suddenly feeling the importance of making him believe she couldn’t have used it. “No … I was just going to use it for self-defense if I had to.”
His deep, unfathomable eyes misted, and he focused on the ceiling of the camper. “You know I’d rather die than hurt you.”
Somewhere, deep within her, she did know that. She touched the scar with unsteady fingertips, and he held his breath and looked down at her. “When were you stabbed?”
“Right before I left.” His eyes said more. They told her that was why he’d disappeared, that there had been a valid reason.
“Who?”
He shook his head, denying her that answer. “Not now. Not yet.”
A sob was rising in her heart, waiting at the back of her throat for her to give it voice. “You could have died,” she whispered.
“I didn’t, though.”
“Clint, tell me what happened. Please.”
“I will, Sherry. When I can. But for now, you have to trust me.”
D on’t you ever get tired of driving?” Madeline’s question cut across the darkness and the road noise. Sam glanced over at her. With a deep sigh, he said, “I get tired of a lot of things, but I still have to do them.”
“But this has been a long day. And it’s dark. And this road is so winding and eerie.”
Sam smiled and patted her hand with bold familiarity. “Thanks for worrying, honey, but I can handle it.”
“I’m not worrying about you ,” she said. “I’m worried about myself. If you fall asleep and drive off the road we’ll all be killed. Why don’t you let someone else drive for a while?”
A high-pitched laugh tumbled out of Sam’s throat. “Someone like you?”
“No, I know you wouldn’t trust me. But what about Clint? He could pull his own weight.”
She could barely see him in the darkness, but she saw enough to know his face had sobered.
“Clint can’t drive. It would make him an open target.”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate, and suddenly Madeline’s eyes darted to the side mirror that gave a view of what was behind them. “Target for what?”
Sam didn’t answer. His fingers curled more tightly over the steering wheel, and his eyes narrowed.
“Are you a target? Am I?”
Sam’s finger began to tap, slowly at first, then more rhythmically. When he opened his mouth, Madeline braced herself for an admission that she did not want to hear. But all that came out was a quiet, off-key, “Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron.”
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Madeline leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. She blocked out the worry she had for Sherry, trapped in the back of the camper with Clint. She blocked out the dread of where they were going and what would happen to her there. It was easy to do, for she had done it all her life, ever since she was a child and her parents had died in a car wreck. She had learned to turn away from pain and worry when she went to live with a distant aunt who saw her as another duty God had thrust on her. Long ago, as a curly-haired little girl, she had learned to concentrate on the present, and to take solace in whatever was at hand. And she had learned that God only put her in places that would make her the person he needed her to be.
Tonight she was in the presence of a man who represented a mixture of danger and security, so she took mental refuge in his presence and the soft, repetitive sound of his voice.
S herry was beginning to trust him. Clint knew it because she had fallen asleep, something she would never have allowed herself to do before she’d seen the scar and realized he, too, had been a victim. Now he moved to sit on the floor beside the bed, and studied the lines of her face in the dark confines of the camper.
A helpless feeling of loss overwhelmed him at the thought of the eight months that had separated them, when he had honestly believed that nothing ever would. But more than time had come between them, he thought, focusing on the ceiling.
Peace. Lying in this
His deep, unfathomable eyes misted, and he focused on the ceiling of the camper. “You know I’d rather die than hurt you.”
Somewhere, deep within her, she did know that. She touched the scar with unsteady fingertips, and he held his breath and looked down at her. “When were you stabbed?”
“Right before I left.” His eyes said more. They told her that was why he’d disappeared, that there had been a valid reason.
“Who?”
He shook his head, denying her that answer. “Not now. Not yet.”
A sob was rising in her heart, waiting at the back of her throat for her to give it voice. “You could have died,” she whispered.
“I didn’t, though.”
“Clint, tell me what happened. Please.”
“I will, Sherry. When I can. But for now, you have to trust me.”
D on’t you ever get tired of driving?” Madeline’s question cut across the darkness and the road noise. Sam glanced over at her. With a deep sigh, he said, “I get tired of a lot of things, but I still have to do them.”
“But this has been a long day. And it’s dark. And this road is so winding and eerie.”
Sam smiled and patted her hand with bold familiarity. “Thanks for worrying, honey, but I can handle it.”
“I’m not worrying about you ,” she said. “I’m worried about myself. If you fall asleep and drive off the road we’ll all be killed. Why don’t you let someone else drive for a while?”
A high-pitched laugh tumbled out of Sam’s throat. “Someone like you?”
“No, I know you wouldn’t trust me. But what about Clint? He could pull his own weight.”
She could barely see him in the darkness, but she saw enough to know his face had sobered.
“Clint can’t drive. It would make him an open target.”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate, and suddenly Madeline’s eyes darted to the side mirror that gave a view of what was behind them. “Target for what?”
Sam didn’t answer. His fingers curled more tightly over the steering wheel, and his eyes narrowed.
“Are you a target? Am I?”
Sam’s finger began to tap, slowly at first, then more rhythmically. When he opened his mouth, Madeline braced herself for an admission that she did not want to hear. But all that came out was a quiet, off-key, “Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron.”
Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Madeline leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. She blocked out the worry she had for Sherry, trapped in the back of the camper with Clint. She blocked out the dread of where they were going and what would happen to her there. It was easy to do, for she had done it all her life, ever since she was a child and her parents had died in a car wreck. She had learned to turn away from pain and worry when she went to live with a distant aunt who saw her as another duty God had thrust on her. Long ago, as a curly-haired little girl, she had learned to concentrate on the present, and to take solace in whatever was at hand. And she had learned that God only put her in places that would make her the person he needed her to be.
Tonight she was in the presence of a man who represented a mixture of danger and security, so she took mental refuge in his presence and the soft, repetitive sound of his voice.
S herry was beginning to trust him. Clint knew it because she had fallen asleep, something she would never have allowed herself to do before she’d seen the scar and realized he, too, had been a victim. Now he moved to sit on the floor beside the bed, and studied the lines of her face in the dark confines of the camper.
A helpless feeling of loss overwhelmed him at the thought of the eight months that had separated them, when he had honestly believed that nothing ever would. But more than time had come between them, he thought, focusing on the ceiling.
Peace. Lying in this
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