The way the snow was still coming down, my guess was I’d be here for a bit. What were the odds of me actually finding this woman who had fallen off the face of the earth nearly four years ago? And my role in the senator’s life? I wondered the odds of her having antibiotics.
Mela McKinley. As I lay in her bed, I couldn’t help but wonder how she’d pulled it off. I admired her for doing it as long as she had. The boy’s pictures were scattered all over the room in an array of frames. Undoubtedly, he was here with her. There was no way she was protecting just herself. The fight in her eyes…the electricity I felt when I looked at her…her entire heart and life were on the line.
No picture I’d ever seen had done this woman justice. Her beauty was natural, raw…primitive. And her eyes. I released a breath just thinking about each time our eyes had met. Hers—a kaleidoscope of browns locked with mine. For a moment earlier, I was sure she felt it too but then they flickered away.
I liked making her nervous. She became beautifully vulnerable. Her tongue peeked out between her lips, wetting them. Her bottom lip so full…a slight tremble when I confronted her. But Jesus, when that lone tear fell, it gutted me—forced me to step away.
By the looks of things, it was just she and the boy…Beck. I just wasn’t sure where he was. Surely, he was here somewhere.
Chapter 9
MELA
A wound may heal, but scars are forever (Unknown)
“Mommy. Mommy. Mooommy.”
The last drawn out Mommy and the constant pokes to my cheek brought my tired eyes open.
“Good morning, buddy.”
“Is Jackson awake, Mommy? Can we talk to him?”
My head and my mouth were ready to shout no but my gut instinct told me this man was safe. He could have done whatever he wanted last night but he respectfully handed control back to me. Or so it seemed. Being guarded was good. I would continue with caution.
“How about you let me check on our visitor first, deal?”
Beck nodded, pleased that meeting him was a possibility.
“You go brush those teeth and get the sleep out of your eyes, ok?”
Boom, he was off and running.
My eyes, on the other hand, felt like sandpaper from my short two hours of broken sleep. As I pushed up off the sofa, I heard the agonizing moan I’d gotten familiar with during the short night. Putting it into gear, I grabbed a bottle of water as I walked past the fridge. Once in the room, I dumped ibuprofen in my hand.
“Jackson,” I said, nudging him.
His body shook with chills; yet his brown hair curled wet with sweat.
“Jackson,” I said a little louder.
His eyes lazily pulled open but closed again. I tried to force him upright so I could get the medicine in him. As if he knew, he opened his mouth. I dropped the little pills in chasing them with water, which he seemed to swallow, thank God. I rested his head back on the pillow. The bandage near his temple tinged with blood. I made a mental note to change that later.
Given that he was unsettled…confused, I took the opportunity to peek at the side that he favored. I lifted the long sleeved t-shirt. Holy shit, this man’s body was…fit…cut…perfect. A series of perfect little sand dune abs rippled over his stomach with two veins full of blood trailing down from his belly button…between the perfect v and a happy trail of faint hair to the Armani waistband. A pinch between my thighs aroused my body like it hadn’t been in a very long time. I felt guilty…awkward for feeling this way.
“Mommy,” a shouted whisper came from the door.
I shook off the foreign feeling and turned to Beck, placing my finger up next to my lips. “Shh. Just a minute,” I whispered.
When I lifted Jackson’s shirt a little further, it exposed a tattoo of a cross beneath his left breast. An artistically eccentric cross but didn’t look to be new ink, so I didn’t think that’s what would cause him to wince. I tilted my head to see what else could be hurting him. The red streaks stretching out over his skin caught my eye. Following the streaks to where they met, I saw the inflamed gash in his skin. The edges were clean and there appeared to be stitches but the swelling and inflammation…the infection were so severe, the stitches were barely visible. Jesus. He needed antibiotics. He needed a doctor. The streaks meant it was spreading. Going into his blood. Possibly septic.
Beck’s little feet padded behind me when I flew out of the bedroom.
