighten, even in his pain, as if girding himself against the discussion they were about to have. He leaned his head back. It didn’t look comfortable the way Carson tried to appear relaxed in that tiny space. He said, “I wanted you that night more than anything I’ve wanted in my life.”
Wendy had to grip the doorway to avoid falling. “What?”
“I wasn’t about to take advantage of your sorrow,” Carson said.
In that moment, Wendy liked Carson even more. Not just that he wouldn’t take advantage of her, but that he chose the word sorrow over drunkenness. She had been very drunk and ready to have every advantage taken. And he had known that, but he had seen her sorrow first, and truly that had been the driving force in her life this past year.
Wendy didn’t want to say what she had to say standing outside seven feet in the air. She pulled her way into the tree house, and sat next to Carson. They were close enough to touch and the fabric on her thigh was soaked in the water from Carson’s jeans. It was going to be a long afternoon. She said, “For months I felt dead inside. The pain and grief was so heavy. Temper would hug me fiercely from time to time, but I still felt empty. The thing about being married is that you always have someone to hug, someone to love. And then it was gone and there was no one. I was so grateful that you stayed with me that night.”
“You wouldn’t have felt the same if you’d woken up with the memory of us making love, no matter how much you wanted it at the time,” Carson shuddered, not from the conversation but from illness. He was still soaked and making no moves to relieve himself of his wet clothes.
Wendy could help with that. She said, “You’re right. I would have woken up feeling awkward and guilty. But I fell a little in love with you that night. Come on, you need to get out of those wet clothes. I promise I won’t take advantage of you either.”
That eased the moment. Carson smiled and somehow the contrast between his ghostly appearance and dark hair plus that magnificent smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes made him beyond handsome. He struggled to unbutton his jeans. As much as Wendy pitied him, she wasn’t about to help in that regard. Maybe she wasn’t as ready to make love with Carson as she’d imagined that night in New York.
Wendy was grateful for the sturdiness of the tree house. More than once she imagined the plywood cracking and sending them plummeting to their deaths...or at least their unhappy injuries. Instead, it held up well, even under Carson’s struggles to get out of wet denim. On this point Wendy helped. It had already been a full five minutes, at least it felt that long.
Wendy peeled the jeans from Carson’s legs while he held himself still. Had the process not hurt Carson so much, they probably would have been laughing by the time they’d finished, but it did hurt, and Wendy winced every time Carson flinched.
There was a person-sized hole in the roof and Wendy stood, drawing her head out and surveying the tree. She pulled Carson’s jeans out and hung them over a close branch in a manner that would allow her to retrieve them later.
“I don’t know how to love,” Carson said when Wendy settled in next to him. Somehow she had thought her declaration of love had killed the conversation. She was more than surprised to hear him continue. And shocked by the way he restarted it.
Wendy shrugged out of her jacket and tucked it over Carson, careful to avoid jarring his arm. He was mostly dry now with all of the wet clothes off, but she didn’t like the constant shiver he endured. She said, “You act like a person who knows.”
Carson didn’t reply. He just raised his eyebrows and waited as if unsure of himself.
Wendy continued, “Love is more than a feeling. It’s action, doing the thing you don’t want to do because someone else matters more.”
Carson rolled his eyes, a half-smile ghosting his face, “Right. I have a lot of practice at that.”
“New York was a shining example,” Wendy said. She took Carson’s hand. She wanted to curl up next to him, but it was too soon. As hungry as Wendy was for affection, she didn’t want just anyone, and she couldn’t betray John. Life was too complicated. She said, “You treated me with care.”
Carson squeezed her hand. “That was an unusual moment. I don’t know how to be with people. I’m the guy people send when they want a brute without a voice. I’m the tough guy.”
“Who can’t afford to get too close? That’s ridiculous. John had to play tough guy before. He still came home and snuggled with me later,” Wendy said. She left out the part where her husband woke up screaming or the time she found him under the kitchen table because he thought someone was coming for him. There were things people didn’t talk about, even in the modern era, quiet pains buried deep, family secrets because the tough guy had an image to maintain.
Carson swallowed, “I’ve never quite gotten to the part where I had anyone to snuggle with. When I held you in New York, that was a unique experience for me. I mean, I’ve dated, had a girlfriend, even had sex with a few women, but I’ve never been close to anyone like that. How did John handle being close? I mean, he was good to you?”
Wendy stroked his hand. Her life had become very strange, indeed, and somehow the pain of the last year had faded into the background. She thought back to her marriage with John. They were both independent people. They had to be because sometimes John would be gone for months at a time. But they were also both absolutely loyal. And Wendy stayed true through those long days when John had been away.
The memory of John under that table suddenly tore through Wendy like blackberry thorns through a forest. Tears sprang to her eyes. She said, “Two weeks before he died, he had a living nightmare. I found him hiding in the closet convinced that someone was going to kill him. I held him and told him it would be okay. It wasn’t. I lied. He was terrified, and he was right to be.”
It was one of the most difficult admissions Wendy had ever made. John was a private man and would have hated her sharing that with anyone, even his closest friends. That moment had hung over her, held her down for so long. If she’d only said, You need help. You can’t go on like this.
