Scars and Tats

by Kristi Pelton

  After washing his hands and flipping off the light, he zeroed in on me with his eyes. It was like the scope of a gun—I was his target. I swallowed…or at least tried. Within six measured steps, he was inches from me. I glanced toward the door and I thanked God, Beck wasn’t standing there. Slowly, I brought the gun up to his chest. I knew there was no shell in the chamber.

  “You’re not going to shoot me,” he whispered in a low tone that vibrated in my pelvis.

  His lips were still red, not as swollen, but looked full and perfect. I think he noticed me staring at them.

  “I’m a man. It’s hard for me to allow you this control. It’s in my nature to want to help you, to take care of myself.” He paused. “You’re scared of something. I can tell. Let me help. You’ve taken care of me. I want to take care of you too.”

  The second the words rolled off his lips, a craving deep in my pelvis pinched and I moaned…OUT LOUD! Immediately, my hand covered my mouth…after the traitorous moan escaped. I’d been deprived of regular adult conversation. I’d been deprived of physical contact. I’d been deprived of desire. Blood invaded my cheeks instantly.

  His beard was full, and I regretted not touching it while he was nearly unconscious. Maybe I would tonight when his fever spiked. I wanted to remember what he was like when he left. All of him. Without further comment, he turned away from me. My knees gave way, and I fell into the wall. When I heard the click of the handcuff, I glanced quickly to make sure he was locked up. He once again could have remained free had he chosen to…but he didn’t. I strolled over to the bed, knees shaking, heart racing, and panties damp, trying to regain the composure I’d lost. I grabbed the keys to the handcuffs then I left the room.

  When I woke in the middle of the night, I wasn’t sure if something woke me or not. Beck was up in the loft and sleeping soundly. So I went in to check on Jackson. He too, slept soundly. The first set of pills on the nightstand were gone. With the back of my hand, I felt his forehead and then moved my hand down by his neck. Warm but not hot. As I moved my hand away, I brushed over his beard. He had to have had some sort of small beard before he ‘got lost’ because it couldn’t have grown out in that length of time. The roughness was exactly what I’d expected. I tried to picture him without the beard, but it was hard.

  Gently, I lowered my hand near his Adam’s apple brushing my hand over his skin. A rush of blood spread through my body to places it hadn’t in so long. I felt like a creeper, but that didn’t stop me from allowing my hand to drift lightly over his chest, feeling the solid muscles. My God…his body…I’d never seen anything like it.

  I stopped gliding my fingers south when I reached his abs. I was close to his wound and the last thing I wanted was to wake him—confirmation to him that I was a desperate woman—creepily feeling some sick and unconscious man up in the night.

  One of my biggest regrets with Ian was that I’d never learned to enjoy sex. For me, sex had always been more clinical rather than for enjoyment because I was afraid of becoming my sister. Her actions made sex dirty to me. Rock had helped me come to grips with that a few years ago. He helped me understand that I was my own person and I needed to stop fighting so hard not to be her. Never had I wanted to be a sexual being more than this very minute. I’m not sure why that was…but it was. And as I stood staring down at those Armani boxer briefs…I realized they were fuller than they ever had been. About six or seven inches fuller and a few inches wider. Oh hell, he had an erection. I froze, wondering if he’d been awake the entire time. I back stepped away from the bed, still looking at the outline of his hard cock…then, doing what I did best, I fled the room.

  A shudder rippled down the length of my spine as I flipped Beck’s pancakes. He sat in the living room watching a video. The fire continued to burn and I’d opened the doors to allow the heat to radiate into the cabin. But I still couldn’t escape the chill in the room.

  “Beck, I’m out of blueberry syrup,” I yelled. “I only have regular.”

  “But that’s my favorite.”

  “It’s my favorite too!” Jackson shouted from the bedroom. Beck giggled.

  “Mommy, can Jackson come out and eat with us?”

  I gave Beck my evilest of glares. He giggled again.

  “I’d love to come out there and eat, Beckster. But I’ll stay locked away in the dungeon…”

  “The dungeon,” Beck repeated laughing. “What’s a dungeon, Mommy?”

