Jodi Thomas - To Kiss a Texan

As she finished the rotation, Allie caught sight of Nichole in the doorway. Allie’s knuckles turned white with her tight grip on the weapon, but she didn’t advance. She waited. She had no desire to harm the lady, but Allie had made up her mind she wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again.

Nichole stepped to the bed and laid down a pile of clothing. ‘‘I thought you could use these for tonight,’’ she said as she backed from the room. ‘‘I’ll leave you to your privacy, but if you need anything, you’ve only to ask.’’

She closed the door.

Allie bolted, dropping one of the knives in her hurry to grab the door.

But the knob turned easily in her hand. It wasn’t locked. She jerked it open to make sure.

Nichole stood a few feet away. She smiled as if she’d read Allie’s mind. ‘‘The key’s on the inside of the door. You can lock it if you wish. But no one will bother you. You’re safe here.’’

Allie closed the door quickly and looked down. The key. She knew about locks. She’d been locked in many rooms over the past weeks. Again and again, she’d seen the preacher take the key, then the lock would turn and she’d be imprisoned once more.

Hesitantly, she placed the knife on the table and let her fingers close around the key. When she pulled, it came away in her hand.

She put the key back in the lock and twisted it as she’d seen the preacher do. Next, she tried the door. Locked. Then she twisted the key again and opened the door.

The hall was quiet.

Allie slowly closed the door and turned the key once more. She wasn’t being locked in. This time she locked the world out.

Without taking her eyes away from the door for more than a moment, she sat on the floor and lowered the tray of food to her lap. For the first few bites, she scooped the food with her fingers. When the hunger grew more under control, she picked up the fork. Deliberately she stabbed for each bite. The fork felt strange in her hand, but not totally foreign. Halfway through the meal, she slowed enough to taste.Good, she thought.Very good.The tiny loud woman might wear war paint, but Adam had been right: Rose was a cook.

When the food was gone, she drank the milk. Wiping her mouth on the back of her arm, she pushed the tray aside and returned to the door, testing the lock once more.

Satisfied she was safe, Allie removed the cape Nichole had given her. She laid it next to the garments. Her hand reached for the white clothing then paused.

Allie pulled her fingers back, not allowing herself to touch the gift of clothing. It was spotless. She couldn’t bare to dirty it with her touch.

Moving away from the bed, she noticed the tub once more. Timidly, she lowered her fingers into the warm water, washing away the crumbs of her meal and weeks of grime.

An inch at a time, she lowered her arms. It felt so good. Suddenly the filth covering her was suffocating. She’d had to use all her energy to stay alive. There had been so much more to think about besides getting enough water to bathe. But now she could wait no longer.

She pulled off her dress and slipped into the tub, lowering until water covered her. She stayed beneath the surface for as long as she could. When she finally came up for air, mud dripped off her hair.

With a war cry, Allie grabbed the soap beside the tub and began to scrub. An hour later, she stood and stepped from the now cold water. She’d used all the soap and only hoped the people of this place had more. Full and clean, she wasn’t nearly as frightened as she had been.

Proudly, she crossed to the clothing on the bed and touched it. Her fingers left no stain. She pulled the cotton over her shoulders and fought with the buttons at her throat. Then, she lifted a brush from the table and began pulling it through her hair. By the time she’d finished the brush was full of hair and her scalp hurt, but her long hair hung in a ripple of waves down her back.

She examined her clothing. Night clothing, she guessed. Allie wished she had something more to leave in, but this had been a gift. If she took anything else it would be wrong. Besides, she had clothes hidden in the cave deep in the hill country and this night clothing would be far better than the thin dress she’d been living in for weeks. The cape would keep her warm enough. With Wes’s horse, she could be back at her cave in three, maybe four days. The cotton would last until then.

Carefully, she lifted the dirty dress and moved to the stove in the corner of the room. The iron fireplace was small, probably putting out only enough warmth for the room on cold nights. She stuffed her ragged clothing into the opening. The dress would be fuel. She would not save it, or any memory of wearing it. The days of being trapped in the cage must be pushed away.

It was time to go.

Looking over the knives, she selected two and placed them in a bag she made from Rose’s apron. They were all a gift from Adam, but she’d take only what she needed. She had done what she’d planned to do; there was no need to stay. She’d brought Wes to his people. And they’d paid her back most kindly. But if she didn’t leave soon, the preacher would find her, or the Rangers. They’d put her back in a cage.

Allie turned the key and unlocked the door. Then she pulled the key from the lock and placed it in her bag. The key had been the greatest gift.

She silently moved through the house. It would be dawn in a few hours. Everyone slept. She thought through a plan as she crept along the hallway.

Maybe it was being around these people, hearing their way of talking, or maybe it was the food or even the bath, but the memories of a time long ago flickered in her mind as she picked her way carefully.

She remembered a boy, only slightly taller than her, pulling her through the fields as he’d screamed the words that ran through her mind now. ‘‘You’ve got to have a plan, Allie, if you’re going to stay alive.’’

Well, she had a plan now.

As she slipped into the room where she’d sat by the fireplace, memories flooded back from a time long buried. She and the boy had run until she’d tasted blood as she breathed. Shots shattered the morning air and black billowing smoke rose from the barn and screams seemed to come from all directions. The boy had been trying to make it to the trees, which grew too thick together for horses to follow them.

Allie forced herself into the present as she moved silently past the doctor, who slept soundly in a chair by the fire. She tiptoed to Wes’s side and looked down at him. He slept on his side, facing away from the fire so that only the part of his face without the scar showed.

In sleep, he didn’t look nearly as frightening. With his face relaxed, he looked younger. His jawline was strong and true. She’d done right, she thought. He had been helping her when he’d opened the cage. Now, by bringing him here, she’d helped him.

Carefully, she swept the dark brown hair from his forehead. It was really too bad he was dying, for he must be a good man. She wondered why the woman back in Denton had turned her face away and had her men beat him. If Allie ever had such a man, she would not turn away. He had the strong features of a warrior.

She moved her fingers through his hair, knowing she’d never have a man look at her the way this one had looked at the lady in Denton. His eyes told everyone that all his hopes and dreams were riding on her. He looked at the woman as though he valued nothing higher.

Allie blinked away a tear. No one would ever look at her like that. She knew what she was. She’d heard it said in more than one language. She was a ‘‘throwaway woman.’’ Of no value. Of no worth.

She fought down the tears. Not worth feeding when the winters are hard, she thought. Not worth saving when her mother ran with a baby in her arms and left Allie. Not worth loving and protecting by anyone. She’d fought with the dogs enough times for scraps to know what she was.