Touching Smoke (18 page)

Stretching, I pushed back the blanket and stood up. The cot creaked in relief.

“Isaiah?”

The single-room dwelling was empty, except for the rumpled sleeping bag where he’d lounged for most of the night, although, after his confession about not sleeping much, he probably hadn’t used it for more than a place to lie down. There was a t-shirt on top of the blanket and his boots were next to the makeshift bed, socks stuffed inside. So he clearly hadn’t gotten very far.

My suspicions were confirmed when the front porch creaked, followed by the long shadow that slashed across the threshold before the solitary figure emerged. Isaiah entered the room and my jaw slackened. My heart missed a beat and my entire body sizzled with a new surge of life.

Topless, every raw muscle stood exposed to me. Yards of golden flesh glistened in the pale sunlight spilling like honey over him. Tendrils of black hung around his shoulders, swept back from his face in waves. Beads of water dripped from the ends, trailing down his broad shoulders, wide chest and along every ridge of every muscle all the way down to soak the waistband of his pants. The thighs of his pants were wet, as were the hems, like he’d just gotten out of a shower. I forgot to breath.

“You’re awake.” He ruffled a hand through his hair, shoving back lose curls off his brow. The doorway of blinding sunlight caught the flying droplets, bringing them to life with sparks of fire before they shattered across the hardwood. The ropes of muscle on his arm bunched. The tattooed group of numbers just on the inside of his left bicep rippled; I sat down hard on the cot, legs no longer functional. Isaiah blinked, startled. “Fallon?”

Something came out of my mouth. I wasn’t sure what it was or what I was trying to say, but the long, incoherent garble as I tripped and stumbled embarrassingly over my tongue went on for a full minute before my brain finally took control of the train wreck.

“Pee!” I blurted stupidly and could have kicked myself. But I didn’t wait around to see his expression. I ducked my head and hurried for the door behind him. Clearly my first mistake when I didn’t properly gouge my distance from the doorframe until a searing pain shot down my shoulder. The unexpected blow sent my whole graceful exit staggering as I fumbled to right myself and act like I totally meant to do that! I cleared my throat, “Oops,” I said, and flounced with as much pride as I could salvage around the side of the house.

Safely out of sight, I cursed, smacking the heel of my hand into my forehead. “Pee? Seriously?” I hissed at myself. “God I’m so stupid!” I paced the tiny patch of clearing behind the house, willing myself to chill.

Maybe he didn’t notice, I told myself. Maybe I wasn’t loud enough for him to hear. Maybe… maybe… maybe I’d grow wings and fly. There was no way he missed what just happened or to what I was thinking… feeling…

“OhmiGod…!” I dropped down on a rock and squished my face into my palms.

Would my humiliation never end?

“Fallon?”

Nope. It really didn’t seem like it ever would.

“Here!” I grumbled into my sweaty hand.

A second later, he appeared, uncertain, like he really thought I
was
out there to pee. His face relaxed when I saw me — decent. “I thought you might like to wash up.” He held up a bucket of water.

My eyes widened, sending my eyebrows up into my hairline. “Where’d that come from?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a stream about a mile from here.”

I didn’t bother asking how he got there and back so fast. I rose off my rock and went over to him.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the bucket without ever making eye contact.

He inclined his head and left me alone.

I felt nearly in control by the time I walked around the house. Isaiah was by his bike, still topless, still ridiculously breathtaking. I had to tapper the temptation to bark at him to put a damn shirt on. It wasn’t his fault, I had to tell myself. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t mean to slowly drive me insane.

“What are you doing?” The question came out a whole lot sharper than it was meant to.

His gaze swung up to mine, surprise bright in them. He held up something. “Getting a fresh shirt,” he hesitated, surprise melting into sly amusement. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t.”

Damn it! The jerk knew!

I snarled, baring my teeth. “Shut up!”

His husky laughter followed me into the house, where I made a pathetic show of slamming the door behind me. Only, it didn’t slam. It swung back in and smacked me in the back.

“What’s the plan for today?” I asked much later, once I was certain I could face him again without either a) blushing and b) beating him over the head with something blunt.

We were sitting on the cot, sides touching, staring at the ash-filled barrel in front of us.

Isaiah shrugged, his shoulders brushing mine. “We could swing into town, grab some food if you like.”

“Is that safe?” I asked.

A deep crease formed the middle of his brows. “Well, we’re safe here for a little while, not long, but we can take a breather and decide what we’re going to do next.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I said, staring down at my hands.

He turned his head to me. “Do what?”

I rubbed the sweat from my palms off on my jeans. “Stick around. You can leave if you want. I’m not expecting you to stay and babysit me.”

“Hey,” he nudged me with his shoulder, drawing my gaze to his. “I’m staying. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Despite the tremors of relief coursing through me, I didn’t relax. “The offer stands. Any time you want to go just… go.”

“Well, I don’t want the offer, because I’m not going anywhere, not unless you’re coming with me.”

“Why?” It took a second to realize that the barely whispered word had come from me.

He reached for my hand. His long, warm fingers laced through mine, and that was all the answer I needed.

“What does your tattoo stand for?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me as I reached to lift his sleeve.

He pulled away from me as if I’d drawn a knife on him. He shot to his feet, face averted, hand clamped over his arm. “It’s nothing.” He fidgeted with the sleeve of his t-shirt, tugging on it. “Are you hungry?”

Starved.

“I can wait,” I answered, tactfully averting my eyes.

A deep growl emanated from him and I knew he knew I was lying. I waited for him to confront me, to call my bluff. Instead, he turned on his heels, prepared to leave. 

“Do you eat?” I asked, realizing I had yet to see him eat anything in four days.

