Ann Aguirre - Hell Fire

I passed out the peanut butter sandwiches with apple slices, feeling like a third grade teacher. Still, Chance and Shannon thanked me, so they must have been hungry. My ex didn’t meet my gaze, but for once, I didn’t feel guilty.

“We already decided that,” Chance said, tilting his head toward Shannon. “She also said it must’ve been her mom who left us the present outside. Shannon said she’s gotten really weird in the last few months, quiet and secretive and more—”

“Plastic,” Shannon put in. “There’s nothing real about her anymore. Or at least, if there is, I can’t see it. She . . . scares me.”

That was a hell of a thing to admit about your own mom. I hated to ask, but someone had to, and I doubted the guys would. “Has she ever—”

“No,” the girl said quickly. “I mean, other than the usual. She wants me to dress like her and let my hair go back to its natural brown. She wants me in pearls, and she wants me to stop being weird because, get this, it’s not safe.”

“It’s not safe to be different in Kilmer.” I repeated that idea, tested it, and decided it was true. Look at what happened to my mother, after all. I ate in thoughtful silence, more to fill my belly than because I wanted the campground food I’d prepared.

Shannon shook her head. “Not at all.”

“Jesse . . . what did you get from Sheriff Robinson?”

“He was annoyed but also frightened.”

That surprised me. “Of what?”

“Sorry. It’s not that specific. I never know why.”

We downed our tea in silence and then decided to call it a night. I gave Shannon my bed, such as it was, and the guys would sleep in the other two bedrooms. That left me on the couch. I sighed a little over that, but at least it was soft and sunken, not hard and lumpy. This flophouse-style arrangement better suited college students, I thought, not that I had ever been one.

Thunderclouds in Chance’s eyes said he wanted to fight with me, but it would have to keep.

Except it didn’t.

After the other two retired, Chance came back into the parlor. He sat down next to me on the sofa, wearing a determined look. I watched him warily, not sure what to expect. Wordlessly, he unscrewed the cap from the ointment his mother had made for my burns and then took my left hand in his.

I flinched a little as he covered the brand on my palm. It didn’t hurt as much as it should have, considering I’d taken the wound earlier today. The area tingled as the medicine started working. It didn’t prevent scarring, but it would stop infection and promote faster healing.

When he was done, he put the top back on and sat looking straight ahead. I had the terrible, dizzying feeling I’d hurt him worse than I knew. His features seemed tight, as if he struggled to restrain a plethora of emotions.

“You should have told me,” he said without looking at me.

I went on the attack. “Where? In the car? Or before you kissed me senseless? I wanted to get cleaned up before I settled in for a long talk. I was filthy. If you’d been out there in those woods with me, you’d understand.”

“Is that what this is about?” He shifted on the sofa to look at me, haunted. “How I never seem to be around when you need me most?”

“This had nothing to do with you.” I really meant it. “Your luck doesn’t even work here, Chance. Sometimes bad things happen, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I mean, damn. You went to jail so I wouldn’t have to. I wasn’t going to leave you there—I just needed leverage. Men like Robinson don’t respect women, and I didn’t know enough about the law to fling it around like Jesse did. And as for why I didn’t tell you sooner”—I shrugged—“there’s just no good moment for something like that.”

“I guess not,” he muttered. To my surprise, he didn’t take the argument any further. Instead, he pulled me into his arms and buried his face in my hair. “If Saldana hadn’t been with you, if he hadn’t known CPR . . .” He trailed off, unable to articulate it.

Well, I wouldn’t have gone into those woods alone, not even for Butch. But I rather liked his desperation. His hands sifted through my hair, finding the sensitive spots at the base of my skull.

“I found my mother’s necklace out there.”

He paused in stroking my hair. “So someone took it from the wreckage.”

“Someone or some thing .”

“What do you mean?”

I told him the whole story then from start to finish.

His frown turned into a ferocious scowl. “I really, really don’t like this, Corine. That thing recognized you.”

“I know.” I shuddered, just thinking about it. “But it tried to convince me it knew my mother, and that it meant me no harm. But it was so . . .” I trailed off, unable to find the word I wanted. “Evil” seemed simultaneously too small as well as too melodramatic.

“You must’ve been terrified.”

I acknowledged that by turning my face into his chest. I didn’t know what to make of the new Chance; the old one would’ve never accepted my motivations so readily. It would have been turned into a wedge to drive distance between us, mitigated only by sex—and even then, not real intimacy—just the physical facsimile of it.

“Let’s let Butch out and then turn in,” I murmured. “We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

In answer, he dropped a kiss on my temple, warming me all the way down to my toes. “Out you go, dog. But no funny stuff—and don’t even think about running off to the woods again. We will not come find you this time.”

The Chihuahua gave an indignant little yap, as if to say, Hey, I’m not an idiot. He trotted out into the yard, took care of business, and came right back in. A light rain had finally started, pattering on the roof. Butch gave himself a little shake as I closed the door behind him. Then I turned the bolt.

“Tomorrow we go see Augustus England. Then I think we should have dinner with Miss Minnie. Maybe she won’t be so reluctant to talk.”

I nodded. “Agreed. I’ll call her in the morning to confirm. Let’s get some sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

I gave a surprised little yelp when he swung me up in his arms. As he carried me, he spoke in a conversational tone. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight, even to sleep, you’re crazy.”

“Chance—”

He ignored my halfhearted protest and took me to the guest room where he’d slept the night before. There was a mattress on the floor in here too, but no box springs. He’d found another torn sheet to cover it, and he’d used what looked like an old couch throw as his covers. Altogether, it seemed a remarkably cozy squatter’s nest.

His smile flashed bright in the contrasting darkness. “I know what you’re thinking. I really know how to wow a woman when I’m trying to win her back.”

I gave a soft, reluctant laugh. “Yeah. The five star accommodations will go to my head if you keep this up.”

He squeezed me in answer, and then he amazed me with an acrobatic move that ended with him on his back and me sprawled across his chest. I’d left my backpack in the room I gave to Shannon, so I had nothing to sleep in besides my blouse and jeans. Chance seemed to follow my thoughts.

“I’ll get you a T-shirt.”

I was tired, and I didn’t feel like arguing. When he found me an old shirt that didn’t look like anything Chance would ever wear, I took a closer look. I recognized it.

It had belonged to my mother; until earlier today, it was all I had left of her. They found it hanging on the clothes-line in the backyard after the fire, and someone gave it to me. I’d taken it with me through so many moves, I’d lost count—but it hadn’t come with me through the last one. I’d been in too much of a hurry to check my belongings that night.