  When I turned back to the pancakes, a body ache so deep it radiated through my bones quaked through my body.

  “Beck,” I groaned.

  I grasped the countertop, hoping it could help my fight with whatever was taking over inside of me. My body was being kidnapped from the inside out.

  “Mommy? Are you ok?”

  I could hear Beck. I knew he was speaking to me, yet it took every ounce of energy just to meet his eyes. As I knelt on the ground, I shook my head.

  “No, baby.”

  The spatula fell from my hand as my other hand dragged two forks off the countertop—clanging onto the tile. Nothing had ever hit me so fast. Ever. In all our time out here, I’d only had a cold, and one time Beck and I had a stomach bug but nothing like this. What would I do with him?

  “Go to the hideout,” I directed. “Please.”

  My body instinctively curled into the fetal position. The gripping pain pin balled through my body wrecking havoc on anything in the way.

  Beck’s little eyes rounded and big tears swelled in his eyes. “Mommy,” he cried. The desperation in his tone hurt my heart as much as the pain

  “Beck. Please. Hideout,” I moaned.

  “Beck! Listen to me,” Jackson yelled from the other room. “Get the key and come unlock me. Your mother needs help.”

  My eyes widened for a second. Long enough to see Beck jump up responding to Jackson’s command.

  His little bare feet pattered away from me so quickly. All that I had taught him—stranger danger, trust no one (only Mommy and Layne)—in a moment’s time, gone. I had no idea what the consequences of this would be. The possibility of what this one wave could set into motion…on our tranquil, little ocean here in the middle of the Rockies. My eyelids even hurt as I opened my eyes long enough to see four feet running toward me—two tiny feet with a pair of sweats on the legs and two big feet with Armani underwear at the top of the legs. An excruciating groan tore up my throat as Jackson lifted me into his arms.

  “The good news is it only lasts a few days.” Jackson’s voice rumbled near my ear. “Trust me, I got your six.”

  “My six?” I mumbled. Did he say sex?

  He chuckled as he laid me gently in the bed. The sheets were still warm from his body heat. As he covered me, I nestled down in the cocoon he’d already formed in my bed. I wanted to be unconscious.

  “Take these,” he said, dropping two pills into my hand. I didn’t look at them, I simply tossed them into my mouth, praying that it helped with the searing ache.

  “Don’t hurt my son,” I murmured, fighting to open my eyes.

  A strained expression touched his face.

  “Jackson, the pancakes are burning,” Beck hollered.

  “I got it, buddy. Come on.”

  Beck chose a pancake over me…after also choosing the stranger…how quick that little critter switched teams. I was going to have to consider changing his name to Benedict.

  Chapter 10

  Sometimes we just have to let things go… (Unknown)

  Beck’s laughter brought my eyes slowly open. The pain was not as intense but still lingered in the background of my consciousness. The sheets were damp from my sweat.

  Beck’s laughter came again. After I threw the covers back, I mustered up the energy to walk to the front room. Standing up straight was impossible. My back ached. As I rounded the corner, Beck slapped his hand down and giggled as Jackson threw his head back.

  Jackson’s eyebrows shot up when he saw me.

  “Mommy! You’re better. Jackson taught m
e how to play slap Jack. I’m winning!”

  Aware of how awful I must look as Jackson’s eyes skated down my body, I tucked both sides of my hair behind my ear, running my tongue over my dry lips.

  “Rock, paper scissors and slap Jack all in twenty-four hours. What a lucky boy.” Sarcasm dripped from my words, but Beck never picked up on it.

  The man hadn’t fled with Beck. He hadn’t hurt him or me. Seemingly innocently, he was entertaining my son while I was sick with whatever plague he had brought into our home. Guilt had amazing powers. I needed him to understand that Beck and I were impenetrable. And I prayed he didn’t bring up the erection incident…

  “Beck, have you brushed your teeth today? And what’s next, Jackson?” I asked, trudging to the fridge. “Thumb wrestling?” I wasn’t sure why I was being mean spirited—outside of the fact that my son was falling in love with this man and that he might have caught me molesting him in the night. It made no sense for me to be mad at him…right?

