In just a second.
She ran a hand along her body, from waist to thigh. This was it. She’d joked with Luc about the jeans and the boots and the puffy coat, but really, they were all part of that shell that she’d craved for so long. A uniform of normality. No, of…what? What was it these clothes represented?
Not quite ready to face the future, she spun toward the bed and caught sight of Luc’s crinkled envelope.
The money for her days of work. He’d thought to bring it, had left it for her.
With a sob she just barely managed to contain, Abby sank to the bed, the envelope clutched in one hand and Luc’s blanket in the other. After a few deep inhales, she couldn’t contain the tears any longer and pressed the fabric to her face, sucking in the smell of his home and wishing it were him.
* * *
Someone is here.
Luc stepped into the living room, breathing hard, head shifting from one side to the other. Nothing had changed, really, nothing immediately discernible, but… He sniffed. There was something in the air that shouldn’t be. A presence, now gone.
Although he hoped not. A confrontation was exactly what he needed.
Rifle in hand, he searched his house, one room at a time, Le Dog at attention beside him.
In the bathroom, right there in the rubbish bin, was a wad of bloody cotton and gauze pads from Abby’s back. If Isaiah and his men had been here, there was no way they’d missed that.
But what about the brown-stained floral of Abby’s torn nightgown? Though he looked everywhere, he couldn’t find it. Had Abby somehow gotten rid of it without him knowing? Burned it, maybe? Or hadtheytaken it? The ghosts of intruders he felt sure had been here.
Upstairs, he almost expected some hellish gift. A horse head in his bed or whatever it was cultists left as calling cards, but there was nothing out of place. Nothing at all.
Maybe he was imagining it, their presence in his home.
But he didn’t think so. And neither did Le Dog, who seemed as agitated as Luc felt.
A wave of anger rose up—against those people for trying to intimidate him, against himself for getting caught up in someone else’s business, against Abby for dragging him into it.
But that last part was a lie. He wasn’t mad at Abby for coming to him or for bringing these assholes into his life. He just couldn’t handle the hollow feeling she’d left behind.
Which made no sense at all, since he’d wanted her to leave and never come back. To besafe.
Get Sammy to her and she can go.
He was overcome by a strange mix of fear and anticipation as he considered just how he’d do that. Why hadn’t he asked Abby about the layout over there and where Sammy might be?
The day was getting dark and cold, the shapes taking on an eerie blue hue that reminded him of a dream. Surreal and unpleasant, especially with the sensation of eyes everywhere. Were they watching him? He felt alone and surrounded at the same time. Angry and afraid.
Settling in was impossible. Nothing beckoned. Not the kitchen for dinner, though he’d need to eat before heading back up to light the fire in the barn. God, what was this ache?
After packing up some food, he grabbed what he’d need to bed down in the barn, whistled for the dog, and headed out into the night, rifle over his arm, hating this feeling even more now that he’d figured out what it was.
“I need a drink,” he mumbled, going back in for the hard stuff and wishing, for once, that he could have stayed in town, gone to the bar, maybe met someone and let them take him home. Someone he could fuck who would obliterate the tenderness he’d built up with Abby over these past few days, the want and need. Someone to help bandage his raw parts, which, though invisible, chafed immensely.
Not that he did that, of course.
Not that he’d want to, even if he could. Not with memories of Abby in his brain and his body.
It was a relief, he realized, that he wouldn’t have to sleep in his own bed tonight, which was thoroughly steeped in her essence.
On his way up to the winery, he checked on the chickens. They were ruffled and angry at being cooped up, but nonetheless happy to see him, Lady Godiva doing that stomping dance that told him just how irritated she was. He went to the barn next, where he looked in on his barrels. The barn, at least, had remained locked and felt untouched, the temperature only slightly lower than usual. Nobody could get through those doors without a key. They’d have to burn it down to get inside.
After building a big fire, he headed straight for the interior room, where he checked the temperature and topped up the barrels.
Odd how he couldn’t muster up the usual feelings of ownership at the sight of all that oak.
