by Mia Sheridan
Travis, on the other hand, was seemingly easy to be attracted to. He had it all–smooth moves and the kind of good looks that any girl in her right mind would find appealing. Apparently, I wasn't exactly in my right mind. But maybe giving myself a little push was a good thing, a necessary thing. It'd been over six months now…
I finished up my makeup. I didn't need to over complicate this. It was just a date. With a cute guy, a nice guy.
And I didn't need to be so nervous. I wasn't inexperienced–and I wasn't a virgin. I had had three semi-serious boyfriends in college, and I had even thought I might be in love with one of them. It had turned out that he was in love with every girl on my dorm floor–or at least in love with getting into their pants behind my back, and that had ended badly. But the point was, I had no need to be nervous of Travis Hale. This was just a date, and only a first date at that. And if I didn't want to see him again, I wouldn't. Simple.
Travis knocked on my door at seven o'clock sharp, gorgeous in a pair of dress pants and a button up shirt. I had chosen a black, wrap dress that hugged the few curves that I had and my silver heels. I had left my hair down and curled it very loosely with a curling iron. He looked me over appreciatively and handed me the bouquet of red roses he had in his hand, already in a glass vase.
"You look gorgeous, Bree."
I brought the flowers to my nose, smiling. "Thank you," I said, setting the vase down on the table next to the door and taking his arm as we walked to his large, dark silver truck.
He helped me into it and we chatted about how I was settling in to Pelion on the drive to the restaurant.
He brought me to a place called Cassell's Grill on the other side of the lake which I had already heard was the nicest restaurant around. What I had heard seemed likely enough–it was dim and romantic with a beautiful view of the shoreline out the huge windows that surrounded it.
When we sat down at our table and I remarked on how beautiful the restaurant was, Travis said, "Pretty soon we won't have to come across the lake for places like this. We'll have plenty to choose from in Pelion."
I looked up from my menu. "So you like the proposed changes I take it?"
He nodded. "I do. Not only will it modernize the town, but it will bring in more income for everyone, my family included. I think most people will be happy in the end."
I nodded, wondering at that. From the talk I'd heard here and there in the diner, most people in town weren't thrilled about turning Pelion into another big, modern tourist retreat.
"Plus," he continued, "I'll be taking over the land the town is on soon, so I've been working with my mother on some of the planning."
I looked up at him, surprised. "Oh, I didn't realize."
He nodded, a slightly smug look on his face. He took a sip of water and said, "The land this town is on has been in my family since the first people of Pelion made it their home. It's always been passed down from first born son to first born son, once that son is twenty-five. Not this February, but next, I'll be running things."
I nodded. Before I had moved to Pelion, I hadn't even realized that people owned whole towns. "I see. Well, that's great, Travis. And the fact that you also followed in your dad's footsteps and became a cop– I admire that a lot."
Travis looked pleased. He wined and dined me, keeping the conversation light and fun. I was having a good time. When we were in the middle of our meal, and he asked me what I had been doing for fun in town other than my night out with Melanie and Liza, I paused, and then said, "Actually, I've been spending some time with Archer."
He choked on his sip of water, bringing his napkin up to his mouth. "Archer? You're joking, right?"
I shook my head, frowning. "No. Did you know he signed?"
"Uh, no," he said. "He wouldn't even look at me the last time I acknowledged him in town."
I studied him. "Hmm, well, he's not the most trusting person. But I think he has really good reason for that. Maybe you should try a little harder."
He looked at me over the rim of his wine glass before taking a sip. "Maybe. Okay." He paused. "So what do you two do together exactly?"
"Well," I said, "talk mostly. I sign too–my dad was deaf."
He looked surprised for a second. "Well, that's a coincidence. What does Archer have to say exactly?"
I shrugged. "We talk about a lot of stuff. He's nice, and smart, and… interesting. I like him."
Travis furrowed his brow. "Okay, well hey, Bree, be careful of him, okay? He's not exactly… stable. I know that for a fact. Trust me." He looked up at me with concern. "I wouldn't want him to do anything to hurt you."
I nodded at him. "I'm not worried about that," I said softly.
I didn't ask about his dad and Archer's dad, even though I knew a little bit about the supposed rivalry between them. For some strange reason, I wanted to hear about it from Archer, not Travis. I wasn't sure exactly why–perhaps it was the fact that Archer and I had formed more of a friendship than Travis and I had as of yet.
In any case, Travis changed the subject after that and moved us back onto lighter ground. After he had paid the bill and we got in his truck, he took my hand across the seats and held it all the way back to my cottage.
He walked me to the door, those butterflies swarming in my belly again. When we got to my porch and I turned to him, he took my face in his hands and pressed his lips to mine. His tongue pushed into my mouth and I froze up slightly, but he pressed forward, and after a couple seconds, I relaxed. He kissed me with skill, his hands moving down to my shoulders and then down over my back without me even realizing it until he was cupping my ass and bringing me up against him. I felt his arousal through his pants and broke the kiss, both of us breathing hard as I looked up into his lust-filled eyes. Something felt… off. It must just be me. I needed to take things slowly. The last time a man had looked at me with lust in his eyes had been the most traumatic moment of my life. I needed to take baby steps here.
