Page 10

I can’t find any clothespins, so I hang the wet clothes on the line by simply folding them over it. It’s not that windy today, so hopefully they’ll stay put.

By the time I finish, it’s almost lunchtime. After we eat, I find a book on one of the shelves in the house and take it out to a shady spot to read.

I make it through a couple of chapters before I fall asleep.

When I start to wake up, it feels like I’ve been out a long time, and I’m aware of a presence nearby. It’s not a bad one. It’s familiar. Secure. I peek through my lashes and see Deck reclining against the nearest tree with his eyes closed.

I stay completely still, thinking maybe he actually fell asleep. I don’t want to wake him up. But as soon as I shift my head slightly, his lids pop up .

He narrows his eyes, looking relaxed but also faintly suspicious.

“I wasn’t doing anything. I just woke up.” When Deck gestures toward the book that fell onto the ground beside me, I add, “It’s not too bad a story. It’s one of those romantic suspense books. But I didn’t get very far before I fell asleep. I didn’t realize I was so tired.”

He points toward the line where the clothes I washed are still flapping. Most are still in place, although one shirt has fallen off. It looks like Trisha’s. I’m not inclined to walk all the way over there to pick it up.

“Yeah, doing the laundry was more tiring than I expected. Using that washboard is really a workout. My shoulders are already sore.”

He points again, this time at the side of the line where Trisha’s clothes are hanging. He makes a questioning gesture and then a disapproving shake of his head.

I sigh. “She basically dumped her clothes on me. It would have been rude to say no. But I did say that this would be the only time. She has to do her own laundry from now on.”

He nods, his eyebrows drawn together like he’s reflecting.

Maybe I should leave things alone, but the words come out before I can stop them. “She was asking about you.”

He jerks his head toward me, visibly surprised.

“She wanted to know if you were with someone. She said you were superhot.”

He rolls his eyes and makes a face .

“There’s no reason for you to brush that off. You might not be the prime example of grooming habits, but you’re a good-looking guy. Surely she’s not the only woman to show interest in you.”

He wriggles his fingers at his mouth.

“I know you don’t speak, but a lot of women wouldn’t care about that. I’m just saying it might be smart to be prepared for how you’ll react because I think she’s going to come on to you.”

He still looks surprised and reflective, and something about the expression bothers me.

Why is he thinking so much about it? Surely he’s not actually tempted by Trisha’s charms? She would be a terrible choice for him. He’s got to see that for himself.

He knows I don’t like her.

Shouldn’t that mean something to him?

To distract myself and also him, I suggest we practice more sign language. I teach him the signs for tree, grass, sky, house, and the various articles of our clothing. Then I show him how to ask simple questions. What are you doing? Where are you going? What are you thinking?

We’re laughing when he messes up one of the gestures, and I reach over to move his fingers in the right shape. Well, I’m giggling, and he’s kind of smiling.

We both jerk when a voice comes from several feet away. “Deck. You’re needed on the front porch.”

It’s Logan. He doesn’t look mad or upset or annoyed or anything really. But something is tense about his posture.

Deck gets up immediately and starts toward the front of the house .

I expect Logan to follow him, but he doesn’t. He stays looking down at me.

Awkward and slightly guilty, I stand up and brush off the back of the loose dress I’m still wearing since all my other clothes are on the clothesline.

“Is there anything I should know?” Logan asks.

We’re facing each other, my head lifted so I can meet his gaze. “About what?”

“About Deck.”

“What? Oh, no, of course not. Everything is fine. I was actually trying to teach him some sign language so he can communicate better.”

Logan’s mouth turns down slightly. “Listen, I don’t care what my people do. At all. You can fuck who you want or pair up or make the rounds or whatever. I don’t care. But sometimes relationships end in conflict, and choices have to be made.”

I’m still confused, but my stomach is also sinking—like it knows what’s coming even before my mind does. “Choices?”

“Yes. Sometimes things end in a way where both can’t stay. And Deck has been one of my people for twelve years. He started working for me at seventeen.” Logan meets my eyes with a clear significance. “Sometimes choices have to be made, and Deck isn’t going anywhere.”

My stomach drops all the way down. I swallow hard over tension in my throat. Because I know exactly what Logan is telling me.

I’ve hooked up with his group, and it’s been working out great. I’m safer than I ever could have been otherwise. I like these people. I want to stay. I’m actually enjoying being part of things. Contributing.

But if something happens between Deck and me that leads to an angsty breakup, I’m out.

I’m out .

I’ll be left all alone.

If it ever comes down to a choice between me and Deck, Logan will always choose Deck. Of course he will. He probably likes me fine. He seems to anyway. But I’m new, and Deck is like family to him.

“You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” I manage to get out. “I understand.”

