She was going about this all wrong. When she'd been a kid, every time she'd tried to stay awake, she'd fallen asleep. Christmas Eve. The night before they left for family vacation. The night before school started.
Stay awake.
So she counted the beats of the second hand on the wall clock.
3,600. 7,200.
The clock ticked past midnight.
Any rancher worth his salt would be long asleep. The workday started at five.
She'd lost that part of herself at TU. The little girl who’d been born to be a rancher. She'd lost too much.
Cord had let her stay the night.
She had to find a way to convince him to let her stay longer. Maybe she couldn't sleep here, but she was the safest she'd felt since the attack.
The clock ticked away, and she pushed out of the bed. A glass of water. That might help.
Or at least be an excuse if the rancher woke.
The ranch house was as creaky as the one where she'd grown up. She tested each step before she took it but still managed to tweak one of the stairs. She froze, listening.
Cord must be a deep sleeper.
Downstairs, the floor was full of squeaking boards, especially as she passed through the living room. What a nasty tree.
It was maybe five feet tall. The fake pine needles must've been green at one time, but by now most of the paint—and most of the needles—had worn off. Cheap glass balls also had the paint worn off and were interspersed around the tree at uneven intervals.
She'd bet if she plugged in the lights, half of the string wouldn't work. Wires that old might even spark a fire.
There were no handmade kindergarten ornaments like Mama had always hung on the tree at home.
It was pretty sad. Why hadn't Cord put it away already?
We weren't close.
His words from earlier ping-ponged around the inside of her head as she ran a glass of tap water from the sink.
They weren't close. But Grandma had raised him? He’d said this was his grandma’s place. And the cutout pictures in the room upstairs had been fifteen years faded. Not thirty-five. It made sense.
She sipped the water, smiling a little at the mineral-rich taste. Well water.
She'd missed it.
Funny how many things you didn't know you'd miss until you couldn't go home again.
There was ascritch-scratchsound against the nearest door, and she jumped. She bobbled the water glass but caught it before it fell and shattered.
She strained her ears to hear over the thundering of her heart. Was that—? How had he found her?
A soft whine cut through the noise in her head.
The dog. It was just the dog. Outside.
Molly clutched the counter as she tried to steady her breathing and let her racing pulse return to normal.
The dog scratched again, and she really didn't want to wake up Cord. She needed to get on his good side if she was going to—somehow—convince him to let her stay.
