Page 90 of Drifter’s Heart

I leave my phone off as I walk out his door barefoot, my boots in my hand.

And let it close as silently behind me as the night we spent together, where the only word he spoke for hours was my name.

Like he worships me the way I do him.

THIRTY

WEST

Who Saw You Leave?

The bedsheet grows cold at my side the moment Winnie gets up to leave. I let her go, inhaling slowly as she creeps from the room. Her footsteps are slow and soft, measured like she’s trying not to keep me awake. Interestingly, that only serves to reverse her purpose. I keep the smirk off my face, barely, as she patters about, collecting her things. The door shuts behind her, and the apartment loses some of its warmth.

Instead of chasing after her, I lie back in the cold bed, lacing my hands behind my head. This is the second time I’ve slept beyond dawn in years. Winnie is doing something to me that I can neither explain nor change. I’m okay with that, as long as she is. And the fact that she didn’t want to wake me or rush out the door says that maybe we will have that talk later that Lanie promised me.

Together.

I let the sunlight fill the room, rising along the sheets and over my toes, not flinching when it reaches my shins. I can’t remember the last time that I’ve lain in the sunlight alone and simply not done anything. And so I let my memory wander, warming the sheets with her phantom touch.

We collapsed on the floor together afterward. I held her until her soft sobs started, letting out what she came to me for last night. Her tears coated my chest in a different sort of slick. Salt—not earned beneath a blazing sun and encrusted in dirt that I was used to working in, but the emotional sort. Winnie curled into the space I created for her and released more than the tension that eked from her muscles earlier when I fucked her. When she let me.

I picked her up afterward and carried her to my bed. She never said a word, letting me tuck her into my arms, and rested her cheek over my heart.

Neither of us have ever slept so well, apart from the night we shared together at Coyote Falls. For an anxiety bomb of a traumatized woman and an insomniac, that’s saying something.

I ferret for my phone to send her a message, but it’s nowhere in sight. A quick search of the apartment locates it in the living area. I forgot to plug the ancient device in overnight, and the damn thing is dead as hell. Letting out a groan, I scrounge for my charger, but that’s gone AWOL as well.

Closing my eyes, I sink back onto the bed. I don’t need to check my truck to know I’ve left the damn thing in Coyote Falls, and I don’t feel like another road trip right now. The sun climbing up my legs promises me that the shops won’t be open for at least another few hours.

The chat with Lanie will have to wait. Not that I mind much about that. She’ll have ripped Winnie a new one by now, I’m sure. Guilt hits me that I’m not with her to share the burden. Groaning, I shove up from the bed and scrub my hands over my face. Looks like I’m going hunting for an all-night store to buy a phone charger after all.

Three hours later, I acknowledge I should have stayed in bed. My original plan was better, and more realistic. Instead, for the last three hours I’ve discovered every nook and cranny of Cloakton. I’ve also discovered that early in the week, everything opens after nine in the morning, and there are no all-night stores.

In any case, I’ve also cleaned out my emails and replied to the Rand Enterprises board, who have approved my designs for the building I showed to Winnie. John Lancaster had a hand in getting the project across the line, I’m certain. Which means I have a solid wage and work ongoing for the next few years. One problem down that I can close out with Winnie. Lanie too, because I know she’ll ask. Both of them know I have my own funds. Rand paid me for all the years of building his homestead and the hours I’ve put in at Coyote Falls. With no significant other during that time and nothing to spend that income on, that income has sat dormant in my bank account.

At least now it might have a use.

My phone reaches a sufficient amount of charge where it’s able to live again. The first ping brings a smile to my face. Back when Cord first insisted I buy the thing, I wanted to throw it. Now his sister is the one I want to hear from. The irony doesn’t escape me.

A few more pings come through. I reach over idly and grab for the device, still typing out an email one-handedly to close off the Haiti project, which seems to have run through without a hitch. A miracle in itself. The weather—and the clay soil—has held up, along with the bridge.

The toilets that were built are in use, and the local town has access to both fresh water and a hygiene system that improves their quality of life. I’m calling that a win, and feedback looks solid so far. I’ll check in again in a few weeks and then months afterward to make sure everything is still standing the way it should, and schedule a site inspection for two weeks, then six, due to the season and the soil type.

My phone pings several more times in rapid succession. I shake my head, a smile growing across my face. “Winnie, Winnie,” I murmur. “Already?” The handset is warm from charging, but at least the little red line has changed to yellow, for now. I flick open the app and pause.

They’re not here. I can’t find Sally.

Why would Lanie go somewhere and not tell me? I should never have left.

I’ve checked the hospital. Cord doesn’t know either.

Pick up. Fucking hell.

Where are you?

Did you actually sleep?

Pick up the damn phone, West.