“Wait up,” he grumbled after Dale.
* * * *
While we’d been out for the day, someone, Lottie probably, had rigged up a clothesline across the room between my bed and the table with an opaque blue shower curtain on rings, to give me some privacy at night I supposed. For the time being, I left it accordioned against the wall by the door.
There was no telling if Hank would be gone minutes, hours, or even all night. About thirty minutes after he left, I settled into my bunk with my pillow behind my back and leaned into the corner between the plain wood headboard and the wall.
Normally I slept in my jeans when I was on the road so I could be on the move quickly. I would have preferred that now, but my jeans scraped like burlap against my chaffed inner-thighs. Over my panties, I’d changed into a pair of men’s boxer shorts I’d found in the bottom of my saddlebags. Honestly, I’d forgotten I had them. Not even sure why I’d kept them in the first place. They’d belonged to my ex-boyfriend in Iraq and they were a stark reminder of his epic betrayal.
Usually, I functioned better when I was able to shove that memory into a grim corner of my mind reserved exclusively for the horrors that I’d witnessed. That I’d committed. Unfortunately, my memories frequently had a mind of their own and chose inopportune times to come out to play.
For those times when they refused taming, I turned to reading books. Well, a book. I didn’t have room in my bags for more than one. The Old Man and the Sea. I didn’t know why this book re-centered me, rebooting my brain to a time before there were so many things I wished to forget. But it did and I didn’t question the effect too hard.
At some point, I turned off my LED headlamp and settled under the covers, with my arm on top of the quilt and the wood stock of the lever action Winchester .30-30 Dale had brought resting beneath my hand. There were no locks on the cabin door, and with Hank still out at the main house, I didn’t want to put a chair under the doorknob.
I must have fallen asleep because the click of the door latch woke me with a start. There was no moon to light the room and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but I had the Winchester shoved in the crook of my shoulder and a round levered into the chamber with its distinctive click-snick-snick before the door opened fully.
There was a loud thud like a sack of potatoes hitting the wood floor then a voice came from down low. “Jesus Christ, don’t shoot!”
“Hank?”
“Who else would it be?”
I heard a shuffle then the lights snapped on and I squinted into the brightness of the overhead light. By that time, I’d already un-cocked the rifle. Hank brushed the dust off his jeans.
“Sorry.” I tried hard to sound sincere. It sounded like something I should say. The truth was I would never apologize for protecting myself.
As he strode over to his peg, I appreciated how well he filled out his jeans and how his wide shoulders narrowed to his waist. I might not have been interested, but I wasn’t dead.
“You coulda killed me,” he said as I wrapped the quilt around my waist, and shuffled to the bathroom.
I stopped at the doorjamb and glanced back at him. “You weren’t ever in real danger. I’m not trigger happy and I don’t shoot unless I know what I’m aiming at.”
“Just so I’m clear on this,” he said, “you’re saying that if you ever do shoot me, it won’t be accidental. It’ll be on purpose?” One corner of his mouth tipped up so I was pretty sure he was teasing me.
“Precisely.”
“Good to know,” he said as I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me.
When I came out a few minutes later, Hank had rinsed off the dishes and was preparing the coffee pot for the morning. He stopped and raked me up and down with an assessing gaze. “What’s with the quilt?”
I didn’t want him to know how sore I was from my short time in the saddle. A healthy ego has always been a weakness of mine. “I didn’t want to have to sleep in my jeans and I don’t own a robe.”
“So underneath that you have…” He raised a brow waiting for me to fill in the blank.
It wasn’t any of his business what I had on underneath, but we were roomies and I couldn’t scurry around in the quilt every evening. He was eventually going to see anyway so I dropped the cover. “Boxers.”
His other brow elevated.
I huffed out a breath and rolled my eyes to emphasize this was no big deal. “Over my panties. Really, it’s like I’m wearing shorts.” But it didn’t feel anything like that.
“Right. Sure,” he said, but I don’t think he believed it. The light was behind him, but I detected a flush run up his cheeks. “Probably best not to wear them around the boys, though.”
By “boys,” I assumed he meant the other hands. There was no way that was ever going to happen. It wouldn’t be happening now if the inside of my thighs didn’t burn like I’d straddled one of the campfire logs.
I dragged the quilt back over to my bed and tucked it in along the wall side. I levered the rounds out of the rifle and reloaded so the chamber would be empty. Despite what I’d told Hank, I felt better knowing that by leaving the chamber empty, I’d be giving myself longer to gather my wits before I pulled the trigger.
When I pulled the curtain and I’d settled back into bed, Hank turned out the overhead light and made his way to his bed. I could hear the fractional stutter in his step as his good leg propelled him forward followed by the injured one. I’d left the bathroom door ajar with the light on so the cabin wasn’t the inky blackness at the bottom of a well.
The curtain obscured my view of his bed, but I hadn’t pulled it far enough forward and he was visible from the waist up as he unbuttoned his shirt and tugged the white undershirt over his head. I should’ve rolled over and given him his privacy. It was the decent thing to do, but I didn’t.
His shower was so quick I would’ve taken him for a Navy man if I hadn’t known better. He came out of the bathroom with a thin towel around his waist. One hand held his crumpled up pants; the other had a tight grip on the edge of his towel as if he didn’t trust the corner to stay tucked in.
He never turned my way. I closed my eyes and only peeked once as he stepped out of view behind the table curtain. There was a thud, as if the damp towel hit the floor, and a second later the mattress bit out a squeaky complaint as he crawled into bed with a heavy sigh.
The angel on my shoulder warred with the devil on the other side. The devil was convinced Hank hadn’t had time to put anything on before he slid under the covers. The angel insisted it wasn’t polite to contemplate. I figured they were both right, but before I could let the devil run away with me, Hank broke the silence.
“What’s with the packed bags?”
When he’d left to check on Jenna, I’d considered what Dale had said about me leaving if I didn’t want any trouble. So I’d packed what little I had and tossed it up on the top bunk. If I decided to go, I’d be ready.
“I’m not up for any trouble,” I said, repeating what I’d told them earlier.
His soft chuckle filled the void between us. “Coulda fooled me.”
Despite myself, I smiled. I knew he was referring to my pulling the rifle on him. “Not wanting trouble is different than not being prepared.”
The truth was I could easily be gone before anyone woke up. There were aboveground gas and diesel tanks past the barn where the tractors and trailers were stored. I could push my bike up to the tanks, fill up, and be down the road before anyone was the wiser. It wouldn’t exactly be stealing. I figured the hours I’d put in today would