“You’ll be careful?”

“I’ll be careful.”

Logan nods and turns away from me, heading toward the front of the house like Deck.

And I’m left alone with a lot of heavy, confused revelations.

They’re a hopeless muddle in my head, but they basically boil down to just this. I’m starting to maybe want something to happen with Deck, but it can’t. It absolutely can’t.

Because there are so many things in this world more important than getting a boyfriend. And it’s not just my heart that would be put at risk.

It could end up as a threat to my life and safety, and no relationship is worth that.

For the rest of the day, I’m upset but trying not to show it. Partly because it’s no one’s business why my heart got thrown into such turmoil and partly because it seems smarter to not let these people view me as emotionally messy.

I’ve worked hard to be an easygoing and useful member of this community, and I’m not going to throw all that effort away because of insignificant relationship issues.

Overall, I do a good job. I avoid the front porch where Deck is helping some of the other guys replace rotting wood. At dinner, I chat with Micah and Burgundy and make an effort to not pay particular attention to Deck.

I’m sick to my stomach but also proud of myself for handling the situation so smoothly when it starts to get dark. After washing up and going to the bathroom outside, I climb into my lower bunk in the turret room.

Because I’ve been so resolutely ignoring Deck’s presence, I’m actually not sure where he’s gotten to after dinner. I’m settling under my covers when the bedroom door opens and his big body fills the small space.

He’s holding a flashlight, and he shines it in my vicinity but not directly in my eyes.

“I’m here,” I say, assuming he’s simply checking for my presence. “Good night.”

Leaning lower, he peers at me with a questioning frown. He waves a hand vaguely in my direction.

Because I know him and because his face—even hidden by so much beard—usually conveys what he’s feeling, I understand what he’s asking. “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong.”

It’s a lie but not a big one. Whatever is happening in my heart is not his concern. I don’t have to share it with anyone.

His frown deepens. His thick eyebrows pull together more tightly. He gestures more emphatically.

“I said everything is fine,” I say, enunciating the words more crisply than normal. “Stop fussing.”

He makes a soft, guttural sound and straightens with a jerk. Then he strides out of the room, clearly unhappy with me.

Well, that’s just fine then. If he wants to leave in a huff and sleep somewhere else, he’s more than welcome to do that.

I roll over onto my other side so my back is to the door and try to relax enough to fall asleep.

It’s only a few minutes later when the door bursts open again, and his familiar presence fills the air of the room. I roll over to look because I’m not by nature a pouter and because I’m genuinely curious about what he’s doing.

He’s kneeling down beside the bed, holding a torn piece of notebook paper and a pen he must have salvaged from somewhere in the house. He puts the paper on the hardwood floor and scrawls something on it before he raises it again to my level and shines the flashlight on it.

What the hell is wrong with you?

“Nothing,” I say, surprised because I’ve never seen him go to such effort to communicate with anyone. “I told you I’m fine.”

He leans over to write out some more words. Stop lying and tell me.

For some reason, the vehemence of his words and his scowl make my eyes burn and my throat swell. I fight through the emotion. “I’ve already told you what I’m going to tell you. Nothing serious is wrong.”

After scrawling more, he lifts the paper so I can read. Did I do something wrong?

“No!” Surprise has the response bursting out of me. “Deck, of course you didn’t do anything. It has nothing to do with you.”

So there is something wrong!

“No, there’s not. I’m upset right now because you won’t let this go. Would you please stop nagging me and go to sleep?”

He stares at me for a long time, almost shuddering with the intensity of his frustration.

Then he makes another soft, exasperated sound in his throat and hefts himself up to his feet.

He’s silently stewing as he takes off his shoes, socks, pants, and T-shirt.

Before he climbs into the bunk above me, he gives me a sharp look and writes out another line.

Do you want me to swap beds with Burgundy?

A sob is lodged in my throat but doesn’t release. “No! Of course not. I said I’m fine, so shut up and go to sleep.”

With one more scowl, he climbs up to his top bunk and flops down .

Neither one of us says another word or makes another gesture, but it’s a long time before I go to sleep.

The next morning, I wake up when Deck does before dawn, but this morning I don’t get up. I lie in place and try not to move. Try not to breathe.

After he pulls on his clothes, he looks over at me, the room faintly illuminated by the flashlight.

He knows I’m awake. He’s checking my expression. Checking my mood. Seeing if things are like they were last night. He doesn’t say a word, but I know it for sure.

I make myself smile at him.

If he were verbal, he would have let out a groan of pure frustration. That’s what’s reflected on his face as he grabs his belt and secures it before sliding in his handgun, his hunting knife, and the second knife he keeps in an ankle holster.

Then he’s gone, and I’m left in my pretty princess room all alone.