“Alice?” Jonah stopped at the edge of her reach and lowered himself into a crouch, sinking his center of gravity, making himself smaller. He took off his hat and set it on his knee before dragging a hand through his rust-colored hair. “Your name is Alice, right?”
She didn’t answer. Just stared at him, unblinking, hands still raised defensively in front of her.
“My name’s Jonah Reed. I know your sister, Greta. We’ve been looking for you.”
At the mention of Greta, she unfolded slightly. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but no sound came out.
“It’s okay,” Jonah assured and inched closer. “You’re safe now. Nobody’s going to hurt you. We’re going to get you somewhere warm, get you looked at. But we’ll take it slow. Nothing happens unless you’re ready for it.”
Her hands lowered by an inch.
“That’s good,” Jonah said. “You’re doing real good.” He settled deeper into the crouch. “I’ve got a horse here, just through those willows. Her name’s Sundance, but we call her Sunny. She’s about the gentlest mare you’ll ever meet. Wouldn’t hurt a fly even if it bit her first.”
He kept on. About Sunny, about how she loved apples but turned her nose up at carrots. About how she’d stand for hours while someone groomed her, eyes half-closed, content. About how the barn cats slept on her back sometimes, and she never seemed to mind.
Evander stayed back and watched. He didn’t have whatever this was. Couldn’t have, not after the things he’d done with his hands. Jonah crouched in the wet sand six feet from a woman who had spent fifteen years learning that every approaching footstep meant pain, and he was talking to her about apples. About barn cats. About a mare who didn’t mind being slept on. His voice had not changed pitch since he came through the willows.
Evander understood the mechanics of what Jonah was doing. Lower the body. Soften the voice. Telegraph every motion. But he could’ve done the same, and it wouldn’t have the same effect. Jonah radiated gentleness and patience, and it wasn’t just a tactic. He was how he was built.
Evander had been honed out of harder material. He had crossed an avalanche-prone ridgeline against orders and gotten two men killed for the sake of reaching one. He had spent five years in a cell learning what kind of meanness kept other men away from him. He had built a cabin on land where nobody came, and he had run trip wires through the trees around it.
Gentleness was a country he had no passport to.
So he stood back with his hands at his sides and let Jonah work.
Alice’s breathing started to slow. Not calm — nothing in her posture read as calm — but less panicked, the sharp gasps smoothing into something closer to normal respiration. She tracked between Jonah’s face and his hands, checking both, reading him the way she had likely learned to read her captor over fifteen years in a basement.
“You look cold,” Jonah said. “I’ve got a coat you can borrow. I’m going to take it off slow, then I’m going to hold it out to you.”
He moved in increments. Worked the zipper down. Shrugged out of it without standing, easing it off his shoulders while staying in the crouch, and held it out between them.
Alice looked at the coat. Then at Jonah. Then back at the coat.
She extended her hand. Slow. Shaking. She caught the edge of the coat and pulled it toward herself, dragging it across the wet sand until she could wrap it around her shoulders.
The fabric hung loose on her, sleeves swallowing her hands. She pulled it tight and closed her eyes.
“That’s real good,” Jonah said quietly. He inched closer and stopped, letting her adjust to his presence. “I’d like to get you out of here. Get you home to Greta.”
Once again, Alice relaxed a degree at the mention of Greta.
Smart, using the sister’s name again like that. It was a play Evander himself would’ve made.
Except Jonah wasn’t playing her. Evander knew that, somewhere underneath the analysis. Jonah had said the sister’s name because Greta was waiting, and Jonah was a man who reached for true things when someone was hurting. There was no calculation in him.
It didn’t track.
Everyone was a selfish asshole at heart.
Everyone.
Tilly wandered back toward him and sat in the scrub at his side, ears forward, watching. He wanted to think his dog was just as confused by this interaction as he was.
“My horse, Sunny, is the easiest way to get you home,” Jonah continued, “but you won’t be able to ride her on your own. You’re too tired, and these woods are rough. I’d need to ride with you. Hold you up against me in the saddle. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Is that all right? Will you ride with me?”
Alice opened her eyes and stared at him.
Jonah didn’t move. Didn’t fill the space with more talk. Just stayed in his crouch with his hands open on his knees and let her take what she needed to take.