“I do.”

I slicked my lips. “Are
you
hungry?”

I don’t know why I was holding my breath or why my heart was racing. I was practically on pins and needles waiting for his answer, as if it were everything I’d been waiting my whole life to hear. The suspense knotted the very air, holding it prisoner, away from my pleading lungs.

Oblivious to my agony, Isaiah wavered in his response, staring down at his feet for far longer than I could stand, and just when I was ready to beg, he glanced back over his shoulder, expression darker than night yet blistering with a fervor that left me paralyzed and weak. He bore into my eyes, caressing every inch of my soul with that single glance. I would have fainted if I wasn’t so desperate for his answer.

“Not for food.” Then, he disappeared through the door, the echo of his boots against the hardwood the only evidence that he’d even been there.

The cozy little restaurant was partially empty when we entered. The only other occupants were two men at the bar, hunched over their full bottles of whiskey even though it was eight in the morning. Neither glanced up when we claimed a table at the back.

I didn’t sit.

“I’m going to use the washroom,” I told Isaiah, jostling the duffle bag at my side; I never went anywhere without it, not if I could help it.

Isaiah nodded. “Okay.”

I followed the signs to a set of doors behind the bar, keeping my head down when passing the stooped figures, steadily drinking themselves into a coma. I found the Women’s and slipped inside.

“Hello?” I called, ducking my head and checking under the four stales for feet. When I saw none and no one responded, I closed the door behind me and locked it.

Having survived sixteen years with my mother, you learned quickly that you used the bathroom to its full potential when the opportunity presented itself. You never knew when you’d come across running water again, even if you were provided with a bucket of ice-cold water.

I made quick work taking out my toiletries and lining them up on the counter. I washed my hair first, sticking my head under the nozzle and doing my best to get all the shampoo out before wrapping it in a towel and getting to work washing my face and brushing my teeth.

Stripping, I did a half-baked job of scrubbing myself down with a washcloth and soap before redressing in my last pair of clean underwear, jeans and my favorite tank top that had been buried at the bottom of my duffle for so long that it held the smell of an old gym bag.

I was brushing the knots out of my hair when a knock sounded on the door.

“Uh… coming!” I shouted, stuffing my things quickly into my bag again and hurrying over to unsnap the lock.

The popcorn-haired woman on the other side smiled at me kindly, her brown eyes twinkling the way I always imagined a grandmother’s should. She was tiny, barely four-feet tall with soft, wrinkled skin and short, curly hair. She wore a flower-printed dress beneath a pink sweater.

“Sorry,” I said at once. “I was just—”

She put up her little hand. “It’s been a long drive, hasn’t it?”

I blinked. “Pardon?”

She smiled gently. “You and your beau, you’re on a road trip, am I right?”

My bow? What bow?

The confusion must have been apparently on my face because she giggled. “Your sweetheart. The handsome gentleman waiting for you.”

“Oh!” I felt my face burn. “He’s not… It’s not… We’re not…”

She giggled again. “I understand.” She moved back, allowing me room to pass. “I think he’s beginning to worry.”

Quickly grabbing my duffle off the counter, I thanked her and ducked out.

Isaiah glanced up when I approached the table. He took in my damp hair and clean —
cleaner
— appearance with raised eyebrows. Yeah, that’s right. I wanted to tell him. This is how I look clean! But I dropped into my seat across from him.

“Okay?” he asked.

I nodded. “Do you think we could hit a laundry mat after this?” I asked, plucking up a menu and flipping it open.

“Sure,” he said, taking up his own menu.

Soft jazz broke the peaceful silence as we scrutinized the breakfast section. Several of the dishes looked questionable in the pictures — prune salad; high-fiber oat pancakes; scrambled eggs and cranberries. I opted to stick with something a little more familiar and less likely to give me the runs.

I cleared my throat. “The omelet sounds nice.”

Isaiah had already set aside his menu and was staring off into the distance with a far off expression on his face. He had his chin resting in his hand, his elbow propped on the table as the fingers on his free hand drummed lazily on the table.

“Yeah.” He straightened, dropping his arms into his lap. “I was thinking we should hit the road once we’re done. We can probably make it to Saskatchewan by late this or early tomorrow morning.”

I thought about the handful of crumpled dollars in Mom’s wallet and mentally winced. It was scarcely enough to cover the cost of a motel let alone gas to get me all the way to Saskatchewan. The seven-hour drive would need at least two gas stops, if memory served me correctly.

Unable to meet his eyes, I watched my fingers pick at a tear in the menu’s plastic cover. “Why are we heading west?”

“What?”

I shrugged, feigning indifference. “I mean, the guys chasing me are expecting us to go west and will follow us there. I think I should stay here. They would never anticipate that. Besides, it’s not like I have anything in the west to go to.”

His head cocked to the side, expression thoughtful. “You can’t stay here. They’ll know where you are.”

“Well, I can’t keep running my whole life.”

“No, but you can’t stop now either!”

I pinned him straight in the eye with the full force of my annoyance. “What am I running to, Isaiah? What the hell is over there that I need to go?”

“Your father.”

My anger coiled like a threatened snake inside me. “I already told you, I don’t want to see him!”

“He can help!” Isaiah insisted.

“I don’t want help, especially his. I want to be left alone. I don’t want any part of whatever the hell is going on!”

He sighed quietly, sitting back in his chair. “If I could somehow make this all go away for you, I would! But there is nothing I can do except to take you somewhere safe.”

“I’m not going,” I decided stubbornly. “I’m going to stay here, change my name, maybe my looks; no one will ever know it’s me! It’s not like I have any special features that can be tracked.”