  “Attention K-mart shoppers,” Jackson said, muffling his mouth with his fist. “The party crasher is here,” he chuckled as he nudged Beck to go brush his teeth. Beck scurried away.

  I shot an icy glare at Jackson.

  “Look lady, all I’m trying to do is help. You helped me. Hell, you risked your life to go get me medicine. Just so you know, I plugged in my cell phone over there, but there is no service, so I can’t very well call for roadside assistance to get out of here.”

  I glanced at the cell phone plugged into the wall. I’d unplugged from all life outside of our world when Beck and I had come here. I knew nothing in the news…nothing local…hell, the only way I knew about the weather was to look outside.

  “I’m sorry. Thank you for watching Beck. Thank you for not hurting him.”

  Jackson threw his remaining cards in the pile, stood and walked toward the window, staring out.

  “What are you so paranoid about? I’m not a pedophile. Or a child abuser. Or…a criminal.” With the back of his fist, he lightly struck the wood trim around the window. Repeatedly.

  Suddenly feeling too weak to stand any longer, I fell onto the sofa. He was an attorney. A US attorney…that meant he knew the Senator. Undoubtedly.

  Beck was gargling from the other room.

  “Look. Just go. I assure you we will be fine. Take the snow mobile and go…”

  “Maybe you don’t recall—in your delirious state—that you saved me. Well, only to imprison me, but still, I would have died had you not helped me. So as rugged as I may look, hence your Grizzly Adams comment, I’m a little iffy about heading out there, even on a snowmobile. Though… maybe I could find another family to torment and torture.”

  “Please just use your little phone over there to phone a friend and leave,” I moaned. The agonizing ache was returning.

  “Sure lady, I’ll just click on my Uber app.”

  I pulled a pillow over my face. How had this happened? It was so much easier just being Beck and me.

  “On phones, isn’t there an emergency number you can dial?” I groaned.

  “Yes. Because this is an emergency?” he asked.

  “Pretty damn close.”

  “Is it to get me out of here so you don’t molest me again?”

  Oh. My. God. He had been awake. I wasn’t sure what made me hotter, the blood rushing to my face or the fever returning. I was thankful the pillow covered my face.

  “Go!” I shouted when I heard a low chuckle rumble through him.

  “Sure, Gilligan. The professor will grab some coconuts and fix the radio that you don’t have. Did it ever cross your mind that some sort of communicative device might come in handy?”

  “You ready to play again, Jackson?” Beck said, scurrying back into the room.

  “You bet, Buddy. Let me teach you to thumb wrestle.”

  “Yay!” Beck shrieked.

  “Let me get your mom some medicine first, then we will.”

  The pillow was still over my face. When I heard the pills rattle in the bottle, I figured he was close. He tapped my shoulder, and I held out my hand. I raised the pillow long enough to toss them in my mouth and swallow…dryly. That jackass was awake the entire time I had touched him. Ugh! How freaking humiliating.

  The next time I awoke, the cabin was quiet. I wasn’t sure if it was day or night. I stared out the window toward the sky. It seemed late. The bedroom was chilled. I didn’t remember getting to the bedroom. Once I rolled out of bed, I walked to the living room. Nothing. Nobody. My knees ached, but I scaled the ladder to Beck’s loft. Empty!

  “Beck!” I shouted, a mix of anger and fear rushing through me. More fear…no… more anger. If Beck showed Jackson his hideout…

  The squeal came from outside, and my neck twisted around so fast that I nearly lost my balance. I tore open the front door and rushed outside, the cold air like knives to my skin.

  Beck shrieked as Jackson almost caught him. In the crazy amounts of snow, these two had built a fort with snow tunnels all the way around it. A tinge of jealousy hit me over the fun they were having. Beck and I had built snowmen, but never tunnels…or a fort. That was certainly something his father might have done.

  There is no greater pleasure in life than your child’s laughter…at least for me. It was extremely difficult to be angry with Jackson for doing this for Beck. As tears stung my eyes, Jackson glanced my way.