“What’s wrong, Mommy? Is Jackson sick?”
“Yes, buddy. He is. Very.”
For the life of me I didn’t understand why I was going to do what I was going to for a man that I didn’t know…but for God’s sake, he needed help.
Once I got everything around, I decided it was time to go if I was ever going to make it back by nightfall.
“Beck, I have to go over the mountain, ok?”
He nodded. “Am I going?”
A thousand thoughts whizzed through my brain. I could do it faster without him. But the thought of leaving Beck here with a man I didn’t know or trust made me sick.
“Buddy. What if you were in charge of the medicine and water bottles?”
He gasped with excitement.
I shook my head. “This isn’t fun, Beck. This is a mission. Like a very important one. We don’t know Jackson and we don’t know why he is here.”
Beck’s eyes were wide as he absorbed my words.
“He’s locked up and he can’t get loose. But you also can’t get close. So, I’ve laid out the pills in order for him to reach. Every two hours, your alarm will go off. The only thing you have to do—wake Jackson and tell him to take the pills. You wake him by yelling from the door. If he doesn’t wake up…it’s ok.”
He took a deep breath and exaggeratingly released it—as if this were an impossible task.
“I can do it, Mommy.”
“There is bottled water, fruit cups and three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the fridge. The only time you go to your hideout and don’t come out is if someone comes to the door. Am I clear?”
“Mommy, I can do this.”
The kid was only four, for God’s sake. I knew he could do this but I should so not be doing this. Leaving a four year old alone? My God, what was I thinking? Even with the 3 feet of snow, I knew I could make the climb I had done it last year with Beck on my back, when he had come down with strep throat. He was different than most four year olds…Jackson was about to find that out, I was sure. No other four year old in the history of four year olds could do this.
“You remember how to change your movies. You know you can’t go outside.” He nodded to each statement. “The fire is built and will be fine until I get home.” The big steel doors hid the fire and were locked. “Sandwiches are in the fridge, drinks, the two hour alarm, movies…you are set, buddy.”
Once I pulled my face cover down, I pretended to scare him. We laughed together. I lifted it far enough to kiss him, then I instructed him to lock the door once I stepped outside.
The sun was just up so the glare wasn’t crazy bright yet, but in time, it would be. I hung my snowshoes over my back and tied my poles on the snowmobile just in case I needed them. I’d have to take the snowmobile the entire way. There was no way to get the car out in this snow.
A beautiful, pristine blanket of snow carpeted everything…and the woods were eerily quiet—the forest’s own insulation. It was a mile up my side and two miles down the other. Typically nothing to me…but the snow would prove more challenging even on the snowmobile.
When I crested the mountain, I sat only for a moment to catch my breath and drink a bottle of water. The town below was engulfed in a winter wonderland looking more beautiful than ever. As I descended, it was obvious that the town was basically shut down, but I knew exactly where Dr. Hendrick lived. It’s been a full year since I needed him last.
“Is it Beck?” his wife asked from the front door as I parked and approached the house.
I shook my head. “No. I have a visitor.” I shook my
head. “Long story but he’s down with fever. When I was looking him over, I noticed a gash in his side. It’s been stitched but it is clearly infected.”
I kicked off my boots and she immediately pulled me into their warm home.
“Eric,” she yelled, and Dr. Hendrick shuffled into the room wearing furry house slippers.
“Is it Beck?” he asked.
I told him the story. Once they knew I’d left Beck there, he gave me two different bottles of antibiotics. I was to give him both.
“Mela, are you ok? You look flushed?”
Outside of feeling exhausted, I felt fine. “Just anxious to get back to Beck.”
As I was wrapping my coat around me, Mrs. Hendrick handed me a granola bar and a bottle of water.
Honestly, I didn’t feel great. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Straight back to Beck, that’s all I could think about. I hugged both of them before I left…then headed home.