“You couldn’t have known,” Carson lifted Wendy’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. It was romantic and sweet and Wendy felt undone.
Baring her soul and with a deep pain that clung to her heart, Wendy said, “It was greed that killed him. Greed and stupid dreams. I wanted to start a catering business, but everything had to be just perfect. I tried to cater on the weekends and keep my job, but I wanted to be free. If I’d just told John to stay home, that he didn’t need to go. I knew it was eating him up. I knew it and I let him go, and that’s on me.”
Wendy angrily swiped at her face, not allowing her tears the slightest chance to form. She didn’t want this discussion, not in the top of a damn tree house with the first man she had been attracted to since John. And now he was gazing at her with pity and something else.
“Even if you’d have forbidden it, John would have gone. Your last memories of him would be full of anger and hurt, and you would give anything to go back and change it,” Carson said. He was wise for a guy in his underwear.
“Thank you. What you say rings true. Those weeks before his death have bothered me for so long.” Wendy sighed. She relaxed as much as a person could relax sitting on plywood up a tree. Carson had never stopped shivering. Wendy said, “Do you think we could lie side by side. Maybe you’ll be warmer with me behind you.”
Carson smiled shyly and said, “I would like that.”
Wendy and Carson had to switch sides so that he wasn’t lying on his broken arm. Carson’s breath caught when they were negotiating the tiny space. He blinked his eyes a few times and paled consider
ably.
Wendy reached for him and said, “Are you okay? You look ready to faint.”
Now that they were safely switched, Carson lifted his shirt. His tan was mottled with a terribly large bruise. Wendy touched his side with a light touch a few inches from the bruise. She said, “You need a scan. You might have internal damage.”
“It’s just a bruise, maybe a broken rib or two. We need to stay put until nightfall.” Carson said.
It was the most uncomfortable cuddle in the history of cuddles. First, there was the plywood, then there was the damp, and finally, there was Carson’s broken arm. Wendy drew Carson into her arms, her face buried against his back, her arm carefully settled on his bare leg. The closeness soothed and excited her.
Chapter 9
CARSON FELL INTO A troubled sleep, his body trembling even with Wendy’s warmth cocooning him. Now and then Wendy heard the helicopters roaring overhead. The tree house smelled of lumber, wet clothes, and Carson whose own scent was a combination of river water and cologne. The day wore on and finally the sun started to sink.
The sky turned vibrant colors with a streak of yellow and orange painted across the clouds where they sank into a deep red horizon. The air was cold, a gust blowing down from the north.
“Carson?” Wendy asked. He had stopped shivering and had mostly dried out, but she still worried about his arm and the nasty bruises on his side.
“I’m fine. Let’s get down before it’s too dark to see. You go first,” Carson said. He felt the loss of her warmth keenly when she pulled away from him.
“I need to get your jeans,” Wendy said.
She had to lean over Carson to pop out of the space in the roof, but it didn’t take too much twisting to grab his jeans and draw back in. They were still damp. He took them from her. He said, “I need a hot shower.”
“Me too.” Wendy helped Carson with those wet jeans. His fingers fumbled with the buttons. The pain was unbearable but he gritted his teeth and continued. Wendy saw all this and said, “Leave them unbuttoned. It’s dark. No one will see us,”
Carson hated the plan, but it was sound. Wendy climbed down first, hopping off the last rung like a kid. Carson felt shaky all over. His feet were wet again now that he had put on his shoes. It was ten steps, albeit in a vertical direction but they felt like a thousand. He moved slowly, his good arm so tired that he was sure he would slip. Once, he looked over his shoulder to see Wendy biting her lower lip in the fading colors of the sunset as she worried that he would fall.
The last few steps were the hardest and he grunted when his feet finally landed on firm ground. A wave of nausea passed through him and for a moment his vision blurred. Holding his good arm out, he steadied himself on the tree.
“They will cover the bridge. We need to move silently in case they have men out. Whispers carry in the dark.” Carson handed Wendy her jacket and started forward onto the dark path.
The moon was at quarter strength and not great for light. A few times they saw flashlights across the river, shining back and forth and voices calling back and forth.
Carson fell once, stumbling on a root. A man’s voice rang out not far from where they walked. The fugitives had realized that there was someone in the woods. Wendy didn’t dare say a word. Carson took Wendy’s hand and drew her off the path.
They faded into the darkness, Carson drawing Wendy right up against a tree so that they would mingle with the shadows. The voices were calling back and forth, “It came from over here.”
“I swear I heard something there,” another voice said.
Wendy wasn’t much of a prayer, but as they say, there are no atheists in foxholes. This was as close to a foxhole as she would ever come. Even as she tried to breathe shallowly so that they couldn’t hear her breath, she prayed for help. For escape. A sudden crashing in the woods a quarter mile away sent flashlights and men scurrying.
The truly fearful part of the whole event was that in the chase, two men ran just a couple yards from where Carson and Wendy hid, but their whole focus was on the distant sound and the men had no idea that if they turned, they would find themselves face to face with the fugitives.
