I’m pulling my small wagon behind us. It’s going to get in the way if this comes to a fight, and I don’t want to lose these supplies. So I push the wagon into a small gap in the trees. Micah evidently reads my mind because he moves with me. We stand with our backs to the wagon, guns out, as we wait for the approaching men to pass.
“Howdy,” one calls out in an unconvincingly friendly voice.
“Hi,” Micah says.
“We’re not gonna try anything,” the same one says.
“Not sayin’ you will. Just lettin’ y’all pass.”
There’s a strange relief in letting Micah deal with this situation. I haven’t felt that in a very long time.
The men eye me in a familiar way as they get closer. The greedy, objectifying way it’s impossible not to recognize. I’ve always hated it, but I’ve learned to brush it off.They can think what they want as long as they don’t touch me.
“Eyes off,” Micah growls. I’ve never once heard him sound mean before, but he sure does now.
I never would have been so confrontational for fear they’d respond aggressively, but Micah must know what he’s doing. He must know men like these.
The first guy puts his hands up in surrender and laughs. “Hey, hey, hey, just admirin’ your lady. Not all of us got so lucky.”
If he’d said or done anything else hostile, I’m absolutely positive the three men would have tried their luck and attacked. But Micah immediately breaks the tension by saying in a congenial tone, “Hey, I get it. Don’t blame you. Just lookin’ out for what’s mine.”
The men all chortle as if he made a brilliant joke and walk past us.
Neither Micah nor I move until they’re out of sight.
Then we look at each other.
“That felt close,” I say softly.
“It was close. And we coulda taken ’em, but I really didn’t want to start this recovery all over again.”
“Yeah. That would have sucked.”
“Y’okay?” He’s peering at my face searchingly.
“I’m fine. I’m always fine. Remember?”
His mouth twitches up on one side. “Oh, I remember.”
I don’t actually think I’m fine right now. I’m shaky for no good reason.
But it’s weird. Having someone face this stuff with me. Even with Jesse, it felt like I was always the responsible one.
But with Micah it’s not all on me.
8
That evening,I’m in a weird mood.
Tired but wired at the same time. Like there’s all this feeling coursing inside me that shouldn’t exist, that my body is barely capable of containing. Excitement. Relief. Appreciation. Anticipation. Emotional connection.
But also anxiety and an internal warning clanging in the background.
All of it is pulsing in my blood and with my fast heartbeat, and the worst thing is Micah seems to be aware of it.
He feels it too.
He keeps slanting me searching looks as we do a perimeter check on all my warnings and traps. Like he’s checking to see if I’m feeling what he suspects I’m feeling.
