Maybe Adora will live up to her title of Diva after all.
CHAPTER FOUR
ADORA
I wake to the incessant buzzing of an insect that just won't leave my head alone. But no matter how much I slap at the thing, it refuses to go away. Sighing, I shove up from the warmth of the pillow haven that I’ve managed to sink into and crack my eyes open?—
To find the Texan desert vista has changed significantly since the sun rose what looks like at least a few hours ago. Plus, the insect isn’t an insect after all, even though the sound is still annoying.
The desert floor isn’t only rocks and dirt like I thought last night when I tripped over the things and Hendrick held me up in his quiet way for what felt like hours. Scraggly shrubs populate the desert floor, and further out, rock formations change the sky line from blues to oranges and reds in carved shapes and flat tops.
I stare at the movie worthy water landscape and wonder what era Hendrick has dropped us into. But the stunning vista isn't the only droolworthy thing about the view.
Hendrick rides around a herd of horses astride a black motorbike that’s seen better days. His checked shirt is undone, the open panels flapping over a black singlet beneath.
The path he carves around the animals that should be running scared and skittish flows like water. Both he and the herd are comfortable and it’s clear he’s done this many times before. The noise of the bike is the only thing I can hear, but it fades into insignificance as I watch him.
And it hits me that this isn’t just a place that he’s brought me after the mess of last night. That the reason this house is so well stocked, and why the animals know him, is that this place?—
It’s his.
I slip out of the bed he’s leant me, pattering across the floor in bare feet, suddenly unwilling to make sound on what feels like hallowed ground. Cool morning air that holds the edge of a hot day promised later on swirls around me as I push open a door that leads outside. Hendrick said not to go too far without him. Well, he’s out here, isn’t he? So this qualifies.
He finishes moving the horses to their new destination as I watch, closing off a gate. One wickers at his hand. He shakes his head, then puts his hand into his pocket and withdraws something that the horse dives for. Suddenly he’s surrounded by horses all straining over the wire. I snuff out a laugh, letting my bare feet rest at the edge of the veranda’s raw boards.
My movement seems to catch his eye. Hendrick looks around, stilling when he sees me at the back of the house, the solitary building set in the literal middle of nowhere. He waits a heartbeat longer, then detaches himself from the horses and climbs back on the bike. A breath later, he heads back toward me. The bike pulls up, slower than he rode it before with less dust involved near the open house.
“You’re up.”
I nod, swallowing on what I expect to be a sore throat. The pre-empted pain doesn't come. “Good morning,” I manage, to his raised eyebrows.
“Good morning, Adora. Have you had tea?"
Remembering last night’s debacle, I shake my head, wishing my hair isn’t up so I can hide behind it. N0thing is there between us for me to hide behind as heat flushes my face. If Hendrick recalls the moment or is embarrassed, he doesn’t show anything. My chest loosens and I exhale.
“Go, make something.”’ he says softly. “I’ll put the bike away, then I’ll show you where everything is for breakfast, if you like.”
“Yes, please.” My voice fades by the end of the second word, its strength already fading. But we spoke, and that…
Seems important.
Hendrick revs the bike and peels away, leaving a small trail of dust in his wake. The horses he fed before offer snorts and blows. I understand their language as I turn and head back into the house.
The tea cupboard is a mess. Hendrick clearly threw everything back in last night after I walked away from him. My cheeks burn anew at the memory. I stack everything in the most logical order I can in the best form of a silent apology I can make.
“That’s a better job than I made of it last night. Thank you.”
His step is so light that I don't hear him come in, or maybe that's by design. I look over my shoulder and smile, saving my voice for later because I know he’s going to ask.
In his place, I would.
“Can I feed you?” He’s closer now. “I thought you might not have been eating out of fear.”
Hendrick doesn't mince his words. I imagine there are people he has protected who would hate what he just said. Part of me rejects what he says straight away. But also I don’t want toadmit that the fear isn’t what's stopped me from functioning at all, so I let him keep thinking that. It’s easier.
I drop my hands to the counter, gripping the cool surface tight that doesn’t yield beneath my touch, but that’s as close as he comes. When he doesn't speak again, I nod.
“Good. The file says you’re not allergic to anything. Is that right?”
