“I’m on it. What else have you got?
“He has a horse. Alexander the Great, sometimes called Zander. Competes in rodeos. I don’t know if it helps, but he was ‘horse of the year’ for roping or something.”
“I’ll get on it.”
“And Sindra—” I stopped pacing to stare across the street. “Please, just let me bring her back my way. All right? If I need more help, I will let you know. I promise.”
Sindra cleared her throat. I imagined her dark eyes sparkling and her white teeth biting into her ruby-red lower lip. “You’ve got five days. That’s all I can give you, Oliver. If Henry finds out I have information regarding his daughter’s whereabouts and I am keeping it from him, he’ll hang me. And not figuratively.”
The pills had taken full effect now, and I realized, along with a heavy and calm head, that my hands were achingly cold. “I know. It’s just that—” I sighed, never one to share anything personal with Sindra, but in this case… “I just need her to come to me on her own terms. What’s the sense of bringing her back if she is only going to hate me forever?”
“Love has made you stupid,” Sindra said bluntly. “If it was anyone else asking me to do this, I’d hunt them down and shred their insides”
“I have no doubt of that.”
“Don’t screw this up.”
I was getting special treatment. I started pacing again, not caring about getting out of the rain. “I won’t.”
A heavy sigh. “Out of curiosity though, what made Kaya dump you so quickly? She was mad about you.”
“She, uh…” It hurt to say it. “She fell for one of her kidnappers. Even though I knew that, I tried to slit his throat. I also pushed her down some stairs. Damn it, I didn’t take the news of the pregnancy very well either.”
Sindra gasped. “I hope the fetus wasn’t compromised!”
I steadied myself for a lie. Kaya could share the truth when she felt like it. “No. It’s fine.”
“Good. I don’t understand, though. It’s not like you to act irrationally. I trained you better than that.”
“I know.”
“Oliver…are you still taking those pills I gave you for your ribs?”
I felt for the comforting plastic bottle in my pocket. “Yes.”
“Oh, shit.”
Sindra never swore. Never. She said swearing was for idiots who couldn’t come up with anything intelligent to say. Hearing her curse was a shock.
“Why?” I asked tentatively.
“Well, I should have told you to only take a couple and then toss them. The drug is still in the testing phase. It’s amazing for pain—targets the brain the same way antidepressants do—but it causes some significant side effects. We have discovered it is highly addictive. When leaving the system, it can cause extreme emotional fluctuations and incite uncontrollable rage and irrational behavior in certain individuals.”
All the breath left my lungs, and I had to fight to get it back. “You’re kidding me.” I stared at the yellow bottle in my hand… no label, no warnings… just an impression molded into the cap that said Eronel.
Sindra cleared her throat. “Maybe you’re one of those individuals.”
I tossed the bottle into the garbage can and heard the plastic shatter.
“Anyway, I suggest you stop taking them before you do something you’ll regret,” she added.
“Yeah, ya think?” I hissed, putting four and nine together and coming up with the number one reason for my ridiculous behavior. “What, exactly, is Henry working on in that lab of his?” I spat, feeling the pulse of anger at my temple again. “Besides this crap you gave me, what the hell else has he got going on?”
“If I told you that, I would have to kill you,” Sindra said flatly.
I had to laugh, even though nothing about this was funny. “Well, if I rip a small village to shreds and don’t succeed in getting Kaya back, you can go right ahead and do just that.”
Sindra maintained her professional tone. “Just don’t stop taking those pills cold turkey, all right? You absolutely must wean yourself off them or you’ll have one helluva wild ride for a few days from which you might never recover. We’ve had cases of brain damage… stroke… I think we had four or five people die from some sort of lung complications. At the very least, you might get uncontrollably angry.”
I dove for the garbage can.
I woke in a cold sweat. A restless sleep full of nightmares brought about the morning like a slap to the face. Somewhere outside, a rooster was yelling at the world to get up and the clock at my bedside said five. No point staring at the ceiling.