I smiled at Travis. "Thank you for a really nice night," I said. He smiled back and kissed my forehead gently.
"I'll call you. Goodnight, Bree."
He turned and walked down my steps and when his truck started up, I went inside and closed my door behind me.
**********
The next day, I woke up early, had a doozy of a flashback–apparently, date nights out with cute guys wasn't the cure there either–and then dragged myself to the kitchen for a cup of hot tea.
When I remembered that today was my cooking lesson with Archer, happiness fluttered gently in my belly, replacing the feeling of dread from the flashback. I needed to figure out what I should show him how to make. A nervous thud pounded in my chest when I considered cooking again. Was this a good idea? I had said baby steps last night when it came to intimacy, and baby steps with cooking felt right too. I wasn't actually going to be immersing myself in a complicated meal creation. I was going to be showing Archer how to prepare something simple. It was perfect. I felt good about it. And I was looking forward to spending time with him.
I stood at the sink, steeping my tea bag and sipping carefully at the hot liquid, considering all of that and feeling better. The flashback had been a bad one, but once again, I was going to be okay. Until tomorrow, when it would happen again. I leaned heavily against my counter, trying not to let the depression of that thought take over.
Thankfully work was busy at the diner and the day flew by. I headed home and showered and pulled on a pair of jean shorts and a tank top and sat down at my kitchen table and made a list of ingredients. When I was done with that, I grabbed my purse and keys and slipped on my flip flops.
Ten minutes later, I was pulling into the parking lot of the downtown grocery store. I smiled to myself as I walked toward the font door recalling the last time I'd been here and how I'd felt when Archer had turned around and said goodnight to me. I'd felt like that person who opens her door and a sweepstakes team is waiting outside. Two words from a silent boy–my unexpected windfall. It had thril
led me.
I checked out with enough money this time thank you very much, and drove the short distance back to my cottage.
Men like steak and potatoes. And Archer lived by himself. I thought I'd show him how to cook a steak perfectly, make a simple potatoes au gratin and a side of roasted parmesan green beans.
As I had been looking over the fruit selection for a dessert, I had remembered the blackberry bushes right off the beach. I didn't have anything else to do until it was time to be at Archer's, so I thought some blackberry picking for a cobbler sounded like a good plan. I'd pack everything up and head over to the lake at about four thirty to give myself a half an hour or so to collect what I needed. Might as well take advantage of summer fruit picking while I could. Plus, it was pleasant, mindless work that resulted in something wonderful. I liked it.
When I got back to my cottage, I got everything ready and packed it up in Tupperware containers and put it in my larger cooler. It would have to sit both on the back of my bike and on top of my basket rather than in it, but I thought that would be okay.
Phoebe was going to have to sit this trip out, but she'd survive. I'd take her for an extra long walk on the lake shore tomorrow.
I stepped outside into the warm, only slightly muggy air and smiled, happiness running through me. Why was I more excited to go show my strange, silent boy how to cook for himself than I had been making out with the town hottie on my porch last night? Whoa. I stopped and just stood beside my bike for a minute. My strange, silent boy? Not hardly, Bree. Just get on your bike and go show your friend how to make a decent meal for himself.
I left my bike leaned against a tree at the beach entrance like usual and walked to the wooded area next to the shore. I moved the branches and bushes aside very carefully as I peered through. There they were–a whole crop of blackberry bushes loaded down with succulent fruit, ripe for the picking. It would be a shame to leave all of that to rot and fall to the ground.
I stepped through the bushes gingerly and slowly, avoiding the sharp branches that poked out. Once I had made it through the initial overgrowth, there was a clearing that I could walk through easily enough straight to the berries.
I made my way to them and plucked one soft, ripe berry off the bush, popping it in my mouth. I closed my eyes as the sweet juice burst across my tongue and moaned softly. God, that was good. These were going to make a delicious cobbler.
I started picking them carefully and dropping them in the small basket I had brought with me. After a while, I started humming as I picked. It was cooler in here, the woods keeping out the heat of the late afternoon sun, only small patches of sunshine coming through breaks in the trees, the feeling of warmth caressing my skin as I moved through them.
I stepped further into the woods toward a lone blackberry bush holding an abundance of berries. I reached toward it, my lips curved in a smile, and suddenly, my ankle twisted harshly beneath me and I was grabbed violently from behind, arms everywhere, my head smacking into the ground before my entire body was catapulted up and off the dirt, into the air.
I screamed and screamed and screamed, but he wouldn't let go. He had found me–he had come for me. And this time, he was going to kill me. I struggled and thrashed and screamed, but his grip just got tighter around me.
It was happening again. Oh God, God, God, it was happening again.
CHAPTER 13
Archer
I laid the last of the stones in its spot and stepped back to survey my work. I was satisfied with what I saw. The circular pattern had proven to be a bit challenging, but in the end, it all came down to math. I had worked out the configuration on paper first, mapping out the diagram and spacing before I had even laid the first stone. Then I had used string and stakes to make sure the sloping was just right so that the rain flowed away from my house. It looked good. Tomorrow, I'd collect some sand from the shore and sweep it between the cracks and spray it down.
