Page 52 of Melt the Ice

21

scarlett

I jolt awake as the sound of a car door closing pulls me from my sleep. Reaching under the pillow to my left, I pull out my gun. Taking the safety off, I slowly get out of bed, aiming it at the floor as I walk to the window in the kitchen. It’s three AM according to the clock on the wall, one I couldn’t part with because the background is a picture of Nana and me, the first year I came to visit.

A man with a baseball hat on walks around the corral. He must know what angle to work, or he just moves with stealth, because even in the dark, he walks in a way that I can’t get a look at his face. I watch him run his hand along the white wood of the fence. He’s dressed in all black from what I can tell, a tall, skinny build. Oddly familiar but certainly not someone I see here on a regular basis.

I take my eyes off the man for a second, daring to look at the car he pulled up in. It’s a black F250, dually. A farm truck you saw everywhere back home. But here? These are a rare breed, used for hauling heavy things, cattle mostly. The most commonly towed thing here is boats. And you can do that with a regular truck.

My eyes slide back to the man, who’s now sitting on the fence, looking out at the dirt in the corral. It’s weird, unsettling. Who shows up on private property, this late at night, to stare at dirt? Something isn’t right here. I’ll have to ask Miller in the morning if he knows of anyone who fits the bill of this guy. For now, I walk to the kitchen, gun still in hand as I flip the corral light on.

I watch the man startle, jumping off the fence, and he runs to the truck. I get the tiniest glimpse of his face under the baseball cap. Not enough to be able to recognize him on the street, but I’d definitely recognize the truck. Reengaging the safety on my nine millimeter, I set it gently on the counter as I will my heart to settle down.

There’s no chance I’m going back to sleep tonight, so I walk to the one room that’s always brought me comfort. Pushing the door open, I really take it in for the first time since I was a bit preoccupied last time I was in here. Dark navy bedding, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling surrounding the skylight, posters of old western movies hanging on the wall. Behind the headboard is a blown up picture of Lucas and me as kids.

Sighing, I let myself fall back on the bed, my head right under the skylight as I look at the stars that have always seemed to shine brighter from this room.

“Look, Lucas! It’s a cow. See it?” I asked as I point to the sky, he lets his head roll to the side as he looks at me. “Do you see it?” I ask again after a few seconds of silence.

He just smiles, I know he doesn’t, he’s not even looking. There isn’t a cow there, anyway. But just like the clouds in the daytime, it’s an excuse to spend more time with him. Kids back home don’t play like this. We’re all shoved in ballroom dance classes and expected to be operating like mini adults by this point.

His soft hand grabs mine, “I see it, thanks for showing me.”

I forgot he was here for a second. Looking down at our hands, I ask, “Why do you like to hold my hand? Do you have a crush on me or something?” Even in the dim light of the room, I see his cheeks get pink. He tries to pull his hand away, but I grab onto it with both hands.

He doesn’t say anything, and I worry he won’t. Maybe my big mouth got me in trouble again, but then he whispers, “My dad used to hold my hand a lot. Said it was a way to feel connected to me, even if we couldn’t talk.” His eyes always light up when he talks about his dad. I really like it.

He clears his throat before squeaking out, “My mom doesn't hold my hand. She doesn’t even know I exist.”

A tear runs down my cheek as I remember that sad, confused little boy. I wonder if he could go back to the little boy Nana and I found at the bottom of the bridge, what he’d tell himself. Life has not been kind to him. It gave him a fantastic father, and then he got left with a woman who couldn’t care less about him. Then he lost Nana the same way I did, but we lost each other, too.

My life really isn’t bad in comparison. There are so many people out there who have it worse than I do. I think that’s what makes me feel so guilty about, well, everything. But I guess that also comes with the territory: get told you’re too much, overcorrect, and you’re left with this. A woman who wants to feel but doesn’t feel safe enough to do so, unless Lucas is involved, apparently.

He’s the antidote to my wounded soul. He sees me, all of me, and still calls me pretty. I should ask him if I can have some of his cologne, spray it on my pillows so I can sleep better while he’s gone. Or maybe I should just tell him that if he’s here, I don’t want to be in separate houses.

Ahh, damn it, when did I become such a sap?

“Good morning,” the whisper floats through my ear, low and growly. It takes me a few seconds, but I quickly scramble off the bed when I realize someone is in my house and I'm not dreaming. My hand flies to my chest, eyes searching frantically, not really focusing on any one thing as I look for my gun. But my defenses fail the second I take in the man standing on the opposite side of the bed, a bright bouquet in one hand and coffee in the other.

“You scared the crap out of me,” I mumble as I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist. “I don’t like it when you’re gone,” I admit.

His arms close around me, his cheek lying against the top of my head. “Is that why you’re sleeping in here?”

I step back, lifting up on my toes as I kiss the middle of his throat. “No, umm.” My hand wraps around my elbow, “Someone was here last night.” His eyes narrow, “At three this morning. A man came and sat on the corral fence.”

His eyes widen before hardening with worry, the shift in the air palpable as he sets the flowers and coffee on the bedside table. “Did you see what he looked like?”

I shake my head, rubbing up and down my arm. “No, but he pulled up in a black F250. Dually. That’s not exactly common around here, is it?”

He stares at one spot on the floor for what feels like hours before his eyes snap up to mine, “No, and I don’t know anyone with that truck, nor have I ever seen one here.”

I nod, “I didn’t think I could go back to sleep, so I came in here. It’s…comforting. It feels like you’re here.”

His shoulders fall away from his ears as he blows out a breath, “Lettie, I don’t like this. I can’t keep you safe when I’m not here. I won’t be able to think straight without knowing you’re okay.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Lucas. I can handle myself,” I snap.

His hands land on my shoulders as he squats in front of me until our eyes are level, “I know you can.” He tilts his head forward, resting it against my own.