from the hard place.
Abby sat, legs out stiffly, hands clenched in her lap. Cade leaned forward, pulled up the tailgate and brought down the hatch with a slam and a twist of the handle.
“What about your dog?”
“He prefers being outside. Three’s a crowd in the back of a truck. Gonna be hot enough in here without Mort. Plus he’ll keep an ear open, let me know if anything turns up.”
Abby blew out a long breath and wiped sweat from her face with her sleeve. “I can’t believe this is happening. You sure you don’t want to just drop me off with the nearest sheriff?”
“I’m sure. Shut up and go to sleep.” He lay down and shifted to get comfortable, shoving a clean pair of jeans at her. “Pillow. Sorry, it’s what we got. They’re not bad if you roll ’em up tight and put them under your neck.” He turned off the flashlight before setting it next to him in easy reach. “Good night.”
There was a long, still pause in which the insect noise outside and the sound of the river seemed to fill the camper shell, then Abby lay down, curled as far from him as possible, her back firmly toward him. She smelled of the acrid campfire smoke, sweat and old fear. And Cade wanted her, more than he could ever remember wanting a woman before. He laced his hands under his head and stared out the side window, where he could see the tiny green and gold glows of fireflies signaling to prospective mates in the darkness of the scrub woods.
After a while, he spoke again, knowing she wasn’t yet asleep. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. Why didn’t you leave before now, Abby? Why did you wait so long? What stopped you?” The answers were never simple in domestic abuse scenarios. There were sometimes children, or the woman had no means of support, or her self-esteem had been so damaged that she never even considered leaving. In Abby’s case, he suspected it was the people at her day care, as vulnerable as children. Marsh had undoubtedly been a master at slipping the thin end of the wedge into her awareness, making her dependent on him before he began his campaign of making her over to suit himself.
Abby didn’t answer. Instead, she sat up again and drew her legs up the way she had at the picnic table. Cade realized he’d blown any chance at all of ever getting to know her better. Like her abuser, he’d made it clear he considered the abuse her own fault. Even if that wasn’t what he thought or meant, it was sure as hell what it sounded like. He clenched his fist in the darkness and shook his head at himself, but he didn’t apologize. Maybe she would at least give it thought, if she hadn’t already.
Chapter 6
A bby wasn’t sure how long it was before she finally felt she could lie down again. She sat in the darkness, her mind churning. The events of the day played over and over in her head. Every slightest noise from outside caught her ear—the jingle of Mort’s tags on his collar. The change in pitch of the cicadas’ buzzing. A faint splash from the river, perhaps a fish jumping, or some animal coming to drink.
The truck cooled gradually, but the night remained too hot for restful sleep. She was still sweaty, and she wanted a shower and an enormous glass of iced tea. She stretched out carefully, trying not to disturb Cade, who slept quietly, hardly snoring at all, one hand on his belly, the other lying lax at his side between the two of them. She wondered where he had put his gun. Surely it wasn’t still in the back of his waistband—he couldn’t possibly sleep like that—but she hadn’t seen him deal with it in the darkness. He’d probably hidden it while she’d been at the toilets.
Gary had been a noisy sleeper, but Abby had thought, I always know where he is. He’s right here beside me.
Marsh—well. At least she didn’t have firsthand knowledge of how he slept. He stayed in his own room, except when he woke in the night to use the bathroom or to stand in her doorway and stare at
Abby sat, legs out stiffly, hands clenched in her lap. Cade leaned forward, pulled up the tailgate and brought down the hatch with a slam and a twist of the handle.
“What about your dog?”
“He prefers being outside. Three’s a crowd in the back of a truck. Gonna be hot enough in here without Mort. Plus he’ll keep an ear open, let me know if anything turns up.”
Abby blew out a long breath and wiped sweat from her face with her sleeve. “I can’t believe this is happening. You sure you don’t want to just drop me off with the nearest sheriff?”
“I’m sure. Shut up and go to sleep.” He lay down and shifted to get comfortable, shoving a clean pair of jeans at her. “Pillow. Sorry, it’s what we got. They’re not bad if you roll ’em up tight and put them under your neck.” He turned off the flashlight before setting it next to him in easy reach. “Good night.”
There was a long, still pause in which the insect noise outside and the sound of the river seemed to fill the camper shell, then Abby lay down, curled as far from him as possible, her back firmly toward him. She smelled of the acrid campfire smoke, sweat and old fear. And Cade wanted her, more than he could ever remember wanting a woman before. He laced his hands under his head and stared out the side window, where he could see the tiny green and gold glows of fireflies signaling to prospective mates in the darkness of the scrub woods.
After a while, he spoke again, knowing she wasn’t yet asleep. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. Why didn’t you leave before now, Abby? Why did you wait so long? What stopped you?” The answers were never simple in domestic abuse scenarios. There were sometimes children, or the woman had no means of support, or her self-esteem had been so damaged that she never even considered leaving. In Abby’s case, he suspected it was the people at her day care, as vulnerable as children. Marsh had undoubtedly been a master at slipping the thin end of the wedge into her awareness, making her dependent on him before he began his campaign of making her over to suit himself.
Abby didn’t answer. Instead, she sat up again and drew her legs up the way she had at the picnic table. Cade realized he’d blown any chance at all of ever getting to know her better. Like her abuser, he’d made it clear he considered the abuse her own fault. Even if that wasn’t what he thought or meant, it was sure as hell what it sounded like. He clenched his fist in the darkness and shook his head at himself, but he didn’t apologize. Maybe she would at least give it thought, if she hadn’t already.
Chapter 6
A bby wasn’t sure how long it was before she finally felt she could lie down again. She sat in the darkness, her mind churning. The events of the day played over and over in her head. Every slightest noise from outside caught her ear—the jingle of Mort’s tags on his collar. The change in pitch of the cicadas’ buzzing. A faint splash from the river, perhaps a fish jumping, or some animal coming to drink.
The truck cooled gradually, but the night remained too hot for restful sleep. She was still sweaty, and she wanted a shower and an enormous glass of iced tea. She stretched out carefully, trying not to disturb Cade, who slept quietly, hardly snoring at all, one hand on his belly, the other lying lax at his side between the two of them. She wondered where he had put his gun. Surely it wasn’t still in the back of his waistband—he couldn’t possibly sleep like that—but she hadn’t seen him deal with it in the darkness. He’d probably hidden it while she’d been at the toilets.
Gary had been a noisy sleeper, but Abby had thought, I always know where he is. He’s right here beside me.
Marsh—well. At least she didn’t have firsthand knowledge of how he slept. He stayed in his own room, except when he woke in the night to use the bathroom or to stand in her doorway and stare at
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