But right now, I needed to take a shower and get ready for Bree. Bree. Warmth filled my chest. I still wasn't a hundred percent sure about her motives, but I had let myself begin to hope that it really was just friendship she sought. Why with me, I didn't know. It had started with the sign language, and maybe for her, that fulfilled something. I wanted to ask her why she wanted to spend time with me, but I wasn't sure about the social rules there. I could figure out advanced masonry diagrams, but when it came to other people, I was lost. It was just easier to pretend they didn't exist at all.
Of course, it had been so long, I wasn't sure what came first, the town acting as if I was invisible, or me sending the message that I wanted to be invisible. Either way, I embraced it now. And Uncle Nate had definitely embraced it.
"It's good, Archer," he had said, running his hand over my scar. "There's no-one on God's green earth who can torture you for intel. You show 'em your scar and pretend you don't understand, they'll leave you alone." And so I had–but it hadn't been hard. No one wanted to believe any different. No one cared.
And now, so much time had passed I felt like there was no going back. I had been okay with it–until she came waltzing onto my property. And now, I was getting all kinds of crazy, unwelcome ideas in my head. What if I went to see her at the diner she worked at? Just sat right at the counter and had a cup of coffee like I was a regular person?
How would I order a cup of coffee anyway? Just point at everything like a three year old while people laughed and shook their heads about the poor mute? No way. Just the thought alone filled me with anxiety.
As I was stepping out of the shower, that's when I heard the distant screaming. I jolted and pulled my jeans on quickly, putting my t-shirt on as I ran for the door. Shoes… shoes… I looked around and the screaming continued. That sounded like Bree. Forget the shoes. I ran out of my house and toward the woods.
I followed the sound of her anguished cries through the brush, down toward the lake to the beach at the very edge of my property. When I saw her, tangled in the net, thrashing and flailing, eyes closed tight, crying and screaming out, my heart felt like it burst wide open in my chest. Uncle Nate and his damn traps. If he wasn't already dead, I'd have killed him.
I ran toward Bree and put my hands on her within the tangled rope. She jolted and began whimpering, bringing her hands up over her head and curling into a ball as much as she could within the trap. She was like a wounded animal. I wanted to roar with the anger coursing through me at my inability to reassure her. I couldn't tell her it was me. I released the top of the trap. I knew how these things worked. I had constructed enough of them as Nate and I sat on rocks down by the lake, and he plotted out the security of his compound.
She was shuddering violently now, little whimpers coming from her, tensing whenever my hands brushed her. I lowered her to the ground and I removed the ropes from around her body. Then I picked her up in my arms and started back through the woods to my house.
Halfway there, her eyes opened and she stared up at me, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. My heart beat loudly in my chest, not from the strain of carrying her up the hill–she felt like a feather in my arms, I was so filled with adrenalin–but from the fear and devastation I could see etched into her beautiful features. There was a big, red welt on her forehead where she must have hit her head before the trap lifted her. No wonder she was all discombobulated. I clenched my jaw, swearing again to knock Nate out when I got to the afterlife.
As Bree stared up, she seemed to recognize me, her wide eyes moving over my face. But then her expression crumpled and she burst into sobs, bringing her arms up around my neck and pressing her face into my chest. Her cries racked her body. I held her more tightly as I stepped onto the grass in front of my house.
I kicked open the door and walked through, sitting down on my couch when I got inside, Bree still in my arms, crying harshly, her tears soaking my t-shirt.
I wasn't sure what to do, and so I just sat there, holding her as she cried. After a little while, I realized that I was rocking her and my lips
were on the top of her head. That's what my mom used to do when I got hurt or was sad about something.
Bree cried for a long, long time, but finally her cries grew quieter and her warm breath on my chest came out in gentler exhales.
"I didn't fight," she said softly after a few minutes.
I held her away from me just a bit so that she could see my questioning eyes.
"I didn't fight," she repeated, shaking her head slightly. "I wouldn't have fought either, even if he hadn't run." She closed her eyes, but then opened them a few seconds later, looking at me with heartbreak.
I lifted her slightly and laid her back on my couch, her head propped on the pillow at the end. My arms were sore and cramping from holding her in the same position for so long, but I didn't care. I would have held her for the rest of the night if I thought she needed me to.
I drank her in, still so beautiful even in her pain, her long, golden brown hair lying in loose waves and her green eyes shimmering with tears. Didn't fight who, Bree?
The man who tried to rape me, she signed and my heart crashed to a stop before resuming a fast, erratic beat in my chest. The man who murdered my father.
I didn't know what to think, what to feel. I certainly didn't know what to say.
I didn't fight him, she repeated. Not when I saw him holding the gun on my dad and not when he came for me. My dad told me to hide and that's what I did. I didn't fight, she said, her face filling with shame. Maybe I could have saved him, she said. He killed my dad, and then when he came for me, I still didn't fight.
