Page 27 of Hideaway Whirlwind (Big Boys of Berenson Trucking #4)
Teagan
Davis hooks his thumbs behind his big silver belt buckle while Goldie crosses her arms and taps the toe of her cowgirl boot, miffed that Elliott was able to sneak onto their property without alerting either one of them.
Meanwhile, my heart is pounding as I stand in shock before the brown Bronco with the driver’s side door open, clutching the note with Elliott’s phone number and the car keys he left.
Not only was he sneaking around, but he also somehow broke into Goldie’s Explorer without setting off the car alarm and transferred the kids’ car seats to the Bronco.
And that flash of silver I saw through the bathroom window last night?
I’d bet the itchy clothes on my back and everything I own that it was him, watching me. No, I know it was him.
Elliott . A man perhaps more dangerous—and certainly more deadly—than anyone I’ve ever known, save for the leaders responsible for blowing up the compound. A man I’ve only known for going on thirteen days. A man that the kids miss terribly. A man that I stupidly miss, too.
Dustin, Sydney, and Kendall had been so excited when they saw Papa’s car in the driveway, and the tears flowed freely all over again when I had to tell them Elliott left the vehicle for us, but that he had gone back home.
Davis asks over my shoulder, “Do you know how to drive a stick shift?”
“Yeah. My car was a manual.” It took me two years to save up for the clunker, only for it to die within six months. It’s something I’d once told Elliott in passing. He remembered. “It’s been a minute, though.”
“Let me know if you need a refresher.” He pats my shoulder before moving away with the comforters Elliott left for us.
My eyes automatically go to the trees surrounding Goldie’s house.
While they grant Goldie and her family privacy, they also provide plenty of good hiding spots, even for a man as big and conspicuous as Elliott.
Did he truly go back home, or is he out here now?
Did he see Davis touch my shoulder? And if he did, is he going to get all scary and possessive and jealous and make my life worse because another man was simply friendly toward me?
Been there, done that, and I’m not going through it again.
Fuck him .
I crumple Elliott’s note in a ball and drop it into the open duffel bag filled with Elliott’s clothes.
Part of me wants to dump everything in the big garbage bin Goldie keeps to the side of her attached garage on the left and say good riddance .
Instead, I unfold one of his clean, green long-sleeved flannels and bring it to my nose.
It pisses me off that it smells like home , smoky and woodsy with a hint of fresh rain.
I slap my neck when it begins to itch again.
That’s the only reason, I tell myself, that I’m not throwing away Elliott’s clothes.
Clearly, I’ve suddenly developed an allergic reaction to my old detergent, and unless I want to keep having to take Goldie’s allergy meds, I’m going to have to switch to wearing Elliott’s clothes until I can finally do a load of wash with the detergent he also left for me whenever power is restored.
Starting now.
As soon as Davis steps back inside the house, I race to pull off his borrowed sweatshirt, giving everything a good scratch first, then shiver as the wind whips across my naked skin and soothes the sting.
For just a moment, I let my skin breathe as I do a slow twirl, straining my eyes as I sweep the circle of trees before finally pulling on Elliott’s stupid, warm, cozy flannel.
“Are you happy?” I yell to the trees in case he is out there, scaring a flock of birds that take flight from the spindly canopies.
I lift my arms and do another twirl. “Is this what you wanted?” Feeling silly for talking to the wind, I let my arms drop, slapping my thighs.
“Get a grip,” I murmur to myself, looping the strap of the duffel bag over my shoulder and carrying it and the laundry detergent inside.
Goldie flashes me a guilty look when I catch her and Davis with their heads bent toward each other, whispering and exchanging cash.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Davis answers, folding the cash and shoving it into his back pocket, chuckling when he sees me drowning in Elliott’s flannel.
“Does no one answer questions around here?” I only just stop short of stomping my foot.
When they cut their eyes to each other and break into a fit of giggles, I surprise myself by cracking a small smile, in love with how in love they are. I love how happy Goldie is. That Davis didn’t turn out to be a piece of shit like her ex. That she found this good life. She deserves it and more.
My smile falls when I remember who and what and where I am.
The power can’t be restored fast enough.
