Page 6 of His Hostage

“Yes.” She rolls her eyes. “Like the state.”

Nothing good comes from a woman with a hot temper. This is worse than I thought. She just told me her name. That’s the first step, right?

When they tell you their name, it’s like an invitation. She might as well have told me, “I’m Caroline, would you like me to suck your cock?”

I resist my temptation. Grinning like a fox, I bow.

“Pleasure to meet you, Caroline. Have a nice day.”

4

Caroline

The voice of my attorney is steady with an air of victory. “It’s final,” he says. “And he’s giving you thirty percent of his income for the next twenty years. Those are the terms.”

My body stiffens. Time seems to stop. “Did I hear you right?” I ask him. “Thirty percent? That’s like—”

“$12,000 a month,” he says. “Yes, you heard me right. We did it, Caroline. You did it.”

“I’m free?”

I feel a huge weight fall off my shoulders. My chest feels light, and despite the dust in the air, I can breathe freely again.

“You’re free. Congratulations,” he says.

When I hang up the phone, I feel like celebrating. I glance at the bottle of Jack on my table, still unopened. It’s practically begging to be emptied.

I pour myself a glass and shoot the contents down, coughing loudly when it hits my throat. It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted a drop of hard liquor, but this is the Southwest. I want something that goes with the setting.

I take another drink and laugh. That guy, my fucking neighbor. What’s his name again? Oh yea, Rowan. Of course his name is Rowan…

Maybe I’ve been too hard on him. I guess I just feel like all men have to pay, after what I just went through. All of the fighting with my ex-husband, Ron. The lies, the deceit, and his level of control was such an eye opener for me.

It’s hard to trust a man with a cunning smile.

But I’m thirty-five. I can’t hide out forever. I can’t be some lonely spinster who vanishes into the desert to find her inner-zen. I won my case. I’m a free woman, and I need to celebrate.

After one more drink, I walk out onto my porch. I’m not sure what to expect. I just want to feel the warm fall air whip around my face. I want to listen to the sounds of the desert circle inside my ears.

As much as I hate to admit it, I think I actually want him to be outside. Rowan. The greasy mechanic.

The first thing I see outside is his rugged face.

He lowers his head. “Howdy, partner.”

I hear his voice, and I scoff, instinctually.

“Partner?” I lean against my door and take another sip of whisky. It doesn’t burn as much as it did earlier. Everything feels lighter, now.

He puts on a thick southern accent. “I’m a cowboy, right? Isn’t that what you called me?”

He laughs, tipping an invisible hat on his head. He’s at the end of his cigarette, so he puts it out in an ash tray on the side railing.

“Did I hurt your feelings?” I ask him, eying him carefully.

“Miss, I’ve been crying all day because of you,” he says.

He smiles and grabs another cigarette. I walk off my porch and take a deep breath, looking up at the sky.

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