Pushing away the rose blankets, I hauled myself out of bed. I was still wearing the clothes from the day before, which made it rather easy to get ready for the day. Tiptoeing down the stairs, I headed toward my first task as an employed person—getting breakfast on the table in an hour.
I had to admit, it did feel good to wake with a purpose. All my life things had been handed to me, and for once, I could do the handing. There was something powerful in the feeling of being needed, being useful. For a moment, it increased my self-esteem tenfold… only to have it crash to the depths of hell within seconds of stepping foot into the huge country kitchen.
The room with the gleaming white countertops and countless cupboards suddenly became the most foreboding place I’d ever been. I knew nothing about cooking. Absolutely nothing. I could peel apples and make tea, but I assumed Ben would be expecting something a little more elaborate than that.
I searched for cereal; I could put that in bowls and have the milk ready… but the only cereal I found was something called Sunny Boy, which apparently had to be cooked on the stove for twenty minutes. I didn’t know how to turn the stove on.
Toast. I could do that.
I searched for bread, but all I found was some silver contraption that said Bread Maker on the lid. The inside of it was empty. There were brown packages of meat in the freezer. In the cupboards, there were bags of flour, sugar, bottles of spices, and dried herbs. There were loads of eggs and apples in the fridge, and a whole shelf dedicated to an assortment of cheeses… but nothing that was already formed into a breakfast shape.
I started to sweat. I needed to make this breakfast thing happen so I could stay here for a while. The thought of that gas station, the weeds under my feet, the utter despair and sadness and the desire to wander out onto the highway and end it all…was not a place I wanted to go again. And, I didn`t want to disappoint the man who saved me from becoming roadkill.
I had to do this. I could do this. Coffee—start with that.
I found a can of it. The uplifting smell was encouraging as I poured some shiny brown beans into the top of the coffee maker. I filled the pot with water, then placed it back in the device and flipped the on switch. Well, that wasn’t hard. Now, the bread maker; I would put in some flour and water in it and turn it on, too. The toasting part when the bread was done would be easy.
The flour was in a sack in the cupboard just over my head. I reached for it, not thinking it would be as heavy as it was. It started to tip toward me, and there was no stopping it. My injured arm was still too weak to do much good, and the heavy bag toppled out of the cupboard to land with a loud thud at my feet. Of course, the top of the bag was open. White flour spewed into the air and covered everything within a five-foot radius. Including me.
“Need help?”
I turned to see Thomas in the doorway. He was freshly showered and dressed in a clean plaid shirt and jeans. His dark hair was damp, and it shone like the gleam in his eyes.
“No. I’m fine,” I said, tasting flour in my mouth and trying not to cough.
He sauntered into the room toward me, smirking. He’d shaved. “You look like a ghost.”
“The flour bag slipped. It’s a little heavy.”
He eyed my arm, and the smile left his face. “Yeah, for sure. So, what were you going to use the flour for?”
I coughed, trying to wipe the front
of the scarf I’d borrowed from Evelyn. “Bread. Got the coffee started so all is fine. I don’t need any help.” I reached for a cloth on the sink before getting on my knees. I wiped and scrubbed, but I only managed to spread the mess around.
Thomas watched, amused. His eyes darted from me to the coffee pot. “The coffee doesn’t seem to have worked. The water is… clear.”
Indeed, there was nothing going on in the caffeine department. I was starting to feel frazzled.
Thomas went to inspect the coffee maker. “You didn’t grind the beans?”
“Grind them? Oh, uh… no. It’s better that way,” I said, feeling like an idiot.
He stifled a laugh. “Oh, is it? About the water, though. It’s supposed to go in here.” He pointed to the top of the machine.
“I just haven’t gotten around to that yet.”
His grin stretched ear to ear. “Ah, I see. And, the flour… where were you going to put that?”
“Why are you so interested in what I’m doing?” I barked, feeling my pulse race in anger.
