be right back.” Will squeezed her shoulder and left.
That was when the terror of her life came crashing down on her.
If she were a religious person, she’d go as far as to say she’d sinned in the worst possible way.
She’d killed a man.
She’d become like the monsters she’d sworn to destroy.
Like the monster that killed her father.
* * *
Will clicked into overdrive. He tossed logs out of the wood container, rolled the body onto a tarp and dragged him across the property.
A part of him was shocked, both by the murder of a stranger, and by his own reaction. He found himself more worried about Sara than the ramifications of this man’s death.
It should be justified in the eyes of the law, since she’d shot him to save Will’s life. The guy would have surely beaten Will to death, leaving his children parentless. Will wasn’t sure Sara had had another option. The man was about brutality and death, and that was how his life had ended.
But taking another man’s life was a sin, so after Will placed the body and weapon into the wood container, he kneeled beside it and prayed. “Father, please forgive us. In our efforts to live, we took another man’s life.”
Guilt clenched his heart. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. But he couldn’t dwell on it, not while Sara was going into shock. He needed to tend to her.
As he went back to the cabin, he noticed the man’s blood on his gloves. He took them off and dropped them outside the door. The sight of blood might upset her further. He stepped inside the cabin.
Sara was not on the bed where he’d left her. He snapped his head around. “Sara?” His heart slammed against his chest. Had she left again? Was she wandering aimlessly in the mountains in a state of shock?
“Sara!”
The echo of his own voice rang in his ears. He turned, about to race out into the dark night.
Then he heard a squeak. Hesitating, he waited to see if he’d imagined it. Another squeak drifted across the room. He slowly turned back. The sound was coming from under the bed.
Will went to the bed and checked beneath it. Sara’s terrified blue eyes stared back at him.
“He won’t see me in here,” she said in a childlike whisper.
“No, he won’t. That’s a good hiding place.” He stretched out on his back and extended his hand. She looked at it. “Your hands must be very cold,” he said.
She nodded. “Like ice-cycles.”
“My hand is warm. May I warm the chill from your fingers?”
Her eyes darted nervously beyond him. “What if he comes back?”
“He won’t. He’s...” Will hesitated. Reminding her she’d killed a man would not help her snap out of shock. “He’s gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred and ten percent.” The number he used with his girls.
She eyed Will’s hand. He motioned with his fingers to encourage her to come out.
“I’m only safe if I stay hidden,” she whispered. “He won’t see me in here.”
That was the second time she used the phrase in here. Where did she think she was? Will suspected she might be drifting in and out of reality, the present reality mixed with a past trauma, perhaps? At any rate, he needed to keep an eye on her condition by making sure she was warm and comfortable. If she felt most comfortable under the bed, then that was where she’d stay.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“How about another blanket?” He snatched one off a chair and placed it on the floor.
Her trembling fingers reached out and pulled the blanket beneath the bed. “Thanks.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he said.
“No, thank you.”
He positioned himself in front of the fire. A few minutes of silence passed as he stared into the flames. The adrenaline rush had certainly worn off, because he was feeling the aches and pains from the beating he’d survived.
Survived because of Sara. She’d saved him from an ugly, painful death.
As energy drained from his body, he struggled to stay alert. Will needed to protect Sara, take care of her.
He glanced left. Her hand was sticking out from beneath the bed. Was she trying to make a connection with him? He positioned himself on the floor and peered under the bed. She’d changed positions and was lying on her side, bundled up in the blankets.
Bending his elbow, he brushed his hand against her petite fingers. She curled her chilled fingers around his.
“Wow, you are warm,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, barely able to speak. This connection, the fact that touching Will comforted her, filled his chest with pride.
“Do you have a fever?” she said.
“Nah. The warm body temperature is a family thing. My girls run hot, too.”
“Your girls.” She closed her eyes and started to pull away.
Will clung to her hand. “No, don’t. I...I need the connection.”
She opened her eyes. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“But I’ve been horrible to you. Accusing you of being an assassin, tying you up.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God, that’s why your wrists were bleeding. You had to cut yourself free.”
She snatched her hand from his and rolled away.
Well, good news was she’d returned to reality and was no longer caught up in some trauma from her past. The bad news was she blamed herself for whatever pain Will had suffered.
He went to the other side of the bed. The fire didn’t light this part of the room so he couldn’t see her face, but he still tried to connect with her, there, in the dark.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “You were terrified and confused, and most likely suffering from dehydration.”
“I gave you a bloody nose.”
“I startled you.”
“You were trying to help me.” She sighed. “I’m so ashamed.”
“Why, because you were protecting yourself from men who wanted to harm you? You should be proud. You escaped. You survived.”
“No, they were right. I don’t belong out here.”
“Where, in the mountains?”
She didn’t answer him.
“Sara?”
She rolled over again and he went to the other side of the bed. He bit back a groan against the pain of bruised ribs as he stretched out on the floor next to her.
“Could you do me a favor and stay in one position so I don’t have to get up and down again?” he teased.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that bad. But the ribs are a little sore.”
“I meant, I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.”
“Sara, it’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it really is.”
Silence stretched between them, punctuated by the sound of the crackling