Only When I Sleep

by E V Lind

  Once dried and dressed, and the floor mopped dry with one of the threadbare towels she’d found in the cupboard under the rust-stained sink, she went to the kitchen. Outside, the wind had begun to howl around the house and now drove rain in wild sheets against the time-rippled glass windows, making them rattle in their frames. This place made so much noise on its own she wondered if she’d even hear if anyone was coming. Beth shivered. Had she done the right thing by coming here? Last night the idea of the house had made it seem like a haven and, coming down off the adrenaline rush she’d endured when Ryan had hijacked her on the road, all she’d craved was a space of her own and sleep. Mary-Ann had been reluctant to let her go. Now, seeing the house in the light of day she understood why. But she couldn’t go back to the cozy bedroom over the café. She didn’t dare endanger Mary-Ann that way.

  Logic dictated that Dan would never be able to track her here, but logic didn’t account for men like him. Another shiver rippled through her and Beth hastened to grab the box of matches Ryan had left above the range and put a match to the paper and kindling he had set for her. Once the wood was cheerfully blazing, she added some logs and closed the door of the firebox before straightening to survey the kitchen with a growing sense of dread. Last night she’d been on a mission to clean, not allowing herself time to think. Looking around, she realized she’d underestimated the age of everything here. From the paintwork, to the fittings and utensils—it all looked like it could date back to the Second World War. Maybe even further. Beth shook her head. How had the woman, what was her name...?

  Aggie.

  The name whispered through her mind as if someone had spoken it right by her ear. She raised a hand and rubbed her neck to relieve the sudden chill that lingered on her skin. How on earth had Aggie lived here all this time with such antiquated things? Maybe she simply hadn’t liked change. Beth could identify with that. She’d hated change. Hated moving away from home to attend college. Hated the world that was left to her when her parents had died.

  A tiny flutter deep in her belly made her gasp and she rested her palm against the front of her jeans. She hadn’t imagined that, had she? There it was again. The gentlest of sensations but there, and oh so very real. Tears burned in her eyes. Change would be coming to her life soon enough and in far greater proportions than she’d ever imagined. A child did that to a person. Which was why it was all the more important she do whatever she could to protect this tiny life. Which meant, above all things, she had to stay alive herself to do so.

  Beth’s stomach growled, reminding her that she needed to eat regularly. She opened the fridge and took out the loaf of bread Mary-Ann had given her last night and sliced a couple of thick pieces onto a plate. An inspection of the cupboards found a large stash of homemade jams and marmalade, along with a selection of preserves from the garden. The seals still looked good, she discovered, and the spidery script on the labels showed they weren’t more than a couple of years old. She helped herself to a jar of marmalade and spread it on the bread. At least she’d be well set up should there be a zombie apocalypse any time soon, she thought with dark humor. But she didn’t need to fear someone else’s imaginary monsters—her own was all too real.

  She pushed all thoughts of Dan from her mind, unwilling to allow him to intrude here and found she felt a lot better, more positive, after some food.

  “Right,” she said to the empty room. “Time to get back to cleaning and earn our keep.”

  She smiled at her automatic use of the word “our” and gathered up the disinfectant, gloves and disposable cloths that Mary-Ann had given her. It felt good to acknowledge the baby’s existence—to think of them as “we” and “us” instead of just herself. Alone.

  The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway outside dashed the flicker of good mood and made her stop in her tracks. Dan? Surely, he hadn’t found her already? The slam of a car door made her bolt through the house to the front parlor where she peered through the fly-specked, ancient lace curtains and grimy window panes to see who had arrived.

  Even in the rain the big old truck gleamed like obsidian. Ryan. She didn’t know if she was relieved or annoyed to see him again so soon. He appeared to be cradling something against his chest inside his jacket as he got out the pickup and did an awkward looking walk-jog toward the front steps. He staggered a little before he hit the bottom step and she saw the wince of pain on his face. He looked up, as if checking to ensure that no one had witnessed his moment of weakness. Beth moved deeper into the room, to where she knew he wouldn’t see her shadow.

  That window of vulnerability she’d just seen in him shook her. From the moment she’d first met him, he’d appeared to be a hulking, strong man—full of surly presence and simmering distrust. But in that one moment, when pain had struck him, he’d become just like everyone else. Just like her, even. It was a startling revelation.

  His heavy footfalls sounded on the wooden veranda as he approached the front door. She waited for him to knock and counted to ten before moving to take away the chair she’d propped against the door before heading to bed, and open the door.

  “Good, you’re still here,” he grunted as she swung the door wide.

  “You expected me to be gone?” she answered, lifting her chin a little.

  “Maybe,” he admitted. He cast a glance at the kitchen chair sitting to the side of the door and cocked his head at her a moment. He started to say something, but then changed his mind as the front of his jacket began squirming. “I brought you something.”

  He tugged the zipper down a little and, to her surprise, Beth spied a mostly black kitten curled up against his chest. He tried to drag it from its warm spot but the kitten had other ideas and its tiny needlelike claws affixed themselves to his plaid shirt—and the skin beneath it, too, judging by the stream of muffled epithets that spilled from Ryan’s mouth.