Though it was late afternoon, it was nightfall on our side of the mountain, so as I approached, the house was dark except for the bedroom light. Beck so better not be in that bedroom. By the time, I made it onto the porch, my body was exhausted from navigating that machine in the thick snow.
My key was in my pocket where I had zipped it. I unlocked the house and was inside before Beck’s head turned to see me. Beck was talking to Jackson.
“Mommy! You made it back!” He met me at the bedroom door with open arms, but I allowed my frustration, fear and exhaustion to get the better of me. I yanked Beck from the bedroom without making eye contact with Jackson. I had no idea if he was awake or asleep.
“Beck! What have we talked about forever?” I started to cry immediately. “You can’t trust people. What did you tell him? Why were you talking to him? Beck…” I wept.
When I looked up at him, big, fat tears pooled in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks.
“I didn’t tell him nothing, Mommy. Promise. He taught me to play games and we talked about the football team. The Broncos. I didn’t mean to make you mad.” With the backs of his hands, he swiped at his tears. His little belly popped in and out with his breathlessness.
I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “Ok. Ok. I’m sorry. When I saw you in there with him, Mommy got scared.”
Beck shook his head. “I can’t talk to him anymore?”
I took in a deep breath. “Let me find out what I can first, ok? Then we will talk about it. What game did you learn?” I asked calming myself.
Instantly, Beck started pounding his fist with his palm. “Rock, paper, scissors.”
A small smile formed through my tears as I watched his two little fingers make scissors. “That’s a fun game. I’m glad you’ve learned it. I need to give him the medicine I got and it’s getting close to your bedtime, mister.”
“But, Mommy, you just got home.”
The least I could do was let him stay up late given how I jumped his ass for little to nothing.
“OK, I’ll turn on the shower now. You have ten minutes in the shower. Then we will read. Deal?”
He darted off to the bathroom while I grabbed the antibiotics.
In the bedroom, Jackson sat upright in bed. Those blazing blue eyes already running the length of my body when I walked in. I ran my tongue across my lips when my mouth went dry.
“Take this,” I directed holding two out. There were four pills still on the nightstand. Beck had done his job. I smiled inside.
“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Jackson said in a low voice.
I glanced at him, then casually away.
He continued, “I wouldn’t hurt your boy.”
“What happened to your side? I need to wash it with hydrogen peroxide,” I said ignoring him.
He seemingly ignored me too because he didn’t answer.
I laid a towel next to him to catch the excess. He rolled away to allow me to tuck it beneath him. When the cold liquid poured over the festering, stitched gash, he flinched.
“Burn?” I asked surprised. A muscly, beefy guy like this grimaced to a little burning. Maybe he wasn’t as strong as I thought.
He nodded. Ok, it was actually sort of cute.
As if he were my child, I blew on the wound. Softly. I stopped when I saw his jaw clench. His eyes came open.
“I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” he said.
Standing up, I walked away from the bed, screwing the lid on the hydrogen peroxide. I went back to get the wet towel.
“You’re going to have one heck of a scar.”
I wasn’t prepared for him to grab my wrist. When he did, his massive hand swallowed it. Anxiously, my hesitant eyes darted to his. I felt the current between us before our eyes fully met. His eyes demanded my attention…touching something deep inside of me that robbed me of breath.
“Will it be similar to your scars?” he asked, exposing the scar on my wrist. His eyes never left mine. His thumb traced over the small ridge of scar tissue causing a flurry of goose bumps to fan out over my body.
The familiar blush crept over my face like it had other times when people noticed my scars. Very few said anything. I tried to pull my hand away, but he held on to it, firmly. He was trying to read me. I would give him nothing.
“Look Mr. Winslow, I don’t feed the strays. So if you could please focus on getting well and getting out, that would be great.”
I narrowed my eyes for good measure and he released my hand, a slight curve touched his lips.
“Getting well means good nutrition.”
“You’re hungry?” I asked, shocked.
“At the moment, yes. When the fever comes back, no”
“I’ll get you something then.”
