Callan

by Sybil Bartel

  “Force nothing with me.” It was not a request. I would not tend to another female who was not with me by choice.

  Her expression sobered. “Okay.”

  I nodded once. “Thank you.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “I should be the one thanking you. Except words will never be enough for what you did for me, what you risked.”

  I fought a quick-tempered response that would tell her not to thank me again and gave her my only other truth on the matter. “I would do it a thousand times over.”

  She leaned into my chest. “I think I’m beginning to understand that.”

  I gently stroked her bruised back, praying my touch did not hurt her. “Good.”

  Without leaning away, she looked up at me and smiled. “You say that a lot.”

  “I mean that a lot around you.” No truer words had ever passed my lips.

  I SAT NEXT TO him in his perfectly kept classic truck. The large tires chewed up the dirt road, but the ride was surprisingly smooth. Staring straight ahead at the path of illumination the headlights cut through the forest, I was spellbound.

  I had no idea this kind of wilderness, this kind of untamed land was anywhere near Miami. I mean, I knew the Everglades were right on our doorstep, but I envisioned the glades as marsh or swampland.

  A thick forest of tall pines and low saw palmettos spread out indefinitely on either side of the single dirt lane we had been driving on for a couple miles. I was both nervous and excited to see where he lived. My catnap in the plane had taken a little of the edge off my exhaustion, but it was the prospect of seeing where Callan lived and coming to stay with him for I didn’t know how long that had me alert with nerves.

  “You are quiet.” He rested a hand on my thigh.

  Heat spread from his touch. I was acutely aware that he had not tried to kiss me on the lips since he’d rescued me. “I’m just curious about where you live.”

  “Curious or nervous?”

  A nervous laugh escaped. “Both.”

  “You are worried about the seclusion.”

  “Actually, no.” Surprisingly, this felt safer out here to me than my low-income apartment complex. We had left a country road miles back, and before that, there had been no one on the road since we’d left the outskirts of the urban sprawl that was Miami. Suburbs had bled into larger estates, which had given way to citrus groves. Then it’d just become a two-lane road that looked like any of the half dozen county roads that cut east to west across the state, except this one had forest surrounding it. “I like it out here.”

  “You prefer this to city life?”

  His words were casual, but the slight edge to his voice told me it was a weighted question. “Actually, I think I do.” I’d never enjoyed the nightlife Miami had to offer, and I certainly didn’t like the traffic. I wasn’t even going to touch the kidnapping sex traffickers and murderers that lurked in the shadows. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to think about it anymore tonight. Maybe not tomorrow either.

  “I have taken down most of the buildings that used to be part of the compound,” he said in the same unemotional tone.

  “Taken down?”

  “I bulldozed them.”

  I looked up at him. The glow from the dashboard made the hard angles of his face stand out, and he looked older than twenty-seven. Maybe older wasn’t quite right. He looked wearier than anyone my age that I knew.

  “Did you bulldoze them because you were angry, or because you wanted to make sure no one came back to live on the compound,” I dared to ask.

  He stared straight ahead, easing the truck over a rain-made pothole. “I did it because the buildings were beyond a state of repair.”

  I’d heard his hesitation in answering. “But?”

  He didn’t move his hands or shift his body weight. He didn’t rub his chin or run a hand over his head. He didn’t move at all. I was noticing more and more, he was a very still man. He didn’t fidget, or ever reach for a cell phone in my presence, which I loved. It made me feel like I was getting all of his attention, which I probably was.

  He drove another couple hundred yards before answering because I think he weighed all of the words he spoke against his own internal gauge of importance and relevance.

  “I was angry,” he admitted.

  “And now?”

  “Now I am hopeful.”

  I liked hopeful. Loved it, actually. I understood it now. Leaning into his hard and unyielding shoulder, it had quickly become one of my favorite places to rest my head. “I can relate to that.”

  “Good.”

  I fought a smile at his response, but I didn’t forget about the other part of my question. “What will you do if any of the former members come back and want to live here?”

  “I will give them money to live somewhere else.”

  His answer didn’t surprise me. Money wasn’t important to him. Not because he had never gone hungry or grown up in a life of privilege, just that he clearly had other priorities. “What if all of the remaining members came back asking for money?”

  “I would pay them all.” Expression stern, he glanced at me. “Once.”

  I nodded, but he wasn’t finished talking.

  “I was responsible for dismantling the compound.” He slowed the truck around a bend and pulled up in front of a ten-foot-tall chain-link fence with a gate. “I took River Stephens’s life.” He threw the truck into park.

  I stared at the locked, imposing gate with warnings of death to trespassers. I didn’t know if I was more shocked by the signs and the gate that looked like it was meant to keep people in or his admission.

  Two weeks ago, a struggling nursing student who nannied on the side would have been shocked to meet a man who had taken another man’s life. I would have been shocked to meet a murderer. And terrified. And most likely, judgmental.

  Two weeks ago, I didn’t know a River Ranch survivor.

  Two weeks ago, I didn’t know I had a stepbrother.

  Two weeks ago, I didn’t know what it was like to be drugged and kidnapped.