  “Little shit,” he said when he finally extricated the furry bundle and passed it toward Beth. “She’s about ten weeks old. Had her shots, she’s house trained and I’ve got her litter tray and food in the car.”

  “But...” Beth’s voice trailed away as the fur ball in her arms began to purr.

  She’d had pets as a child and had wanted to get a cat after her parents had passed, but Dan talked her out of it saying he was allergic. About a year ago, she’d started to feed a stray for a while, but the animal had disappeared. Dan had said good riddance and she hadn’t been able to quite shake the idea that maybe he’d had something to do with its departure. She shoved the memory to the back of her mind, suddenly and irrationally worried in case just thinking about him could conjure him up and bring him here.

  “I couldn’t find the mouse traps and thought you could use the company. She should be good for keeping the mice down.”

  “Mice. Right.” Beth suppressed a shudder.

  “I’ll get her stuff,” Ryan said, before turning on his heel and heading back down the stairs.

  When he returned, he hovered on the veranda as if waiting for her to do something.

  “I’ll carry this through for you, huh?”

  Beth realized she was blocking his entry to the house. Did she even want him inside again? Her chest tightened and her heart gave a nervous flutter. He’s not here to hurt you, she reminded herself.

  “Sorry,” she said, and stepped aside.

  The second he was across the threshold she began to regret her invitation. The flutter in her chest grew more intense, her breathing a little more constricted. The urge to run swelled from deep inside, filling her, making her senses more acute—more focused on the man standing only inches away. Despite the cold, wet air, heat emanated from his body, bringing with it the scent of his skin. Rain and something else. Something subtle and with a hint of wood smoke and spice. Her gut clenched. He was close. Far too close.

  Her eyes flicked up to his face. Took in the water dripping from his dark hair as he stood staring at her with a quizzical expression in his gray eyes. She struggled to dra
w in another breath. Ryan closed the door behind him and the narrow hallway shrunk around them. Overwhelmed by his bulk and height, Beth began to feel claustrophobic. She shuffled backward, stopping only when her back hit the wall, and reluctantly put the kitten down to the floor. Bent over, she took a moment to focus on her breathing. Long breath in, slow breath out. And again.

  “You okay?” Ryan’s gruff tone belied the concern in his words.

  “I’ll be fine. Just need a minute.”

  “You’re not allergic to cats, are you?”

  “No, not at all. It’s just a bit...close with you here. That’s all.”

  She felt rather than saw him shift and move a little further away. The boards beneath his feet groaned softly underneath him.

  “Better now?” he asked.

  She straightened and looked up again. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  On the floor between them, the kitten took a few tentative steps toward the downstairs bedroom then stopped abruptly in its tracks. Its back arched sharply and its tail bushed out to three times its original size. The kitten spat in the direction of the room before scrabbling on the wooden floor and heading toward the kitchen.

  Beth and Ryan exchanged a glance. “D’you know what that was about?” she asked.

  Ryan’s face, never an open book, seemed to close up even more. He shook his head. “Mrs. MacDonald used that room. Far as I know, no one else has used it since she passed.”

  Beth felt a ripple of discomfort shiver down her spine and put it down to the chill that seemed to be as much a part of the downstairs of the house as the worn and ancient furnishings. Gathering up what little composure she had left after her near panic attack, she edged past Ryan and followed the kitten to the kitchen. The animal hadn’t taken long to find a spot in front of the range and sat on the rag rug on the floor, grooming herself as if she hadn’t just had a major and quite literal hissy fit in the hall.

  “Has she got a name?” Beth asked.

  “Little Shit not good enough for you?” Ryan said, his hand absently rubbing at the area where her claws had dug in.

  Beth smiled. “She could probably do with something else, I think.”

  Ryan cast a look around the room. “Expecting someone?” he asked with a nod toward the back door and the chair still propped against it.

  A hot surge of color ran up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks. “The door was rattling,” she offered by way of explanation and turned her back to him.

  The second she did so, she felt him assessing her, trying to figure her out no doubt.

  “I’ll check it for you,” Ryan offered.

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind using the chair.”

  “The locks could probably do with being updated.”

  She shrugged. “It’s your place, isn’t it? Do what you want.”

  “I will.”

  She shivered a little. She had no doubt that Ryan Jones could and would do whatever he pleased and whenever it suited him. As long as that didn’t involve her, she’d be fine. She watched him warily.

  “You got any coffee?” he asked.

  “I think so. Just give me a minute.”

  It had been so long since she’d entertained anyone that she’d lost sight of common courtesy. And, as much as she’d like him to leave, now that he’d completed his duty of bringing her the cat it was clear he wasn’t in a hurry to go. Beth dusted off and rinsed out the kettle sitting next to the range and refilled it before setting it on top of the hot plate. Coffee, coffee, where would she find it? She twisted the lid off a caddy that sat the end of the counter and took a careful sniff. Yes, definitely coffee. What condition it was in was another story.

  “It looks like it’s instant, is that okay? I’m not sure how good it’ll be or how old it is.”

  “I’ve probably had worse.”

