Page 48 of His Wounded Heart

“Just two more, Buddy. Then we get to take Violet to the hospital. Okay?”

He shakes his head violently.

Well, I’d tried. I open the door, and hear Luther’s wail, as if he’s in agony. I slam the door shut. I race to the tree and unhook the winch hook and throw the end of the cable over the trunk of the tree, then pull it out from under the tree. I pull the cable out and drag all of it to the truck, careful to keep it untangled. Using the remote, I click a button and the cable starts to rewind.

Sweet.

The moment it’s finished I hop back into the driver’s seat.

“I have the GPS back here with me,” Trenda says over Luther’s sobbing.

“Isn’t it a straight shot to the main road?” I ask.

“Just one sharp right in two hundred meters, then you’re good,” she replies.

“Got it.”

Chapter Twelve

My entire body is trembling. I can’t make it stop. What is wrong with me? We’re done, the storm has past. Violet is alive and in the hospital. A social worker is with Luther, but I feel like I will literally shake apart.

Get it together, Avery.

I turn away from Simon and look out the passenger side window, not wanting him to see me losing it.

I don’t even realize we aren’t going to my house until we pull up beside my SUV at Simon’s cabin. I reach down with shaky fingers to pick up my purse, then fumble to find the keys to my car. It feels like it takes hours.

“Found them,” I mutter as I hold them up, still not looking at Simon. It’s then I realize he hasn’t shut off his truck’s engine. I unbuckle my seatbelt, then pull the door handle to open the passenger side door. It’s locked.

“Not so fast, Trenda.”

“What?”

“I need you to look at me,” Simon says softly.

“Why?”

I don’t want to look at him. I really don’t. Can’t he catch a clue?

“Please, Honey?”

Ah, God. That voice. Those two words. He is killing me. He tentatively touches my hand which is clutching my purse. Simon doesn’t do tentative. His fingers swirl a circle on the top of my hand and I start to tremble even more. The fireflies start beating in my stomach again. I gulp down a sob.

He turns off the truck and gets out. The next thing I know he’s opening my door and has me in his arms.

“It’s okay, Honey. You did so good. It’s all going to be okay.”

Even through my poofy jacket and his windbreaker, I can feel his heat. Simon’s fingers thrust through my hair, cradling my head, pushing it into the crook of his neck. It is perfect. I breathe him in. It is as if his presence—his essence—gives me permission to fall apart, knowing he’ll keep me safe.

I don’t know what he’s saying, I only know that the soft rumble of his voice is like nothing I have ever heard before, and it wraps around me, allowing me to melt even deeper into his arms.

I don’t know when I realize he’s picked me up. Had he even shut the door of the truck? I don’t remember. When had he opened the door to the cabin? How was I standing here, with him unwinding my scarf, unzipping my jacket, and sliding my arms out of it? The room feels chilly, but somehow he’s wearing just that long-sleeved shirt when he guides me to the couch and pulls me on top of his lap.

I looked down into his face. I can see that he’s tired. His eyes are hooded, the brackets around his mouth a little more pronounced. I look at his hair and my hands follow. The brown and gray is soft and I bet anything, it’s a little longer than he would have liked.

“You’re playing with fire,” he whispers. He pulls my hand away, and I put my palm flat against his chest, and push to get up. Then he slowly leans back, drawing me with him, until we’re both sprawled on the couch, me lying on top of him.

Trenda, what are you doing?