Page 29 of Reins

It’s so foreign having anyone touch me, I have a hard time not focusing on the tiny movement.

“He wanted to know where we’d be.” His voice may be low, but it drips with venom.

My hand shakes as my fingers dig under my hat to tug at my hair.

No. No. No. Eli couldn’t have had anything to do with Ava.

Sour bile rises into the back of my throat.

Cade slows the truck, then throws it into park. He doesn’t say a word before he slips away from me in a gust of freezing wind to disappear outside.

Blinking through the tears, I look around to see we’re in front of a big iron colored barn that’s nearly obscured with heavy snowfall.

When did that start?

The vehicle rocks, then Cade leads his horse past my window towards the shelter.

I guess we’re here?

My toes ache when I stuff my feet back into my boots. They’re cold and damp, but all I have.

What kind of idiot am I to leave the house in the middle of winter without the right gear? I must really have a death wish.

Or is it that small sliver of my will to survive that had me rushing out of the house and away from my family?

Why not just give up?

My door gets pulled open and I almost tumble out.

“Gonna sleep in the truck?” Cade’s dark eyes narrow, yet he holds out his hand for me.

He’s so confusing.

With his help, I hop down onto the running boards then into the deepening snow. “I didn’t know there was going to be a storm.”

“Nah.” He lets go to lead me towards a steep set of stairs. “Only supposed to get a couple of inches.”

He pauses at the top to turn and stare out over the prairie. “Might be a good thing. It’ll hide your tracks from when you left.” Then he pushes open the door.

“Ain’t much, but Pete’s been nice enough to let me stay here while I’m working this case.” He tosses his keys on the small shelf and stomps off his boots.

“It’s cozy,” I say, looking at the tiny kitchen and couch. I’m still reeling over the fact that I might have escaped? The idea makes my limbs feel lighter.

“You don’t live here all the time?” My coat slips off my arms, but then I freeze when I notice he’s still wearing his.

“No. I got a place in Texas. Go on.” He waves his fingers at the hook. “Make yourself at home. I’m gonna go talk to Pete.”

There’s a dark tinge to his words and a heaviness to his movements as if he’s carrying a burden I can’t see.

He stands at the door, his fingers poised on the knob. “There’s food and beer in the fridge. Help yourself Ros, you’re safe here.”

With a rush of icy wind, he’s gone.

I’ve never had anyone call me that nickname before. It’s always been ‘Lyn’ for short. But I kind of like how it sounds when he says it, like I’m tougher with the hard ‘Z’.

Maybe I can be that person?

What do I have to do to change?