“I don’t know. Willpower can sometimes accomplish near miracles. I’m glad we’ll never have to find out, though.”
At least not this time, she thought miserably. Kevin had grown bigger than life in her mind, more like a nightmare monster than a mere man. “You know what I can’t understand?”
“What’s that?”
“Why he keeps coming after me. Why can’t he just let me go? I go as far away as I can get, and he still comes looking. I just don’t get it!”
He shook his head. “I’m no psychologist. I don’t get why he abused you in the first place.”
“I can understand that better than him tracking me like this. I mean, he has a temper. He blows up. At first I was even able to forgive him. But …” She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
He suddenly leaned forward, almost like a striking snake, and she shrank back instinctively.
“Don’t ever,” he said, “ever, forgive someone who hits you. Ever.”
She blinked, wondering what the hell was behind that, but then he leaned back and reached for his own mug as if he hadn’t just vented that moment of passion. “Creeps like him,” Clint said quietly, “once they cross that line, they just keep on crossing it like it was never there.”
That much made sense. She nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” His gray eyes seemed to burn. “You can’t erase the lines and then draw them again. The lines get blurred, and it almost never works. Especially if they get a taste for power or inflicting fear.”
She felt her mouth sag open a little and quickly closed it. They were definitely having a discussion about something that reached far beyond Kevin, but she couldn’t imagine what it was.
He rose quickly, mug in hand. “Want more?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He headed swiftly for the kitchen, as if he wanted to get away from the whole conversation.
Not that she could blame him. She didn’t exactly like it herself.
She lay there, mug in her hands, staring into the dancing fire, wondering more about her rescuer than she should. He seemed like a troubled man, and that made her uneasy.
But, she reminded herself again, she would be out of here as soon as she could manage after the storm passed.
In a day or so she would never have to see Clint Ardmore again. There was absolutely no point in trying to figure him out, not when she was going to shake him off her heels like the dust along the road of what was evidently going to become a permanent flight.
God. She wanted to weep, but the tears wouldn’t come. Just as well. She didn’t want to annoy her rescuer. But how the dickens was she ever going to get out of this mess? The one and only time she’d managed to get Kevin charged and thrown into jail, he’d gotten out in less than two years.
Apparently it was a far worse crime to kick your dog than beat your girlfriend. And it was a lot harder to prove domestic abuse, too. The second time she’d gone to the cops, Kevin had denied he was even in town. Since he lived four states away and hadn’t done anything stupid, like buy gas with a credit card or rent a hotel room, the prosecutor had shrugged and dismissed the charge for lack of proof that tied Kevin to the assault. There were so many more important cases to pursue, after all.
The wind hammered the windows, making them rattle behind the curtains, and she looked around uneasily. Kevin had to know she had taken off running. He might have wondered if she had been picked up along the road, maybe by a long-distance trucker, but he probably wouldn’t have wondered for long. The roads had been deserted, maybe because of the approaching storm, and the stop had been a brief one, brief enough that she had heard him shouting her name in the distance as she hid in a thicket of trees before dashing off again.
No, he wouldn’t know which way she’d gone, but he’d probably figured out pretty quickly that she wasn’t running along the highway. That would have been the first thing he checked.
So he might stay in the area, looking for her.
Regardless, she couldn’t afford to have her name turn up in a police blotter or anywhere else he could find it by means of the Internet.
So what now?
The question loomed darkly, without answers. Finally she pushed it away, promising herself she would think about it in the morning, after the throbbing in her head eased and her thoughts cleared.
Because right now even she could tell she was far from being at her best.
A male voice called her name sharply, and she started. “What?”
She looked around and saw Clint sitting on the coffee table again. The mug was no longer in her hands.
“You’ve been sleeping about half an hour,” he said.
“I didn’t even realize I’d dozed off.”
He nodded. “You’re exhausted. But we still have to watch out for that concussion. Sorry, but I’m going to make this a long night for you.”
“I understand.” She did. Moving carefully, she tried to sit up, but the room tilted and spun so much that she had to close her eyes.
“Do you need something?”
“The bathroom. But I’m dizzy.”
“Let me help you. Keep your eyes closed.”
She expected him to take her arm, help her to her feet and guide her. But instead he lifted her from the couch like a doll and carried her. She definitely did not like that. She hated being reminded that he was so much stronger than she was. It was all she could do not to fight him as fear grabbed her anew.
But then he let her feet slide to the floor and steadied her with an arm around her waist.
“Wait a minute,” he said, “then open your eyes.”
She did as he suggested, and when she opened her eyes the room appeared stable. It was a small bathroom, just the essentials, with little extra room.
“This is the most dangerous room in the house,” he reminded her. “Don’t move quickly, don’t turn or tip your head, and hang on to something every time you move. If you get dizzy, just holler. I’ll be right outside the door.”
“Thanks.”
With care and extreme caution, she managed to take care of her needs, but when it came time to walk to the door, she felt unsteady enough to call out.
“Clint?”
He entered swiftly, offering immediate support. “Let me carry you,” he said this time. “The sweatpants could trip you.”
So it hadn’t just been an exercise of male dominance when he had lifted her before. Relieved, she didn’t argue, and this time she felt no fear when he picked her up. He laid her back on the sofa as if she were fragile enough to shatter.
“How’s your head?”
“Still aching,” she admitted.
“I’m sorry I can’t give you aspirin. But with a concussion, that could be dangerous. And I don’t have anything else.”
“That’s all right. It’s reminding me I’m still alive.”
Something flickered across his face, so quickly that she couldn’t quite read it. She suspected that stoniness would make him a difficult man to deal with. At least with Kevin she had always known just what kind of trouble was on the horizon, even if she couldn’t stop it or escape it.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Food? Soup?