Taking Faith (4 page)

              "Will you hurt me again?"

              "No. I can't," he said and shook his head. "Now ask me why."

              "Why can't you!" she yelled, her anger surfacing and splotching her cheeks.

              "Because I don't want to hurt you." She scoffed, but ducked her head in fear of what he might do, though he just said he wouldn't hurt her. "I do care. I don't want to care…I can't really, and keep up both safe, but I do. Now ask me if it matters that I care."

              She shook her head, refusing. She understood the game. He was trying to confess that he was trapped. She'd seen his father, his uncle, the way the other men acted. She knew the things that they wanted him to do to her. And yet he hadn't hurt her, her arm had been an accident. But did it matter? No. He still was the person who took her from the kidnappers and planned to keep her here as his wife against her will.

              "I'm sorry you're sad, that will pass, but you need to pull yourself together and start acting like a wife." Something pinged in her mind. Elena had said that to her.
Just be his wife…
No. She wouldn't…couldn't. She may be his wife on paper, but in her heart, they were nothing more than enemies. He continued, "I can't protect you if the others see you acting this way. You need to do what you're told and remember the rules. Don't question me. Believe it or not…" he growled and groaned, "I don't want you here, either! My life was just fine and now I have to worry about you!"

              He got up and kicked the fridge door. "Make something for breakfast and then we'll go into work." He stalked out and she watched his back ripple with anger, but he stopped and half turned his head as he spoke softly. "I'm sure you're ready to get out of this house for a while."

              Then he was gone. Amy sat, tear streaked and confused.

* * *

              She somehow managed to get up and make some toast and coffee. The toast burned in the toaster before she realized it wasn't on the right setting. He sighed when he saw his buttered and blackened breakfast, but surprisingly to Amy, he didn't say anything about it. He plopped down in the chair and began to chomp through it. He drank his coffee black and Amy poured the milk into hers. There was no creamer in the house, but milk was better than nothing.

              The ride to his job was slow. He hadn't given her anything else to wear or given her time to shower. She didn't care. Maybe he'd be repelled that she stunk and kick her out. She felt the small tug at the corners of her mouth at that thought.

              "Your first smile. What's that about?"

              She made her mouth a flat line and said, "Nothing."

              "I bet," he answered dryly. "It wouldn't have anything to do with my untimely demise would it?" He chuckled and stopped at the red light, downshifting the gears.
She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy
by Kenny Chesney played in the background from his beat-up radio. "Maybe by strangulation…or rat poison, huh?"

              She kept her face toward the window, but actually had to fight a small smile. He was trying to make jokes, obviously trying to ease her. But why? Someone yelled at them from the sidewalk and Roger raised his hand in hello before taking off and heading through downtown. He pulled into an old building with large structures in the back. She had no idea what it was, but the sign said "Mitchell's supply".

              "We're here," Roger announced and put the truck in park. He sighed. "Please remember what I said about the rules. They'll be customers in and out all day because I've been closed for a while."

              She nodded, keeping her head down, and climbed out of the truck. But as soon as she opened her door, there was a man there. When she lifted her gaze, it was Roger's father and he wasn't alone. There were a few other men with him and they eyed Amy with disdain. She didn't understand. If they wanted her and the other women so much they'd go to such lengths to steal them, why did they hate them so much?

              "Father?" Roger said in surprise and came to stand in front of Amy. He put his hands on his hips. "What are you doing here?"

              "Gettin' lippy with me, boy?" his father growled.

              "No, sir. Just wondering. I didn't even tell anyone I was coming in today."

              "You know better than that," he laughed. "I have eyes all over this town, son. Speaking of eyes," he turned to a man behind him, "Mike has been assigned to come over tonight for supper."

              "Yes, sir," Roger said and even Amy could hear the resignation in his voice.

              "Well, I'll let you get back to it. I'm surprised you stayed out of work this long, to be honest." He spit on the ground, from the color of it Amy guessed it was tobacco. "You're behind so you better catch up fast. It ain't so easy being a real man, now is it?"

              He laughed and the other men laughed. Amy just watched Roger's shoulders tense. His father took a step forward. "You gettin' froggy, boy? Wanna take a swing at your ol' man?"

              "No, sir," Roger ground out.

              There it was again. That little ping of pity she felt for him.

              Roger's father put a finger in Roger's chest. "You best be remembering where you came from. And remember who I am."

              "I never forgot, Dad. We'll be ready for Mike this afternoon."

              "You better," he drawled and peeked at Amy over Roger's shoulder. "Still a perty white skin and not a mark on her. Hmm," he sniffed and walked away.

              Roger's shoulders relaxed, but he took her by the arm and to the door. He fumbled with his keys to find the right one. She realized then how angry he was, his hands shook from it. Once inside the small office he closed the blinds and turned to look at her. She looked around the dirty place with a crumpled nose. Papers were stacked everywhere, the floor hadn't been swept in ages it looked like, and the windows had fingerprints all down the panes. He scoffed as he saw her looking around. "What? Not good enough for your standards?"

              She said nothing, but straightened her face. He went on. "This'll be your desk, here." He pointed at a desk piled high with papers and take-out cups. "It, uh…needs a little cleaning, but that's what you're here for now, right?"

              She winced and swallowed. He did the same and she stared at him. She'd never met someone who confused her as much as he did. Why would he wince when he was the one who said it? He must have seen the heat she was giving him from her glare. He seemed almost happy as he said, "What? Say it?"

              "Your office is really dirty," she told him, but that hadn't been what she wanted to say at all.