“I’m just curious because breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I’m worried you don’t have a clue how to even turn on the stove.”
“Yes, I do,” I said defensively.
“Then show me.”
I stood and marched over to the foreboding appliance, flour drifting around me and feet skidding on a pile of it on the floor. There were dials and buttons everywhere, so I picked one of them and turned a knob to something called broil. I placed the frying pan on top of the element closest to the knob. I hoped I’d done it right, but one look at Thomas’s face told me I hadn’t.
“What?” I said angrily.
He doubled over, and a silent laugh stole his breath. I wanted to kick him in the face.
“Listen, you need some help.” He gathered his composure before turning the broil button off. “No offense, I think you could probably figure all this out on your own, but you might burn the house down in the process.” He was tipping the coffee maker upside down to shake the beans out, and then poured the water in. “I’ll help you. I’m handy in the kitchen… and in so many other ways if you’re interested.” He winked.
“You’re disgusting,” I said.
But he wasn`t. As I watched him dig out a small hand broom and dustpan from under the sink, I realized everything about his physical appearance was perfect. He looked like he`d walked out of an advertisement for men’s cologne. As he swept the floor, I was kicking myself for briefly admiring him.
“It's okay to admit you’re infatuated with me right now,” he joked, and his dark eyes flashed at me as he cleaned around my feet.
I felt like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. My cherry-red cheeks had to give me away. “Don’t be gross.”
I got back down on my knees, determined to ignore him and his inflated ego, and used my hands to push mounds of flour toward his broom. When most of the mess was under control, I reached for the flour sack, and he took it from me.
“I got it. By the looks of it, you should probably not use that arm of yours.”
I sneered. “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do.”
We stared each other down, bulls about to butt heads, cats about to claw, both on our knees in the middle of the kitchen floor…
But instead of arguing, he smiled. “Do you like waffles?”
It completely caught me off guard. “What?”
Thomas stood and motioned with his chin to a clock on the wall. “Waffles. I have a great recipe, and it’s fast. We could probably get a ton of ‘em on the table with bacon and eggs in a half hour if we work together.”
I refused his outstretched hand. As I wrestled into an upright position, I avoided his piercing eyes. I didn’t want help, but I didn’t have a choice.
“Fine,” I said.
“Just don’t be staring at my butt.” He grinned, “I know it looks great in these new jeans, but we’ll never get anything done if you’re just admiring me the whole time.”
He took the cloth from my hand. The expression on his face changed from teasing to caring. He reached out to rub flour off my cheeks, but I shoved his hand away.
“Man, you sure would look terrible as a blonde,” he said with a chuckle.
I shook my hair and released another cloud of flour, some of it settling on top of his head. “Well, you’d probably look better.”
Thomas snorted. “Touché.”
After careful instructions on how to pour the batter into the waffle iron, I was left to do it on my own while Thomas tended to sizzling bacon and the eggs he’d cracked into muffin cups.
“Five more minutes in the oven for these bad boys and I’m done,” he said. “And you?”
“One waffle left.”
I had to force back the smile that kept trying to creep in. Here, in the quiet peaceful morning, stirring batter and hearing butter sizzle on the waffle iron, I felt, for a moment…soothed. Thomas’s patience while teaching me how to light the stove burners, grind the coffee beans, and measure the ingredients for waffles was a great distraction from the turmoil in my head.
“You’re doing a pretty good job there, Kate.”
“Thanks,” I said, cringing at the sound of my fake name. I turned a perfectly browned waffle out onto a warming plate among nineteen others.
“You catch on pretty quick, too,” he said proudly. “Maybe tonight for supper, I’ll show you how to make beef stew. I have a recipe for gravy that will blow your mind.”
Stew… An echo of a perfect moment circled back into my mind—the cave, sitting next to the bubbling pool, and the look in Luke’s eyes when he put a cube of beef in my mouth. All of a sudden, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut; I missed him so bad it hurt. I had to steady myself against the counter.
