Page 9 of Traitor
“No shit?” he asks, and I can tell my admission stuns him.
“No shit. I decided to drive for a while to see if anything moved me and this place, the views. I had to paint them the moment I saw them.”
“That’s wonderful, Peyton.” He pauses, then adds, “I’m sorry if I came on too strong.”
I begin walking and with each step, the bands around my chest loosens. The sun warms my chilled skin. Nothing can hurt me here. “You worry too much, Uncle Bradley.”
But he has good reason to worry. A long time ago, the decisions I made affected us both.
“I think I worry enough. You going to tell me where you ended up or do I need to take more drastic measures?”
“North Carolina. A town called Windy Point.” It makes me smile to hear the sound of fingers tapping against a keyboard. He may be overprotective, but he’s mine. No doubt he’s already searching the hell out of the little town. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a detailed report within twenty-four hours. My uncle may have been a nerdy professor, but he was an efficient one.
“Are you safe?”
I think of Ford and grimace a little. He isdefinitelynot what I would classify as safe.
“This town is a regularPleasantville, Uncle Bradley. You know, before it turned Technicolor. Nothing is going to happen to me here. You can relax.”
“You know I only want what’s best for you sweetheart.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Of course I do. I promise you don’t have anything to worry about while I’m here.”
“Are you planning to go somewhere else after?”
The hill crests and I pause to study the view. What little air I have after the climb releases from my chest in a whoosh. I’m not the type of person who believes in fate or whatever, but looking out over the trees, seeing Bear Lake in the distance, feels a lot like it.
“I’m not sure,” I say, answering his question. “I have a feeling I’m going to like it here.”
“You’ll make sure to lock the doors, right?” We both know a locked door won’t stop a determined psychopath, but it makes him feel better to say it, so I let him.
“It’s a hotel, not the ghetto, but I will, I promise.”
“Take care, Peanut.”
“You, too.”
I madeit back to the lodge right before nightfall. The trail may have been a bit too much for an amateur like me, but it had been worth it. Something about being outside soothed me when it had terrified me a short time ago. Repeating it helped to make it true. I’d never quite be comfortable in my own skin again, but the process was to be celebrated. Being outside, alone, vulnerable. That was major progress for me.
Maybe when I got up to my room I’d order room service. Something decadent to celebrate. A good meal with wine and a hot bath sounds heavenly. I deserve a special treat for completing my first painting in months. It wouldn’t win any awards, and it certainly isn’t my best piece, but putting brush to canvas again is like seeing again after being robbed of sight. The catharsis is worth all the aches and pains.
The straps of the backpack dig into my shoulders. My thighs and calves scream with each step. I pull open the front door and a wave of warm air from the lit fire in the massive fireplace hits me, making more sweat pop out under my arms and between my breasts. A shower. All I want is a shower. Then the food and wine.
One person, a woman in a tight red dress that seems a little out of place for a town like Windy Point, leans over the front desk talking to Ford. From her body language—I’d gotten good at watching people over the time I’d spent too afraid to go outside and interact with them—tells me she’s clearly in seduction mode. Ford, being seduced. I almost snort.
I’m on the bottom step of the grand staircase when her voice turns shrill. Even though I don’t want to be involved in whatever scene she’s trying to orchestrate, I can’t help but turn around. Maybe because a little part of me wants to see Ford knocked down a peg or two. Then, I recognize her—the bombshell from the diner. Lola, the owner I admired the day before.
“You can’t tell me no. My family practically runs this town. We need your meeting space for the small business owners’ meeting this weekend.”
There’s another couple sitting near the fire, but their intimate conversation halts at the banshee’s shrieks.
From my place across the hall, I can’t hear Ford’s response, but I can imagine, vividly, what effect threats have on a man like him.
The woman pushes away from the counter. “This is ridiculous. My father will hear about this,” she says, then blanches.
Her father must have some clout in town or something because Nell claps a hand over her mouth and giggles behind her hand.
Now that the woman’s moved back a half step, I can see Ford behind the counter. He doesn’t look as threatening or intimidating as a charging bull, like he had a couple hours before. In fact, he looks completely blank, almost calm. He catches my eyes, holds my gaze for a half second, long enough for heat to rise up the column of my throat.