As soon as it is, I can apply to work at the diner or the dance hall Goldie told me is hiring, get a few paychecks under my belt, and then find an apartment as soon as I can afford it for my kids and me—no grumpy, protective, deliciously thick men allowed. Ever.
* * *
Two nights later, I look up at the moon, wrapped in one of the comforters, leaning against the wide tree trunk that conceals my position in the woods, listening, listening, listening.
The kids had been asleep for all of three minutes before I snuck outside, finally able to keep from falling asleep myself as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Grief that I’ve been trying hard to dispel and have to hide from everyone has left me lethargic.
And there it is . A loud rumble and squeaky belt reach my ears from down the road.
Unlike the few other vehicles that had approached around the bend, their headlights spearing through the woods as they continued on their path, this one cuts its headlights and slows, carefully pulling over into the grass so as not to nosedive into the ditch.
It idles for a few moments before the night goes silent again.
Closing my eyes, I envision each of Elliott’s big bootsteps after he exits his vehicle and closes his driver’s side door with barely a snick . As soon as I’m confident he’s rounded the hood, I slip out of the trees.
Elliott whips his head to the side and stumbles back into his blue Bronco with a muffled yelp of surprise, dropping another armful of presents—clothing, toys, flyers for nearby activities and sports for the kids—having left a pile on the porch for us to wake up and find each morning.
I have no idea where he’s been getting it all, since all the stores are still closed.
He automatically reaches for his shotgun beneath his jacket before his eyes adjust and he realizes it’s me.
Gotcha .
“Why won’t you leave us alone?” I hiss. Or at least I try to, but I’m shot through the heart with longing at the sight of Elliott’s handsome face, his hard edges softened by the moonlight.
It rocks me to my core that I want nothing more than to be swept up in his embrace instead of screaming at him to stay away from us or else I’ll call the…
Well, I can’t call the cops, but I’d do something .
My longing is echoed in his deep, gruff voice when he jumps the ditch and murmurs, “Birdie…”
“Don’t touch me,” I demand, though I sway toward him instead of stepping out of arm’s reach or knocking his hand away when he slips it around my waist beneath the comforter.
“I miss you.”
“Don’t hug me,” I say as he crowds me, backing me against another tree, his body heat warming me when I let the comforter slip from my shoulders to pool at my feet.
“I’m going crazy without you.” His voice has turned raspy, and I have no doubt he’s telling the truth. But crazy is dangerous , and I’ve had enough of that.
“Don’t kiss me,” I say a little softer as he gently tugs the flannel’s collar away from my neck and dips to kiss the bite mark that has already faded, his lips soft and familiar against my skin, contrasted by his coarse beard that sends shivers of desire up my spine.
I’ve missed this sensation. Him . I’ve missed him, even though it’s only been three days since I left .
“Come home, Birdie,” he pleads.
“I don’t have a home,” I say, gripping the sides of his jacket instead of stopping him from unbuttoning my flannel to bare my breasts, my fingertips tingling with the compulsion to do the same to him so I can see the tattoos that have danced on the skin of the big bear of a man fighting off the monsters in my dreams.
“Your home is with me.” He groans when he discovers I’m not wearing anything beneath the flannel, though I should be wrapped up in several layers of clothing—or at the very least, a bra.
“No, it’s not,” I say when Elliott kneels and kisses his way down my body to take my sensitive right nipple into his hot mouth. I arch into his touch instead of away after swearing off men, and specifically him , for the rest of my life. Oh, how I’ve missed this, too.
“Yes, it is. It always will be.” He takes a hard pull that makes my core tighten with arousal, and I moan when he turns his cheek to give my left nipple the same attention.
“You need to leave,” I say with alarm when weak headlights grow brighter from an approaching, beat-up sedan from the opposite direction.
The driver slows as if cautious that they’ve spotted an animal that might run in front of their car, then speeds off with a squeal of their tires when they see what we two humans are doing in the middle of the night on the side of the road.
“Not without you, Birdie.” Elliott snatches the comforter off the ground and easily lifts me with one hand under my ass, carrying me into the woods out of sight of any other would-be travelers.
“Don’t call me that,” I say with a moan, hanging onto him instead of yelling at him to let me go. I tangle my fingers in his disheveled hair, imagining him pulling at his silver strands repeatedly, growing more upset the longer we’re separated.