Page 19

EIGHT

Cullen dreamed he heard someone talking to him. Go away , whoever you are.

When he was grabbed by the shirtfront and shaken, he swam into consciousness with an instinctive fist curled, ready to punch.

“Hit me, Cullen my boy, and I’ll gut you like a pike,” Archie whispered amiably. “Tot’s changed and back to snoozing and it’s your watch. Roll out, son.” Before Cullen got his second eye open, Archie had departed to his sleeping bag.

Cullen groaned. The hard floor, which had been a source of agony throughout the night, was magnetically pulling him back, but he fought against the lethargy and hauled himself to his knees.

Another ungainly maneuver rendered him upright, but his body didn’t agree with the commands of his brain.

Every inch of his miserable flesh, from his eyebrows to his heels, throbbed and ached and burned.

He had to clamp his teeth together to keep from out and out lamenting.

The downspout episode when he’d fallen like a sack of rocks had been more costly than he’d realized.

“Lord God, gonna need help.” He curled a palm around the edge of the checkout desk for leverage.

A fragrance caught his nose, offering a sliver of hope.

Coffee.

He turned his head toward the smell of salvation.

Where? How? He didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the quickest way to get some down his gullet.

He staggered toward the scent, smashed his socked foot on the corner of the desk, and jackknifed forward, toppling a lantern with his elbow.

It seemed to tumble in slow motion toward a clattering landing that would mean the end of baby Tot’s peaceful slumber.

But the crash didn’t come. Instead, a slender palm darted out and deftly caught the lantern, then set it safely back in place. Better yet, the other hand delivered a mug of steaming coffee to the same countertop. He blinked, but the beautiful sight did not vanish. Not a dream.

“I woke up, so I got started packing. I made coffee while I was at it,” Kit whispered. “Want some?”

“You are now my new heir and executor. The brothers will be officially dropped from my will in favor of you,” he said reverently.

Her laugh was barely audible. “Wonder what I’d get if I could make you a latte. I’m a very skilled barista. I have an espresso machine in my rig. Come on.”

Toe throbbing, he hobbled after her, scooping up the coffee and lurching into the break room, where he tried not to collapse on the card chair like a demolished building.

She turned on a lantern. “Did you sleep?”

He held up a finger, drank, and exhaled. The hot liquid teased his senses back to life. He took a second, life- affirming gulp. “Okay. I will now be able to entertain questions. Barely. I must have managed to snooze for a while since Archie had to wake me by grabbing me around the neck. You?”

Shadows clung to her face and darkened her eyes to midnight. “A little. I was busy trying to work my way through all the ‘what ifs,’ as you’d say.”

Was it his imagination or did she seem slightly less guarded with him?

He was relieved his frustration and fear hadn’t led him to explode at her the night before.

Some intuition, some unaccustomed urge had made him drop his authoritative schtick and offer comfort.

Weirdly he’d felt comforted too. Could be he’d learned a thing or two from his horses.

The finest ones, the most majestic and proud, were the tenderest inside.

They needed to be understood, rather than managed.

Sapphire popped into his head and heart simultaneously, the black bay with the white starburst who chewed the wooden door of her stall, upended any box or bag she encountered, and got between him and any of her sister mares if she didn’t like what he was about. Sapphire was a hot mess.

And beautiful.

Ferocious.

Perfect, in her own way.

Would Kit approve of him comparing her to his finest horse? He had no clue.

I understand you better than you think , Kit Garrido.

The silence had lingered longer than it should so he drank more coffee and looked around at her neat bundles of materials. “Is that a camp stove?”

“Yes. Archie brought his equipment and some dehydrated pouches to add to the stores. I repacked Tot’s duffel with the essentials on top so we don’t have to hunt around for stuff.”

He was sure she’d repacked her bear too.

The adult clothing was rolled into neat packages and tied with string. Food was arranged in a see-through plastic bag with smaller parcels tucked inside. Organized, like he’d said.

“Some nifty packing.”

She shrugged, but he thought there was a smile there too.

“My dad could get an entire week’s groceries stowed in a single shopping cart and roll it to the register. It was like some massive game of Tetris. The checker was always delighted.”