“Everything all right?” Thomas said, coming to my side.
It was Luke I should be cooking with, stirring things with, smiling with…
“I’m fine. You don’t have to baby me,” I barked.
Thomas’s dark eyes narrowed, and the smile left his face. “Because you’ve been babied your whole life. Correct?”
I glared. “What? No!”
“Oh, come on. I mean, what kind of girl doesn’t even know how to make coffee? Or turn on an oven? You’d think you were a damn princess judging by your lack of domestic knowledge. You’ve been coddled. Waited on hand and foot. I’d bet my life on it.”
I couldn’t stop my eyes from widening as he hit the nail on the head.
“Ah, I’m right,” he said, noting my reaction. “I don’t get it. What kind of princess is beaten in her own castle? Your family… your boyfriend… what did they do to you? What’s got you running? It must have been bad. So tell me about it. Who are you running from?”
He was throwing questions like darts. My chest grew tight, my mouth dry. What was I doing in this strange kitchen trying to make breakfast with this overly curious, extremely intuitive, and arrogant cowboy? I made a move for the exit, but was blocked.
“Whoa, stop. Hey, listen, I’m sorry,” Thomas said, backing away and putting his hands up defensively. “I just thought you might like to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, choking back tears.
He nodded. “Okay. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here. Ready to listen. All ears. Just for you. Got it? No more questions for now, I promise. There’s nothing to get upset about.”
He seemed genuinely concerned, and he was being more than helpful when he certainly didn’t have to be. I’d still be cleaning up flour if it wasn’t for him. I had nowhere to run, and I needed the job. So…
“I’m not upset. My arm is just sore is all,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. It was throbbing.
“Oh. Right. It looks bad. What happened?”
Shaking my head, I glanced over at the burning waffle.
I could feel his eyes follow mine. “Right. No more questions. I’ll finish making breakfast. You go over there
and sit down.”
I was marched to the kitchen table and directed to relax into a squeaky chair. As Thomas got back to cooking, I tried to keep Luke’s eyes from flashing through my mind. The emerging blue sky visible out the lace-curtained window reminded me of how they shone when we shared our first meal. How they focused on me in the hot spring and the desire in them after that first perfect kiss…
I might never see those eyes again.
That thought spun around madly. I took deep breaths and counted to twenty; the floor started to shake. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, and then my fists, digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand as the chair swayed beneath me.
I might never see those eyes again…
“Ever had chocolate chips on your waffles?” Thomas asked.
I felt stunned by the mundane question, but it forced me to breathe to voice an answer. “No.”
Thomas maneuvered hot dishes onto the table and filled cups full of coffee. Setting out bottles of ketchup and syrups of all kinds, he was so graceful. So assured. I felt my mind drift away from the impending anxiety to settle on him.
“You’d think that whipped cream would be the obvious choice, right?” he said with an easy grin. “But heck… give me chocolate chips and raspberry jam any day. That’s the bomb. You gotta try it.”
He seemed to not have a care in the world besides the task at hand and sharing his ideas for waffle toppings. Now that he wasn’t pelting me with questions, I realized he wasn’t all that bad. At least his presence was comforting.
“Hey, stop that,” he said, spinning around from where he was now slicing oranges.
I gave my head a shake, meeting his sparkling dark gaze. “Stop what?”
His grin stretched ear to ear. “Admiring me from behind.”
“Man, I’m so hungry I could eat the ass end out of a low-flying duck,” Hank said, diving into his breakfast.
His appearance suggested he’d been dragged out of bed. His hair was a brown mop on his head, and there were sleep marks on his chubby cheeks. A striped pajama top was half tucked into a pair of faded Levi’s and his feet were bare. Mick and Ben were at the table, too, bright eyed, showered, and reeking of too much cologne.
Nocturne (Nightmusic Trilogy Book 2) Page 8