They were amateurs. Carson figured that whoever was doing the runaround on McFarland didn’t dare hire from his dream team for this mission. By all rights, these guys should have caught Wendy and Carson while they were still in the tree. They shouted back and forth. Their noise provided the cover by which Carson and Wendy escaped.
They moved from tree to tree until they reached the tree line and a meadow. A barbed wire fence surrounded the field. Even in the dim light, Carson found a hollow perfect for slipping under. Using his unbroken arm, he lifted the bottom wire while Wendy scraped underneath.
She belly-crawled, scooting with her head down and using the top of her sneakers to inch her way forward. Barbed wire was smooth in sections, but every foot or so, a sharp twist of wire would poke anyone trying to pass. The best way to get through barbed wire was to have someone else hold it up. Wendy skidded underneath, the grass wet on her jacket and jeans. She was caked in mud and would have grass stains on her knees.
Then it was Carson’s turn. He lay on his back. It was the only way he could get low enough and hold his arm steady while he slid under. His jacket caught on one of the barbs, even with Wendy holding the lower wire up, and his wet jean were caked with dirt when he stood. Had Wendy not been there to help him through, he probably would have fainted and lain there all night.
Wendy pulled him up. He felt shaky and sick. Seeing that he was about to fall over, Wendy said, “Just sit down for a minute and let your body catch up.”
He apologized for letting her down. “I’m sorry. I’m not at my best here.”
“We’re okay.”
They crossed the field staying as low to the ground as possible. Despite his injury, this was easier for Carson than for Wendy. He’d run the drills so many times that he had the muscle memory for it.
At the other end was a gate. Carson waited a full half hour, watching both fields for movement before he finally nodded to Wendy that they would approach. They found a road, but three cars passed in such a short period of time that Carson didn’t want to cross it. He led them deeper into the meadow.
All night long they crossed fields and finally two roads, but signs of the search remained too close for comfort. As they were moving across another pasture, Carson recognized a stable that he’d passed on the way in. They hadn’t made great progress but were probably a good ten miles from McFarland’s ranch house.
The trees rustled from a wind that had kicked up. Carson drew his arms in. He was exhausted. They had been walking all night, and he was injured and needed rest. The sky lightened a little, and Carson realized that if they didn’t stop, they would be out in the open in daylight with a dozen ex-soldiers hunting them down. He pointed to the barn. Wendy nodded. It was shelter.
THE STABLES WERE DARK when they stepped inside. Wendy felt a flutter of nervousness as they passed by a horse that blew and neighed as if to warn his people of the intruder. Carson had a tiny pen light that he turned on. He handed it to Wendy and then pointed to a ladder.
Carson climbed straightaway into the hay loft while Wendy guided him with the light. It was tiny, but powerful and Wendy couldn’t help but fear that someone in the direction of the barn would notice the ambient light.
Once Carson was safely seated on a hay bale to wait, Wendy searched the stables, finding a stack of horse blankets. She grabbed the blankets. They were heavy. She carried them to Carson one at a time.
Climbing over hay bales, they found a space in the back to get comfortable. The blankets were dirty and smelled of horse, but Wendy was grateful for the find. Carson wasn’t doing well. She helped him with his shoes again, but when he spoke, his voice was hoarse. She could tell even though he was trying to whisper that he had a sore throat.
“If the landowner finds us, give them Drake’s number. Ask them to call him if they call the police. Maybe they�
��ll take pity on us. If they do, Drake will help.” Carson said.
It scared Wendy, because Carson was talking as if he wasn’t going to be able to speak for them. She put a hand to his forehead. His forehead was hot and slick. Carson was sick.
“I could go in and ask for an ambulance,” Wendy said.
“The reach of these soldiers includes hospitals and jail cells. We need to wait until McFarland gets control of these men,” Carson coughed. In the pen light he looked gothic with his dark dark hair and a sickly appearance.
Wendy helped Carson out of his shoes and socks again, then out of his jeans. She spread them over a hay bale to dry. Her shyness around Carson was practically nonexistent now. “If you get any worse, I’m going to risk it.”
“Don’t. I’ll be fine.” Carson crawled into the space they’d made. They used the first blanket as a carpet over the hay and covered themselves with the other two blankets. A rooster crowed in the distance, heralding the sun.
Wendy removed her jacket and rolled it up for a pillow. The smell of the hay reminded her of the week she had spent at her aunt’s farm back when she was ten. Carson dropped off to sleep in minutes. He was feverish. Wendy curled up next to him. The more time she spent with him, the more she liked him. She worried for him.
Voices woke Wendy from her doze. She was warm under the blankets and exhausted from the night’s running. Someone was in the stables talking to the horse. Wendy held her breath when she heard movement on the ladder to the loft. She itched to sit up and look at who was there, but she didn’t dare.
She heard the sound of a crash, something thrown down onto the floor below and then the sound of scraping and movement. After a while, the footsteps receded back down to the ground floor of the stables. Carson mumbled something. At the same time one of the horses snorted.
A man’s voice said, “Restless this morning, are we? We’ll ride later.”