“Your dad live close?” Not a safe question. He realized as soon as he’d said it and she pulled back in the chair, deeper into the shadows. More coffee , Cullen. You need more coffee.

“He died eight years ago. My mom lives in Washington, but we’re ... I don’t see her often.”

A world of understatement in her words. “I’m sorry for your loss.” And for the estrangement with her mother. Too many families with missing pieces, holes, and fractures that let in the water.

His family on the other hand was about as close as any five people could stand to be without losing their minds.

The Landrys consisted of two patient, easygoing parents who’d learned that worrying about their three rowdy boys was counterproductive, and the sons who had a quarterly conference call entitled “The State of the Parentals” to ensure their folks weren’t in need of something they were failing to disclose.

Maybe his family was idyllic, or it could be he simply preferred to think of them that way.

“What about yours?” she said.

“Mine? Oh. Typical farm stock.” He told her about their property near his brother. “Took the horses there last week.”

“Why didn’t you stay?”

He paused midsip. Why hadn’t he? “To be sure my friends all got out, like I said. Had to help move a buddy’s sheep.”

She cocked her head in that way that made him feel like she was looking underneath his skin into places he’d rather she wouldn’t.

“The folks wanted me to bunk at their place as a matter of fact,” he admitted. Came near to begging, where his mom was concerned, but staying for any length made him uneasy. His mother’s constant smothering of the questions she desperately wanted to ask raked his nerves.

Why must you go on punishing yourself?

When will you restart your life , Cullen David?

He wasn’t punishing and he had restarted. Built a cabin and joined a bowling team, for goodness’ sake. Had his own ball and shoes and everything.

“You don’t restart by turning away from everyone you knew before the accident.” His mother always referred to it as “the accident,” as if he’d rear-ended someone or slipped on the ice.

Guilt licked at his insides. Yeah, he’d quite literally put distance between himself and those he’d known before, including his parents. His brothers. There’d been excuses about not visiting, avoiding fishing trips, camping vacations, holidays.

It was easier to breathe around people who hadn’t known him before.

Kit was still waiting for a response.

Tit for tat. She’d told him a truth about her father she hadn’t planned on, and she had a right to expect some honest reciprocity.

“I’ve been sorting some things out, and I guess I found reasons not to make it home as often as I should.” Lots of ’em. And excuses to cut phone calls short when the conversation shifted to tender topics.

A wistful smile filtered across her lips. “You’d like the trucking life, then.”

“Would I?”

She nodded. “As much quiet as a person can stand to sort things out. Days and months and hundreds of miles of it, if you want.”

Was that a thread of longing in that sentence? Loneliness, perhaps? “And you don’t get tired of it? All that quiet?”

“No.” A sliver of moonlight from under the shade brushed her face.

Convincing, almost. “Did all those miles help you? Sort your family things out?”

She cupped the mug between her palms as if it were a baby bird. The pause lingered for a moment too long. “I put things in order enough that I can keep moving.”

An interesting answer. A fascinating lady.

She was picking up her mug to sip from it when the floor shuddered, one quick jolt that sloshed liquid onto the table from both their cups.

The window glass rattled and floorboards squeaked.

In unison they rose and turned toward the room where the baby lay.

As they reached the curtain, the movement stopped.

They froze, waiting. The fabric swished around them, until slowly, subtly, it went still.

“Small one.” He didn’t have to articulate the obvious questions.

A precursor? The fuse burning down to Mount Ember’s detonation?

He realized he’d taken her arm, a subconscious reaction.

He decided since she wasn’t objecting, he’d maintain their connection as they waited.

Was he steadying her? Or was it the reverse?

Seconds ticked by into thirty, then a full minute with no more movement.

He checked his watch. “Almost time to go. Maybe we’d better hustle things up a notch.”

Archie clattered down the steps, breathing hard, carrying his boots.

“Earthquake,” Cullen said stupidly as Kit renewed the space between them.

“Yeah, I got that.” Archie held a wrapped bundle.

“Reminded me of the earthquake kit we keep upstairs. Mostly old and degraded, but there’s a couple of things included that might help.

Kindling and a dozen waterproof matches.

Couple of meals ready to eat that haven’t expired, if your culinary tastes aren’t too snooty. ”