Page 9 of My Cowboy Salvation

“I’m grabbing a beer,” I say, to get some of the pressure off her. “Want one? Or a glass of wine? I have a few bottles around.”

“Wine would be great.” She watches as I pull a bottle down from the top kitchen shelf and dig around for something to pull out the cork. “Wouldn’t have pictured you as the wine drinker.”

“Not ordinarily, but I’ve accumulated them over the past couple of years. Usually as Christmas presents.” I find an opener and pull the cork successfully out, then pour some into a tumbler since I’m short on wine glasses. “Here.” I set it in front of her, then grab a beer from the fridge and return to my seat. “So. Simon…”

She swirls the wine in the glass before taking a small sip. “He’s a senior partner at a big firm in San Francisco. A position that has earned him lots of connections and favors over the years from important people, not all of them on the up and up—something he liked to mention to me whenever he thought I was considering leaving him.”

“And why would you be considering leaving him?” I take a pull from my beer, even as I keep my gaze focused on her face and the tension that’s gathered.

“Things could get bad. Really bad,” she said in a near whisper. Then, as if afraid she revealed too much, she forces a smile and tries to meet my gaze, but her bottom lip trembles.

I’m at a loss of what to say, so I say the only thing that matters. “I’m sorry, Dylan.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” I persist, “that you didn’t have anyone you could turn to for help when you needed it.” With her grandma’s death a couple of years ago, she would have no one to turn to for emotional support, a fact that has my jaw tightening. She was alone and vulnerable, a prime target for psychopaths like this Simon guy. “You have help now. I’ll always be in your corner, Dylan. Regardless of what happened in the past.”

She blinks back tears as she takes another sip of wine, and I fight the urge to wrap my arms around her to comfort her, knowing she’s too skittish for that kind of human contact. “So what happened to make you run?”

“I came home early because I forgot some new sheet music and walked in on him and one of his clients. Th-they were talking about cleaning up a mess I knew wasn’t something about a legal matter. He beat me that night as both punishment for not announcing my arrival and as a warning of what would happen if I said anything.”

“You two were living together, then?” I don’t know why of everything she told me that’s what stuck out at me, but there it is as I tamp down irrational jealousy.

She nods, looking off into the distance as she revisits the memory. “You know, I never quite understood how quickly that happened. At that time, I had my own apartment that I loved and shared with another girl. About three months after Simon and I started dating, a pipe burst and flooded the place. Simon offered me a place to stay while it got cleaned up, and I didn’t have any reason at the time to think it wasn’t a good idea. So I did. It wasn’t long before I came to realize he was never going to let me leave.” She runs her hand over her left hand, as if testing it for tenderness, telling me all I needed to know. “After another three months, he controlled almost every aspect of my life, and if I got out of line, the punishment was swift. And painful. But he was very smart, always inflicting the most pain in places not visible to the naked eye.”

The guy really was a monster, and I hope he comes looking for her so I can show him a little reciprocity.

“Simon was very clear,” she continued. “I belonged to him. We were fated to be together. And no man and no piece of paper were going to keep him from me. Including a restraining order. Although he’d laughed as he said this, telling me no one would believe me. He was right. The judge was more willing to believe Simon’s story that I was trying to get payback for a bad break-up than believe that someone like me, with no money or connections, was being terrorized by such an important man. I didn’t have any evidence of the abuse. Just my word.”

“Your word is enough for me.”

She meets my gaze for the barest moment. “After the hearing, he cornered me in the parking lot. Told me he’d be merciful if I came home with him right then without a fight. And if I didn’t… he wouldn’t be so generous. So I went home, and… he wasn’t as merciful as he promised. I knew then I had to get away, or there might not be”—she choked up, taking a moment—“another chance. Not alive. So after a few days, getting into a routine so he and the guy he had tailing me didn’t suspect anything, I packed a bag and headed out like I was going to class… and kept going. I hid out in a motel in Reno for a couple weeks until my cash got low, then headed to St. George, where I got a job waitressing for another month. But he found me. Or rather, the guy he hired found me and tipped him off where I was. He slipped into my room while I was sleeping.” She took another minute, taking a few breaths she followed with a drink of wine. “I only got away because I had a knife under my pillow and caught him off guard.”

“You stabbed him?” I ask, not in outrage for her violent reaction, but more shock that this slight woman had the strength and determination to protect herself.

Her eyes widen, as if she just realized she might have confessed to a crime. “I-I didn’t want to, but his hand was around my throat and-and I—”

“Dylan. It’s okay. It was self-defense.”

“He was alive. Once I got away and was in a motel in Salt Lake, I checked and saw he was back to work, even attended the mayor’s annual gala a couple nights later.”

I was also aware Simon Beaufort was okay, having dug into the guy’s background as soon as I got to the office yesterday. “I’m guessing you know enough not to use a credit card. Just cash?”

She nods. “It was only when my money was running low that I took the chance at that diner in St. George and gave them my name and social. Do you think that’s how he tracked me?”

Skip tracers can find almost everyone with the right incentive, and with her social and name, it was likely. “It’s possible. But if that day comes—”

“It will come,” she says with dead certainty.

I pause a second before continuing. “When the day comes, and one of Simon’s investigators tracks you down and turns up here, I’ll be ready for him or anyone who tries to harm you, Dylan. From what you’ve told me, the steps you’ve taken to hide your identity, changing your appearance, using cash only… I think you’ve bought yourself some time.”

She looks at me like she wants to believe me, but I can see the fear in her eyes, and I rest my hand over hers in assurance. She flinches, but doesn’t remove her hand. I would be lying if the feeling of her hand under mine, the soft skin against my roughness, didn’t feel incredible.

The seconds pass, and our hands remain connected, our eyes still on each other, and it’s so quiet I can hear her soft breathing and feel the pulse on the side of her wrist, beating as fast as mine. A fire blazes in my belly, a desire that’s growing dangerously fierce.

I stand quickly and head to the fridge for another beer. “Need more wine?”

She shakes her head and stands. “Actually, I’m kind of beat. I think I’m going to try getting to sleep. Would you mind if I borrow one of your books?”