“We need to talk.”
Her smile faded, wariness sliding into her expression. “That doesn’t sound good.”
I told her about what we’d found. With each word, she paled further, her hands trembling as she set down the spatula on the plate next to the stove.
“I’m not surprised.” She stared down at the counter, at the breakfast she’d been happily making. “Make sure you look around some more, because I doubt that’s their only camp.”
“Greel mentioned th-th-that. He and Dungar will look today.”
I wrapped my arms around her from behind, needing the contact as much for my own comfort as hers. She fit against me so well, her head tucked against my chest like she’d been made for this exact spot. “They aren’t here-here n-n-now.”
Tension radiated through her frame like a live wire. “I’m surprised they’re not back here already. They’re going to bring a war to this peaceful town.”
“I suspect they’d rather not d-d-draw attention.” Though I didn’t believe that for a second and neither did she.
“Until he’s mad.” Her shoulders curled forward.
I kissed the top of her head, breathing in her scent to steady myself. “Today, I’m going to show you some de-de-defensive techniques.”
“What’s that?” She turned in my arms, her eyebrows raised in that way that meant she was either amused or about to argue with me.
“Po-po-pottery tools make excellent improvised weapons,” I said seriously. “And kilns can be used stra…tegically if needed.”
She turned in my embrace, and a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth despite her fear. “Are you going to teach me pottery combat?”
“If that’s what it ta-takes to keep you safe.”
We ate and went to town, where I put out the Closed sign again.
Allie sighed but didn’t argue. No more classes until we caught Will. We’d taken a chance over the past few days, and maybe we shouldn’t have, but we wouldn’t any longer.
The day at the pottery barn felt like we were trying to make our way through thick honey. Every sound from the street made me tense, every shadow outside the windows caught my attention. I tried to maintain a normal façade while teaching Allie how to use clay tools defensively, but my nerves were stretched to the breaking point.
“The pottery knife has excellent balance for throwing,” I explained, showing the proper grip. “Aim for center mass, not the head. And these clay removal tools have sharp edges that can do real damage if needed.”
Allie had natural grace, and she learned quickly. But I could see the sadness in her eyes as we turned art tools into weapons, corrupting the peaceful sanctuary we’d built together.
We left, returning home, and while we prepared dinner, I shared more ways she could hide if someone tried to grab her here inside our home.
“Anything can be used as a cho-cho-chokepoint,” I said, my voice taking on the clinical tone I used when emotions threatened to overwhelm me. “If th-th-they try to corner you, get behind something with an escape route to the side or behind. They’ll have to come around to re-re-reach you, and that gives you an advantage.”
“I hate this,” she said, setting down the knife she was using to chop vegetables harder than necessary. “I hate that they’re making us turn this beautiful place into a war zone.”
“It’s still beautiful,” I said, though the words felt hollow. “And when this is over, we’ll make Lonesome Creek peaceful again.”
“Will we?” She looked around the barn with such wistfulness it made my heart ache. “Or will I have to run again before we get that chance?”
“You’re not running any-anywhere.” The words came out forcefully, driven by the terror of losing her. “This is your home. But it is your choice to make.” I needed to point that out. Always her choice. I just hoped she understood that her place would always be with me.
“My choice?” Fire sparked in her brown eyes, and I realized I’d stepped into dangerous territory. “What if my choice puts you in danger? What if staying here gets you killed?”
“That’smychoice to make,” I shot back, my own temper flaring to match hers. “You don’t get to decide what risks I’m willing to take.”
“And you don’t get to decide that I should stay and hide while other people fight my battles for me.” Her voice rose, echoing off the walls.
We stared at each other, both breathing hard, the air between us crackling with tension. Tressa watched us with concern from near the kitchen table, her ears swiveling back and forth.
This was our first argument, and it felt like we were standing on the edge of a cliff with no idea how deep the drop was.
