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I don’t look at him for a few seconds, anxious about what he’ll think about that statement. He doesn’t say anything, forcing me to look up at him. His brows are furrowed, and he’s looking at me so intensely, that it’s making me more nervous.
“And, what did you say?” He finally asks, his voice low, just above a whisper.
“I told her that the Bed and Breakfast owner was helping me fix my car and deal with a couple of things regarding the police. That I was okay, and I’d let her know when I could come home.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up in a grin. “Bed and Breakfast owner?”
I feel the heat on my cheeks. “Well, I didn’t tell her everything.”
He laughs a full belly laugh, making my whole body flush with heat. “Don’t laugh at me! I’ve been through enough, I didn’t have the heart to tell my mom. What was I supposed to tell her? I’ve been thanking my rescuer by banging him?” I ask him, not able to hold back my own laughter, but glad for the shift from the heavy atmosphere.
He pulls me into his arms, kissing me softly on the lips. “You can tell your mom whatever you want, but please tell me I’m more than just the rescuer you’re banging?”
Of course, he’s more than that. I know that. But we also don’t really know what we are, at least I don’t. I search his eyes, trying to decide what I should say, but I take too long. I see the warm teasing in his eyes turn cold like he put a blanket over the fire. He doesn’t move away from me, but I feel his body stiffen. “Come on, let’s go get your tire, I’ll fill you in on my phone call on the way,”
He stands, pulling me up from the bed. He gives me another soft kiss, but it’s lacking something from before. The last thing I want is to hurt him, or to miss out on something special because of my fears, and preventable miscommunication.
“Nathan?” I call quietly to him as he moves toward the door. “You’re more than just my rescuer.”
Much more, but I don’t say that, only feeling so brave. He gives me a nod, but continues towards the kitchen, leaving my stomach in knots.
How can I feel so safe with someone, yet so vulnerable? Admitting my feelings out loud to him feels like stepping off of a cliff, like something I’ll never come back from.
* * *
We leave the cabin, getting in his truck to go into town and I breathe a little easier once he reaches over to grab my hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against my skin. He tells me about the phone call with the State Patrol Officer, and so far my expectations aren’t high for how much help they might provide.
He asks me to add my phone number to his phone, a simple gesture that seems silly after all we’ve been through. I add my name, with a heart, and it draws a small smirk from him once he notices. A simple reaction that somehow still causes the butterflies to erupt inside me.
The trip to town is relatively uneventful. We get my tire and stop at the local hardware store so Nathan can get a better chain and padlock for his trash cage, not wanting a repeat visit from the black bear. It’s all very domestic, and I take comfort in the normalcy.
When we take the turn that will take us back up the mountain road, I notice Nathan repeatedly glancing into his rear view mirror, his relaxed state long gone.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him, suspecting that he isn’t saying anything so he doesn’t make me worry. His knuckles are white, gripped on his steering wheel, and his right hand is tensely gripping my thigh.
“Sheriff Donahue is behind us,” he replies flatly, focused on the road behind us more than in front of us. My blood runs cold, realizing that if Nathan’s worried, it’s not a good sign. He told me what the State Patrol Officer said about documenting interactions, and that we shouldn’t make contact until we know he’s not involved with Tony and Bub in some way.
So, why is he following us? Has he not talked to Trooper Malec? Or does he just not care? Either way, my hands mimic Nathan’s, gripping my seat belt until my knuckles grow pale.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper as if he could overhear us.
Nathan gives me a half smile, not even close to reaching his eyes, the ones that are still glued to the rear view mirror. “We’ll just keep going. He might just be trying to scare us.”
“Well, it’s working,” I mutter to myself. My arms are starting to tremble, the telltale sign that my adrenaline is rising. We keep driving, my fear only growing the closer we get to the cabin.
We round the last curve, the cabin’s driveway in sight. “Listen, I’m going to stop and tell him he can’t come on my property. You stay in the truck unless I tell you. If I say run, you run straight up to the cabin and lock yourself inside. 3321 is the code for the padlock on the door.”
“Nathan…” I utter his name in worry, not liking this at all. My heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest.
“Callie?” He says my name as a question, clearly wanting me to confirm that I’ll do what I’m told. He breaks hard at the bottom of his driveway, throwing it in park, trying to catch the Sheriff off guard. He looks at me quickly, expecting an answer.
“Yes, Yes. Got it,” I stutter out to him, he doesn’t hesitate, getting out of his truck and walking towards the cop car, not sparing me another glance. He trusts me to do what I’m told, and I trust him to keep me safe, there is no need for debate.
I’d walk through fire if he told me it was safe because I have the feeling he’d lay himself down on the flames just so my feet don’t burn. If it makes me insane, or naïve, so be it, but he hasn’t failed me yet.
I’m terrified to look, but I need to see what’s happening. I realize it was probably incredibly unsafe for Nathan to leave the truck, and especially walk towards a suspected malicious Sheriff. He could have shot him, pretended like he was being threatened by us, anything. But, I know Nathan only left the truck because I’m in it. If there is going to be an altercation, he wants it to happen the furthest away from me, to give me a chance to run. UGH! Stupid, selfless Nathan, putting himself in danger for me, AGAIN!
I can’t hear what is being said, but the Sheriff has exited his vehicle, and they look to be having a heated debate. Nathan is standing his ground, while the Sheriff is throwing his hands into the air, clearly upset. Finally, he points his fingers in Nathan’s face, his pointer and thumb like a finger gun, before spitting at his feet and getting back in his cruiser. Nathan’s feet stay planted where he’s at, glaring at the Sheriff as he flips a U-turn on the narrow roadway, almost going into the ditch. His tires squeal as they peel down the asphalt back toward town.