  While she waited for the water to boil, she hunted out a mug from the cupboard and busied herself spooning out the coffee and adding two heaped spoons of sugar. A sharp whistle rent the air, making her jump and spill sugar on the bench.

  “Kettle’s boiling,” Ryan said laconically.

  “I noticed,” she answered through gritted teeth and mopped up her mess before reaching for the kettle.

  “Stop! You’ll burn yourself,” he cautioned and before she could stop him he was on grabbing a thick square of fabric from beside the range and lifting the kettle off the heat.

  “Thanks,” she said helplessly as he shifted past her and poured the boiling water into the mug.

  “You not having anything?”

  “No.”

  He gave a small shrug and put the kettle back on the brick stand she’d taken it from. While he did that she stirred his coffee and handed it to him as he sat down.

  *

  Ryan looked at her carefully. She can’t have seen his mom prepare his coffee more than once which, by his calculations, made her observant—unusually so. He let his gaze drift to the chair at the back door. He’d bet good money that the back door didn’t rattle and that until he’d arrived she’d had the other chair jammed against the front door, too. So, that was two things he knew about her. She was highly observant and paranoid. Interesting combination. Against his better judgment, he was intrigued. Nah. He shook his head slightly. It wasn’t his business—correction, she wasn’t his business. Hell, he didn’t even want her here. So why play nice and give her a kitten, asked a pesky voice at the back of his mind. It’s not like she was going to be here long anyway.

  He lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip of the coffee. Fuck! He slammed the mug back on the table, spitting out a string of curses that would have made his unit proud.

  “No good?” Beth asked, shifting away from him like a frightened rabbit. “I’m so sorry!”

  A blind man couldn’t mistake the distress on her face and her body language told its own story. She hunched into herself. Shrinking in size. Making herself a smaller target. He’d seen it before and he hated to see it again now. Reluctant understanding bloomed in Ryan’s mind. The pieces that made up her behavior pulled together into a whole—the skittishness, the reluctance to accept help, the scars on her face. Yeah, he probably still missed several vital pieces but he figured he had a handle on her now.

  No wonder his mom’s protective instincts had been roused. If he’d been in a better mental space he’d have paid more attention to his, too, instead of expecting the worst of her. Someone had done a number on Beth. On a regular basis, too, if her response to his flash of temper was anything to go by.

  A slow burn of fury flickered to life deep inside accompanied by an urge to hunt down whoever had drilled that look on her face and teach him a lesson. If there was anything that lit his wick it was violence against the weak. He noticed Beth’s eyes darted from his face to his hand, which had curled into a fist on the table. Shit, he wasn’t mad at her, but she didn’t know that. He forced his hand to relax and huffed out a sound that might pass for a laugh.

  “I said I’d had worse. I was wrong.” He forced out another laugh and shook his head. “That coffee, if it ever was coffee, is truly foul. Make a grocery list and I’ll pick it up for you while I’m in town today. Make sure you put coffee on it.”

  She stiffened before saying, “I don’t need coffee.”

  The words were light on the air in the room between them, but her message carried its own weight. Without saying as much she’d made it clear she didn’t want him back here. He couldn’t force her to accept his help, but he could show her that maybe she needed to unbend just a little and realize that not everyone out there was out to get her.

  “Fine, suit yourself. I think there used to be an old bike in the shed out back. It might still have a basket on it if you’re up to riding into Riverbend and back. Of course, the shed collapsed about six months ago so I’m not sure if the bike survived. You want me to check for you?”

  He stood abruptly and noted how she jumped at his sudden movement. Man, she was as nervy as they
came. The kitten looked up from its grooming and gave him a baleful yellow-eyed stare. Great. Now he was being judged by a feline. Could life get any better?

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll walk. I need the exercise anyway.”

  Ryan let his gaze drift over her body. His sister was a slender woman and yet her clothes were loose on Beth’s body. Hell, one decent breath of wind would blow her right into one of the deep ditches that ran alongside the road into town. He looked around the room and spied an old writing pad lying on a shelf with a stub of a pencil on top. He grabbed them and scored his cell number onto the top sheet.

  “Call me if you change your mind.”

  “There’s a phone here?”

  “You haven’t got one of your own?” he asked, surprised.

  She shook her head.

  “I’ll see to it the land line is reconnected as soon as possible. In the meantime, I’ll ask mom if she still has one of her old phones you can borrow.”

  He tore off the sheet of paper and held it out to Beth who simply stared back at him in silence. Frustrated that she didn’t even want to accept as much as a slip of paper from him, he slapped it down on the table and turned to go.

  “I’ll check on you later.”

  “There’s no need. I’m okay. I don’t need any help.”

  He’d never seen anyone who looked like they needed help more.

  “Fine,” he said, his jaw tight.

  He hadn’t wanted to help, but now he saw it as his duty to her.

  Duty.

  Shit. That pretty much meant he was fucked already, wasn’t he? Without another word he headed for the door. Beth followed him, keeping, he noted, a good distance behind. She was light on her feet. He barely heard her footsteps on the carpet runner and her slight weight hardly registered on the old floorboards which creaked beneath his heavier frame. It was as if she was still doing her best to be invisible. As if she was a ghost or something.