  Two weeks ago, I wasn’t in love with a man who was capable of murder.

  His hand left my leg. “You are not saying anything.”

  “Please don’t pull your hand away.” My voice sounded even, strong.

  His palm returned to my thigh. “I need to open the gate.”

  I turned to him. “Why have you not kissed me since you rescued me?”

  A man who had fought to get to where he was stared at me without apology. “You have been through a traumatic experience. I will not add to that confusion right now.”

  I put my hand over his. “It’s okay to touch me.”

  “I am touching you.” He squeezed my leg then pulled away. “And one day soon I will tend to you.” Leaning over, he kissed my forehead once and got out of the truck.

  Prickly heat mingled with anticipation and nerves washed over me as I watched him stride toward the fence. Pushing the gate open, his huge muscled arms stretched his plain T-shirt.

  Impossibly tall and imposingly strong, he strode back to the truck and got behind the wheel. Pulling the vehicle a few yards past the gate, he silently got back out and locked the gate behind us. It wasn’t until we were inside the gate that I noticed a small guardhouse next to it, just out of reach of the truck’s headlights.

  “Was that a manned guardhouse?”

  “Yes. Usually the younger males were given guard duty.”

  I glanced behind us as he pulled around a majestic stand of live oaks that someone had hung solar lanterns in. “Did you ever have guard duty?”

  “No. I was a hunter.” He stopped the truck and cut the engine.

  Overwhelming silence hit my ears so hard, it was almost deafening. The total lack of city noise was so foreign, a strange sensation of loudness filled my head.

  “Wow,” I whispered, seeing nothing around us but moonlit forest and the breeze-blown leaves gently illuminated by the solar lights in the oaks. “It’s so quie
t.” A simple wooden building with two steps up and a narrow front stoop stood under the oaks.

  He didn’t speak, and he didn’t move to get out of the truck.

  The land around us did not look like it had once been a compound. “It looks like the scene from a fairy tale here.”

  He ignored my comment. “You did not say anything about what I told you.”

  My eyes adjusted to the dark, and I focused back on him. “Which part?” He had laid several loaded statements at my feet.

  “Taking the life of the man who raised me,” he said evenly.

  I spoke the truth. “A week ago, I’d never seen anyone die.”

  He remained perfectly still, waiting for my next words.

  Keeping my tone even, I spoke carefully. “You also took the life of the man who kidnapped me.”

  The moon shining in through the front windshield made half of his face stand out while the other half hid in shadows. “I do not regret it.”

  “Do you regret killing River Stephens?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “Did he deserve it?” I asked the question, but I remembered what he’d said. I knew what I’d read online. I was neither judge nor jury, but I still felt River Stephens more than deserved it.

  “He was not a good man,” he answered simply.

  In the dark of night, in the middle of isolated forest, I held his intense gaze. “I trust you.”

  “I have not earned your trust yet.”

  “You rescued me.” But more than that, he’d believed in me. “You knew I didn’t leave with someone I’d just met in a club.”

  “Any man could have rescued you. That does not mean he has earned the trust of a woman.”

  “I trust that you are well-intentioned and honorable.”

  “A well-intentioned man would not have brought you here.” Quiet, low, he spoke with no intonation.

  I swallowed, taken aback. “Okay.” I drew the word out, stalling. “But I asked you to bring me here.”

  “You asked no such thing. You said you did not want to be who you were and you said you did not want to sit in your apartment and think about the night you dressed up like a Christmas present for a sex trafficker.”

  Whoa. Did he remember everything I had ever said?

  “Yes,” he stated.

  I blinked. “I didn’t ask a question.”

  “You were thinking it. You were wondering if I remember everything you say. I do. I remember because you are my priority. I have not earned your trust, but I will. Nor have I earned the right to make you mine, but I intend to. I want a life with the woman who smiled at me at a gas station. I wanted it back then, I want it now. But a year ago I was blinded by obligation to a group of people I knew no better than they knew me. I did not feel as if I had the choice to leave. I provided more food than any of the other hunters combined, and I took that responsibility seriously. It was not until hindsight that I realized no other hunter worked as hard because they did not have to. I was carrying the load. I may have taken pleasure in that had I received fulfillment in return, but I never found solace in living amongst a group of lost souls clinging to a madman. I was glad the day I found out River was not my father, nor my kin, but it took me years to come to terms with being my own family.”

  “I….” My heart hurt. “I’m sorry for the way you grew up.” So very sorry.

  “I do not need your apologies, nor your sympathy. I am merely explaining my thoughts to you before I take you into my cabin. I want you to understand that bringing you here is more significant to me than simply giving you shelter for a night.”

  My heart soared at the same time anticipation and nerves fluttered in my stomach. I dared to ask the one question that had been plaguing the back of my mind since he’d said he was bringing me to his land. “How long do you want me to stay?”

  “I do not want you to merely stay. I want you to live here.” He stared at me a moment. “With me.”

  I bit my lip, and chose my words on purpose. “On a compound?”

  “There is no compound left.”

  I glanced behind us, then said what I needed to say as gently as possible. “There’s a large scary gate, Callan.”

