Page 55 of Love You To Pieces

It doesn’t help that him looking down at me with that tilt of his head and a little curl of a smirk on his lips reminds me of last night.

How he kissed me

How he touched me.

How he⁠—

“I have to go into town.” Thankfully cutting off my traitorous train of thought. “I’ve been trying to avoid it. But…” He rolls his shoulders in an irritated shrug. “Can’t help it. Anyway, there’s food in the fridge. Potatoes and carrots from last night. Umm…” He looks at me, thinking, seeming like he’s trying not to forget anything. “Don’t burn down the house, I guess. You know everything’s locked, and…” He throws a glance to the top of the large fences, all of which have barbed wire running across them.

“I get the message,” I promise, my knees drawn up to my chest.

His smile is sweet and brilliant and so goddamn charming that it almost has me fooled. “Good girl,” Fox praises approvingly, making something like guilt twist in my stomach.

It isn’t, though. Because I do not feel guilty about doing what I need to in order to fucking survive. I will not.

When he leans down, I tense, but it’s only so Fox can kiss the top of my head while brushing my hair back behind my ear. “Don’t do anything stupid, Sadie-Rae,” he says with reluctance lacing his tone. “I don’t need Deacon on the warpath or to come home to a mess to clean up after having to go into town to clean one up.” I can hear the irritation in his words, and I look up at him suddenly.

“Are you going to be in danger?” I ask without thinking.

Fox, who’d been half turned to leave, stops, pivots, and looks at me with surprise in his dark brown eyes. “Why?”

I shake my head, suddenly self-conscious. “Call it curiosity.” The words come out snappy, brusque, and overall too defensive for me to feel okay with.

He chuckles, his grin turning a little wicked, and something dims in his eyes that makes my stomach plummet.

Did I disappoint him?

“Funny,” he drawls. “It almost sounded like concern. But you aren’t concerned about me, right?” He reaches out again to trail his fingers through my hair, and once again tucks it back behind my ear. “That would be absurd, Sadie-Rae.”

“Absurd,” I echo in agreement. “I was just⁠—”

“Curious,” he finishes for me, dryly almost. “But to satisfy your curiosity, I think I’ll be just fine. I haven’t been shot by my own deputies yet. And no wayward traffic stop has succeeded in runnin’ me over. Well…” His grin grows sly. “Not badly enough that Deacon can’t fix me up.”

He stares at me for a moment longer, like he’s waiting for something. Like the words on my tongue that are locked behind my teeth are going to free themselves, or as though I might admit I’m just slightly, very minutely, concerned.

But I don’t say it. I don’t wish him good luck.

Or tell him to be safe.

Fox gives me a mock salute and turns, going back across the old porch and inside once more. The door closes behind him with a finality that I associate with my plan, instead of something else. And as I listen, his truck revs, the engine loud as it drinks in diesel, before fading away as he heads down the driveway.

I’m not concerned, I remind myself. No, if anything?

I’m excited.

My fingers tremble, and I cannot believe even for a moment that I’ve been presented with this kind of opportunity. The idea that I can get away so easily is insane. I expected to have to wait for days. Maybe even weeks for this kind of opportunity.

With my shoes finally back on, I don’t have to creep around barefoot, thank God. For a moment, I consider going up to their room, his office, and everywhere else in the house to paw around for my phone. It has to be here somewhere, after all, for Fox to know that no one⁠—

That’s not important, I chastise. I don’t need that, and I won’t waste time hunting for a weapon when the best I’ll find is a fork. Somehow they always manage to hide the cutlery and anything else with stabbing potential, so it would be a waste of my time to go looking.

More than that, I have no idea when Deacon will be back, and I don’t want to press my luck. He’s been gone at least eight hours, I wager, and without knowing how long his shifts are, I can’t take any chances. With it being late afternoon now, I know I can’t have too much time before he’s off work and home.

My hands fumble at the collar on Pearl’s neck, and I find the clasp keeping her tethered to her half of the yard. The line and the heavy clip on the end thump to the ground; out of routine, Pearl trots up the stairs to the porch, waiting by the door.

“No,” I whisper, getting to my feet. “No, that’s not where we’re going. Come on.” Without hesitating, I stride past the gardens, past both workshops, until I’m at the back of the large yard and the padlocked gate. The key now in my hand feels heavy, and warm from my body heat, as I shove it into the lock, I hold my breath.

What if this isn’t the right key?