He wasn’t punishing and he had restarted. Built a cabin and joined a bowling team, for goodness’ sake. Had his own ball and shoes and everything.
“You don’t restart byturning away from everyone you knew before the accident.”His mother always referred to it as “the accident,” as if he’d rear-ended someone or slipped on the ice.
Guilt licked at his insides. Yeah, he’d quite literally put distance between himself and those he’d known before,including his parents. His brothers. There’d been excuses about not visiting, avoiding fishing trips, camping vacations, holidays.
It was easier to breathe around people who hadn’t known him before.
Kit was still waiting for a response.
Tit for tat. She’d told him a truth about her father she hadn’t planned on, and she had a right to expect some honest reciprocity.
“I’ve been sorting some things out, and I guess I found reasons not to make it home as often as I should.” Lots of ’em. And excuses to cut phone calls short when the conversation shifted to tender topics.
A wistful smile filtered across her lips. “You’d like the trucking life, then.”
“Would I?”
She nodded. “As much quiet as a person can stand to sort things out. Days and months and hundreds of miles of it, if you want.”
Was that a thread of longing in that sentence? Loneliness, perhaps? “And you don’t get tired of it? All that quiet?”
“No.” A sliver of moonlight from under the shade brushed her face.
Convincing, almost. “Did all those miles help you? Sort your family things out?”
She cupped the mug between her palms as if it were a baby bird. The pause lingered for a moment too long. “I put things in order enough that I can keep moving.”
An interesting answer. A fascinating lady.
She was picking up her mug to sip from it when thefloor shuddered, one quick jolt that sloshed liquid onto the table from both their cups. The window glass rattled and floorboards squeaked. In unison they rose and turned toward the room where the baby lay. As they reached the curtain, the movement stopped.
They froze, waiting. The fabric swished around them, until slowly, subtly, it went still.
“Small one.” He didn’t have to articulate the obvious questions. A precursor? The fuse burning down to Mount Ember’s detonation? He realized he’d taken her arm, a subconscious reaction. He decided since she wasn’t objecting, he’d maintain their connection as they waited. Was he steadying her? Or was it the reverse?
Seconds ticked by into thirty, then a full minute with no more movement.
He checked his watch. “Almost time to go. Maybe we’d better hustle things up a notch.”
Archie clattered down the steps, breathing hard, carrying his boots.
“Earthquake,” Cullen said stupidly as Kit renewed the space between them.
“Yeah, I got that.” Archie held a wrapped bundle. “Reminded me of the earthquake kit we keep upstairs. Mostly old and degraded, but there’s a couple of things included that might help. Kindling and a dozen waterproof matches. Couple of meals ready to eat that haven’t expired, if your culinary tastes aren’t too snooty.”
“I’ll add them to the supplies.” Kit took the items, pulled on her boots, and walked out. She was tired, had to be, but steely with determination. He thought of her anguished expression the previous night, her wild planto return to her rig, which meant everything to her, the satisfaction it had given him to hold her close and comfort her, his lips imprinted with the feel of her skin. What was this weird connection they had? But maybe he alone felt it prickling whenever he was near her. One-sided? She’d out and out said she was a loner.
“Cullen.”
Archie’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Yes, sir?”
Archie waited until the library’s front door swung closed behind Kit. “You know it’s a slim chance we make the evacuation zone without help.”
“Yes, sir. I’m praying we encounter a friendly—National Park Service, cop, or scientist, anyone with a working radio.”
Archie rubbed the back of his neck. “That would be our best hope in my view as well.”