  “I will take it down if you prefer.”

  Tension I didn’t know I was holding on to released a little. “I need to be free to come and go.”

  A sharp edge crept into his tone as his eyebrows drew together. “To do what?”

  “Grocery shop, see my mom and sister, work, buy some boots, drive around aimlessly, I don’t know. Whatever I want to do, except clubbing. I never, ever, want to do that again.”

  “You do not have to work, but I understand what you are saying. Of course you are free to come and go as you please, as long as you tell me where you are going so I am not worried about your safety. I will always give you the same courtesy, though I do not foresee wanting to go off property without you.”

  “Okay.” I exhaled, liking the last thing he’d said more than I should have, but then I glanced at the small, single-room wooden building behind him and the reality of everything sank in. It didn’t look much bigger than my living room. “That’s a small home for two people.”

  “I am building a house on the property. You will see it in the daylight hours.”

  My hands twisted in my lap. I had never had a conversation like this, like a negotiation. Not that I knew anything about relationships, but this felt like speed dating on steroids.

  “I cannot address what I do not know you are thinking about,” he reminded me.

  “Does this seem weird or sudden or abrupt to you? This… this laying out all our wants or needs for the other person to pick and choose through like an aisle at the grocery store? What if we say all the right things and present all the right wishes, and then we….” I trailed off, biting my lip.

  “What?”

  “Then we get into bed together and it doesn’t work?” I blurted.

  “I will make you feel good,” he answered with complete confidence. “Always.”

  Embarrassment heated my cheeks as the huge gap in our experience levels grew bigger. I dropped my gaze to my lap. “What if I don’t make you feel good?”

  His huge, rough hands cupped my face and the seat leather creaked as he lifted my head and brought his lips to mine. “My heart races when I look at you. My body fills with warmth when I touch you, and you make me want a life I never dreamed was possible.” He kissed me. A single, heart-achingly sweet touch of his lips against mine. “You already make me feel good, Emily Faraday.”

  “I’m falling for you, Callan Anders.” I whispered the truth my heart would no longer let me hide.

  HER WORDS IN MY head, her trust in me unwarranted, I took her inside my quarters.

  I was not going to make her mine tonight, I would not do that to her, but I wanted her in my arms more than any woman I had ever encountered. I wanted her skin against mine. I wanted to hear her heartbeat. I wanted to feel her pulse under my lips, and I wanted to watch her fall asleep.

  I had not known loneliness until I had laid eyes on her and her pretty smile at a gas station. And I had not known yearning until she stepped onto the porch of her mother’s and stepfather’s house. I more than wanted her in my quarters. I wanted to be in her heart.

  I turned on the one light. “It is small.” I was not apologizing for how I lived, so I did not know why the words left my lips.

  She looked around with curiosity like she had at the land. “It’s cozy.”

  A bed, a chair, a shelf, a small table I had made, and a miniature refrigerator I added five months ago. It was functional. “The bathroom is there.” I tipped my chin toward the small washroom. “The shower is outside, around back.”

  “It’s outside, like in the open?” She looked up at me the way she had that first day, the way she still did, with wonder and curiosity, with innocence.

  Except now some of the innocence was gone, and I blamed myself. “It is enclosed by fencing to affor
d some privacy.” I fingered a lock of her soft, thick hair. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head.

  I gently pulled her lip free with my thumb. “Do not be nervous. I am going to shower, then we are going to sleep. Just sleep.” I pressed my lips to her forehead then set her bag on the large bed I had purchased months ago to replace the small one I had used since receiving my own quarters. Grabbing my towel from the hook on the wall, I nodded at her for reassurance then went to the shower.

  Ignoring the desire pounding in my veins, I quickly showered and returned. When I opened the door, her clothes were neatly folded on the one shelf next to mine and she was sitting on the edge of the bed in the hooded sweater and matching soft pants.

  When she looked up and saw me shirtless, heat hit her cheeks before her gaze cut to my chest. “You have a tattoo.”

  “I am guessing you have none.” I had seen most of her flesh behind the cargo container.

  Releasing the lip she was biting, she smiled shyly. “Um… no, I mean none.” Her gaze dropped to my waist to the towel I had wrapped around me, before she quickly looked away.

  The corner of my mouth tipped up as I took a pair of boxers from the shelf and stepped into the washroom. Dumping my dirty clothes in the hamper, I pulled up the boxers over my strained desire. Without comment, I walked back into the room, hung my towel, then scooped her up off the bed.

  A surprised gasp escaped, and she locked her arms around my neck. “What are you doing?”

  “Picking you up.”

  “Callan.” Her breathy laugh touched my cheek. “I realize that, but why?”

  The name on my birth certificate, even said by her, still sounded foreign to my ears. “I was not always called Callan,” I admitted, settling on the bed with her in my arms.

  She twisted in my lap to look at me. “Your name isn’t Callan Anders?”

  “That is what my birth certificate says.”

  She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “I was not called that growing up. Everyone on the compound had given names, all of Greek descent.”

  With her beautiful brown eyes, she stared at me in wonderment. “What was yours?”