As I started to leave, he said, “Jasmine?”
I grinned where he couldn’t see. His nicknames made me laugh. I liked Jasmine better than Mary.
“Yes?”
“I’d fix it myself or at the very least help you if you’d un-cuff me,” he said in a kind tone.
A part of me wanted to un-cuff him. A very large part of me. But…I just couldn’t. Not yet. One of his hands touching me was enough. I didn’t know what I’d do if it were two. I left the room without responding.
There was nothing prepared for dinner since I’d busted it into town, so I threw some tomato soup on the stove. Who didn’t like tomato soup? I also grilled a ham and cheese sandwich for him. For the longest time, I didn’t worry about my cooking. Beck was happy with toast and honey. But for some reason, I wanted Jackson to like what I brought him.
Delivering it to him on a tray, I noticed his smile when I came in.
“Special delivery,” he said.
I saw him wave behind me, so I was certain Beck was peeking around the doorjamb.
“It’s going to be hard to eat with one hand,” he said with a wry smile.
“You’ll manage,” I said dryly.
Frustrated, he shook his head but started eating.
“I’d like for you to double down on the antibiotics tonight.”
“Whatever you say, Nancy.”
“Nancy? It’s Nancy, now?” Another freaking name.
“Nurse Nancy.” He chuckled. “Tell me your name and we don’t have to play this game.”
“Ok, Grizzly Adams.”
I glared at Beck when I walked past, and he giggled at me. He toddled behind…thank God, the little traitor.
“Nurse Nancy,” he giggled again. “Who is Nurse Nancy, Mommy?”
I grabbed the pill bottle and shook another one out into my palm.
“Jackson is just being goofy, buddy.”
“He’s funny, Mommy.”
I smiled at Beck as I went by. Jackson thinks he’s funny, I thought to myself.
“Maybe you could stay in the kitchen,” I whispered as I tapped his head.
The sandwich was almost gone by the time I returned, and Jackson was taking small bites of the soup.
“Here,” I said, dropping the capsules onto the tray.”
He waved at Beck again. All this training with Beck and the little creature turned on me the second a funny stranger waved at him.
“I need you to know something,” he said.
“OK.” I wanted to look at him but fought the urge.
“When I left Denver, I was on Tamiflu because some people at my office had tested positive for the flu. I have a feeling that’s why I have the fever. I’m wondering if maybe you should get some. Or Beck.”
His thoughtful suggestion left me staring at him again. Why couldn’t he just be a dick all the time? AND, damn, his eyes were so freaking blue.
“We are pretty healthy. But, thank you for the suggestion.”
“Thank you for the hospitality,” he said back.
“Hospitality refers to friendliness. Warmth. Please don’t misconstrue this place for a bed and breakfast. You need to leave as soon as you are well.”
“I understand.”
“I’m exhausted. Here are your meds for bedtime. Here they are if you wake up during the night not feeling well. I’ll bring in some water. But I’m taking a shower and going to bed.” I turned to leave.
“I need to go to the bathroom.”
It just registered with me that there was no pee from all day.
“Where is your pee from today with Beck?”
He tilted his head. “Down here with lids on the bottles. I wasn’t going to give them to your son. And I certainly don’t expect you to empty them. If you let me, I’ll dump them and go again.”
Immediately, I went to the kitchen where I kept the pistol. When I returned with it in hand, he rolled his eyes.
“You don’t need that. I. Won’t. Hurt. You.”
This time, I tossed the keys to him so he could unlock himself. If I didn’t get close enough then he couldn’t take the gun. He un-cuffed himself, rotated his shoulder and wrist and then stood. There were three bottles with urine. Ick. He disappeared into the bathroom. When he flushed, I backed up against the wall for leverage. This guy…this perfect looking man…still wore only his boxer briefs. The more I gawked at his body, the harder it became to…concentrate…to not go weak in the knees. He was starting to annoy me.
Scars and Tats Page 8