  “Look, Beck. Mommy is eyeballing our fort like she’s gonna capture it.” Jackson winked at me. Sick or not sick, a shudder of a different kind drifted through my body.

  “Thank you. For everything you’ve done,” I said coldly, refusing to succumb to the charms of Jackson Winslow. Beck had fallen hard enough for both of us. I couldn’t fall too. This was temporary. I would make Beck understand that. I also needed to remember that this beautifully rugged man had entered our home with a stab wound…an infected gash. Attorney or not, he was out here for a reason—to get away from something, or someone.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” I said dryly.

  “Have any hot chocolate in that kitchen?” he asked.

  Becks eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

  I nodded. “Of course. And marshmallows.” I smiled at Beck.

  Both boys headed toward the steps side by side. It was a difficult scene to watch.

  In the bathroom, one of my decorative towels was wet and hung over the shower door drying.

  “I’ll move my towel. Sorry, I didn’t know where to put it,” Jackson apologized stepping past me.

  “That’s a towel we don’t get wet,” Beck said from the bedroom as he watched our interaction.

  Jackson looked at the towel and then back to me. “What do you mean, you don’t get it wet?”

  I shrugged. “It’s just a towel we don’t use. It’s decorative. It’s fine.”

  After I hung my own towel on the hook, he just looked at me… confused.

  “Why would you have towels you don’t use?”

  Had this man never been married?

  “There’s a towel in the kitchen we can’t use either,” Beck said. That little shit was bound and determined to make me sound awful.

  I had no fight left inside me at the moment.

  “They make the bathroom pretty. The kitchen too,” I added, glaring at Beck. “It’s decoration.”

  Beck shuffled to the kitchen.

  “Ok,” Jackson said, putting special emphasis on the O sound. “Oh, I found a toothbrush under the sink too. I hope that wasn’t a decoration.”

  Our close proximity gave me goose bumps. He already knew I’d touched him last night… or was that two nights ago… regardless, I was giving him nothing more. His ego didn’t need fed. That was obvious.

  “Need your back washed?” he asked.

  I turned up my nose. “No, thank you.”

  “How about your front?” His eyes were serious.

  I pursed my lips together until his lips curled up in a smirk. Still holding my gaze, he backed out the door. How w
e had gone from wanting to kill each other to this…it bordered on the incredulous. I still felt bad enough that I didn’t care either way.

  Following my shower, a hint of the ache lingered. I threw on my long-sleeved Cubs shirt with a pair of sweats. Once I blew my hair dry, I joined the two of them, though I didn’t know for how long. I just needed to be close to Beck.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked Jackson.

  “Dandy,” he said playfully. “I think I’m fine now. But I do think it was combination of the flu plus my side being infected from the wound. Hopefully your flu won’t be as bad.”

  I glanced over at Beck, who was sucking down his clearly not-so-hot-hot chocolate and was left with a white, gooey moustache.

  “What happened to you—the wound?” I chanced asking.

  His bright blue eyes turned three shades darker as his jaw ticked. He wasn’t going to answer, I could tell.

  “Why would you lock me up?” He came back at me. “Quid pro quo.”

  “You sound like an attorney. Are you?”

  “You tell me. You looked in my wallet.”

  I tilted my head. “Why would I not look at your wallet? A stranger in my home.”

  “Then don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” he said.

  What he said was true. Playing games wasn’t my style. Hell, Jackson Winslow wasn’t my style. If I hadn’t seen the attorney identification card, I’d assume him to be some sort of model.

  “That’s fair,” I said. “Why would I not have locked you up?”

  “Do you pull a gun on everyone that comes near your cabin?” he asked, cocking a brow.

  Neither of us seemed to be answering anything. Simply flung questions back and forth instead.

  “Yes. I have a son to protect.” I defended.

  “From whom?”

  When I looked over at Beck, he was slumped down on the table with heavy lids.

  “From attorneys who have been stabbed,” I said somewhat sarcastically, but meant it at the same time.

  A smirk touched his mouth.

  I moved around the table and lifted Beck.