              "It is," he admitted. "This is a supply company. We sell concrete, wood, windows and anything that you'd need for building or fixing up. A man's place where we spend most of our time outside cutting on stuff. The office is just used for answering phones and taking orders. That's where you come in. It was a lot more work for me to answer all the messages on the phones in here at night and call everyone back to get the orders. Now you'll cut my work in half."             

              She nodded with pursed lips. A work horse and a maid along with a cook; that's what he wanted her for.

              "What kind of family did you have," he asked suddenly, "before."

              She looked at him sharply. He continued to look at her expectantly with an honest expression so she told him the truth. "A beautiful one." He did exactly what she thought he would. He flinched. She hit him again. "An honest one. One where I knew that I was loved and taken care of no matter what. One where we never hurt each other and never lied. One I miss and want to go back to more than anything." She gritted her teeth against the tears. "I'd give anything to go back there."

Chapter 4

             
              He took a deep breath, but she was no longer looking his way. The ceiling was dirty, too, she noticed as she gazed at it. It was pointless to let him see her so weak and she regretted telling him.

              He went to the desk and pointed at the chair before saying roughly, "Sit." She went and did as he said. The chair squeaked loudly and she sighed. "Now," he continued, "we're going to go through the papers together and I'll show you how to separate everything. The orders not filled yet go in the bin and the orders that are done go in the filing cabinet by alphabetical order."

              She was glad to have the distraction so she followed his instructions all morning as they went over everything. Hours passed and he made a call to have some lunch delivered. She looked at him funny. That didn't seem like something he would do.

              "What? You didn't make us any lunch today, now did you? You even burned our breakfast, remember?" he said, but a smile twisted his lips. She looked away before she narrowed her eyes at him.

              She heard his chuckle as he made his way back to her. He seemed to be teasing her. She shook her head to clear it of any such notions.

              They ate lunch and got right back to work. Once they got all the orders handled, he showed her how to clip the phone to her pocket, told her to stick an order form in her pocket, too, and she followed him out to the shop. She, of course, wouldn't be allowed to sit in the office alone while he did his work in the shop.

              The first thing he did when they got out there was take his shirt off.

              She rolled her eyes behind his back as he began working on a large sign. He was using some sort of flat tool to chisel away the wood and work his designs in. She might have been impressed were he not her kidnapper…and husband. She glanced down at her ring and twisted the small, simple band on her finger. He called her name and jerked his head to a chair in front of him.

              She pressed her lips together and sat down. His lips were parted as he panted through the motions. It looked like hard and daunting work, and he was already sweating. He wiped his forehead with his arm and puffed a breath before looking at her. "There's a refrigerator behind that table with some drinks in it. Will you grab us a couple?"

              She did as he asked and went back to her seat with her Coke. She didn't even like Coke. It hit her that she'd probably never drink her favorite soda again. He wouldn't care what it was.

              "What do you like to drink? I assume by the glare at that can that it's not Coke."

              She eased her gaze to his cautiously and stared at him. How did he do that? He chuckled and shrugged before taking a huge gulp, setting the can down on the edge of a chair and starting his work again. They sat just like that for a couple of hours before he announced that it was time to head home. Mike and his wife were coming to dinner, he said, and she needed to figure something out for dinner.

              Amy didn't nod or speak. She just followed him out to the truck. When they arrived, he made a show of locking the door and went to take a shower. She tried the back door, but it, too, was locked. She tried the window in the living room, but it was glued shut. He knew there was no way she was getting out, that was why he went and took his showers with such little worry about her. She stomped her foot and leaned against the wall.

              Was this all just a game to him?

              She wiped the tear away angrily. She couldn't get through one day without crying anymore. Every time he told her she had to do something that made him more like the wife he wanted her to be, it seemed to rip a little piece of her soul right out of her. She didn't know how long she could go on like this. She heard the water shut off in the bathroom and almost panicked. She was supposed to be doing something. He was teasing one minute and then boiling mad the next. She couldn't read him and had no idea how he'd react if he caught her standing there like that.

              She make a quick path to the kitchen, just in time, too, as he opened the bathroom door and emerged wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He had quite a few scars on his hips and belly that she hadn't seen before. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from them as her thoughts ran wild as to where they had come from. She didn't have to think very hard. His father did that to him, she knew it. She glanced up to meet his eyes and saw the look he was giving her. He wasn't happy about her eying his scars apparently. Mean Roger was back.

              "Take a shower," he barked and turned to his bedroom…the room where she slept. "You can wear some of my sweats until we can get you something," he called back to her before slamming the door.

              She jumped. He got so angry so fast. She did as he said and went to the bathroom, the steam hitting her, giving her chills on her cool skin. She stunk, that was a fact. She'd been in that dress for days now and a shower, even with everything else that was pounding her brain, was the only heaven she could think of right now.

              She peeled the dress off and threw it in the hamper. She made the water hot, but not as hot as last time. She hated having to use his soap. She was going to smell like him. She wrinkled her nose and washed, not bothering to shave her legs. What was the point in that?

              Once she was done she wrapped herself in a towel and debated her next move; go out and ask him for some clothes or wait for him to get angry enough to come and ask her what was taking so long. She opted for option one, but when she opened the door, there was a pile of gray sweats by the door. She sighed in relief and took the pile into the bathroom. There was no underwear or bra, obviously, so she just put them on. She was a small chested girl anyway, always had been. It used to bother her and she'd complain to her mother that she was nineteen and hadn't reached puberty yet.