“Don’t say that until you see where you’re sleeping.”
“I’m following you.”
I watched Rufus as we got into my truck and kept a side glance on him while I drove. I cursed myself silently, wondering what had gotten into me. Why was I helping my enemy?
Because he’s not acting like it, maybe? Because he’s wounded, just like you, unsure of who he is and where he belongs?
Shut up, I told myself. We drove a little ways until we reached the old barn that we were converting for Dooley.
“My, my, my,” Rufus said as the truck tires rumbled over the gravel, “this will be a beauty when it’s finished.”
My jaw dropped. “When it’s finished?”
“It’s being renovated, right?”
“How do you know that?”
He winked. “I can see the freshly poured foundation from here, and the lumber. Is it yours?”
I cleared my throat, annoyed with his question. “No, but my company is the one doing it.”
“So you’re a businesswoman?”
I slammed on the brake and threw the stick into first and yanked the emergency brake. “That’s none of your concern. Now come on, let me show you where to sleep. It’ll be perfect.”
Rufus said nothing as he followed me from the truck.
I remembered a walk long ago, one where I followed him instead of the other way around. But that was a younger, naive me, not the confident woman I was now.
Then I realized that I had my back to him, and I whirled around. His gaze met mine with surprise.
“Yes, I’m still here,” he said.
“Hmm,” was all I replied.
“You look as if you don’t trust me.”
“I’ve never met you.”
“More the reason not to trust me, then,” he said, sidling up to me. “I doubt I’d trust me, either. A man shows up claiming not to know who he is? Sounds suspicious.”
This whole scenario had me screwed up and pinched in such a way that I didn’t know up from down.
“Just come on,” I said hotly.
“You don’t have to help me,” he said gently, too gently.
“I know that, but…” What was I going to say, that I wanted to? Total lie. The only thing I wanted was to keep Rufus from hurting anyone else.
“But your sense of Southern hospitality demanded that you assist a wounded wizard, is that it?”
He teased me and I wanted to punch him, but when I glanced over, I didn’t see the amusement in his eyes that I expected. Instead I saw sorrow in them.
“Yes,” I said numbly, “it’s because of my sense of hospitality or something.”
His gaze cut back to the barn. “I like what you’ve done so far.”
“It’s barely even begun,” I remarked. And since when did the leather-wearing Dr. Frankenstein wizard know anything about barn renovations? “The patch of hay is around back. That’s where you can sleep.”
