Page 21 of Beckett

I forced myself to keep working, scooping litter with practiced movements. “He always looks judgmental.”

“Fair point.” He stepped inside, and the space immediately felt smaller. “Lark called. Said the conference is going fine. Wanted me to check that you had everything you needed.”

“I’m good.”

“You sure about that?”

Something in his tone made me look up. He was studying me with those too-knowing eyes, taking in details I didn’t want him to see. The way my jeans hung looser than they had even yesterday. The tremor in my hands from low blood sugar.

“I said I’m good.” I turned back to the litter boxes.

Princess Whiskers meowed imperiously from her perch, demanding attention. I reached up to scratch behind her ears, grateful for the distraction.

“When’s the last time you ate?” His question hit like a physical blow.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not.” He moved closer, and I caught his scent—coffee and something outdoorsy, like cedar. “But Lark asked me to look after things while she’s gone. That includes you.”

“I don’t need looking after.”

“No?” He leaned against the wall, casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all. “Because from where I’m standing, you look like you’re about to fall over.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. “I’m just—I haven’t been to the store yet. I’ll go this afternoon.”

“Right.” He pushed off the wall and reached into his pocket. “Here’s an advance on your wages.”

He held out a hundred-dollar bill. I stared at it like it might bite.

“I don’t need?—”

“It’s not charity. You’re working, you get paid. Simple as that. Lark would be paying you daily if she were here. She’ll pay me back.”

The money dangled between us. My pride screamed to refuse, but my stomach cramped again, and I thought about trying to make the few dollars I had last for another week and a half.

I took the bill. It felt heavier than it should have.

“Thank you.” The words came out strangled.

He nodded once, then turned to leave. At the door, he paused. “There’s a general store about ten minutes toward town. They’ve got decent sandwiches. Hot food too, if you ask at the deli counter.”

Then he was gone, leaving me standing there with money in my hand and shame burning in my throat.

I finished the morning chores on autopilot. The cats seemed to sense my mood, even the normally aloof ones rubbing against my legs as I worked. By the time I moved to the horses, the hunger had evolved from cramping to a hollow ache that made me light-headed.

I needed to go to town. Needed food. But the thought of leaving the relative safety of Pawsitive Connections made my chest tight. Town meant people. Cameras. Records of purchases that could be traced.

But starving to death would defeat the purpose of running.

I ate an apple then mucked out stalls, arguing with myself the whole time. The horses watched with patient eyes, occasionally nudging me with velvet noses.

Around noon, I was cleaning the rabbit hutches when Beckett’s shadow fell across the wire mesh. I looked up to find him holding a plate with a sandwich and apple slices.

“Figured you might be hungry since you haven’t had a chance to get into town for lunch.” He set the plate on a nearby fence post. “Turkey and Swiss. Nothing fancy.”

My stomach chose that moment to growl audibly. Heat flooded my cheeks.

“I’m fine. I was going to?—”