Page 45 of Burning for You
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Hoof clicks rouse me.Slowly my eyes focus on my hands, clasping together right in front of my nose. I’m inside a sleeping bag, covered with at least four layers of blankets.
When the fire stopped burning at some point during the night, I thought I was going to freeze to death. But mother of pearl, I slept! Judging by the brightness around me, I don’t think it’s that early in the morning.
The noises are getting closer. I’m sure it’s someone on a horse.
“Help!” I shout, banging on the door.
Ever so slowly, the door creaks open.
“Good morning,” Levi says.
I sigh while he appraises me. He’s wearing a tidy t-shirt, a blue denim jacket, and a pair of black jeans.
Why am I glad that it’s him? Is it because he’s looking sharp as Scott Eastwood in The Longest Ride?
No, I think this forest and this shed are just wrong without him—so when he returns, everything seems to be back in order.
I say, “So let’s talk. What does Rupert Teller want? What do you want?”
“You don’t give orders, lady. We talk when I’m ready to talk.”
“Your brother said I was ‘destroying lives in Montana,’ that night at the gala dinner. I can tell you, I don’t know anything about it.”
He looks at my pants with a soft expression.
I instinctively look down at my crotch. Damn… there’s a stain on my khaki trousers. My period had stopped the morning before I had my 10/10 solo flight, but this time some stubborn leftover has decided to spurt its way out and embarrass me big-time.
Levi looks away, seemingly as embarrassed as I am.
What the heck! I’m sure it’s nothing that he hasn’t seen before.
“Now you know I’m not fucking pregnant,” I say.
He throws me a towel and hands me some of my fresh clothes. He must’ve got my suitcase, then. Perhaps I could ask him to…
Dammit. I didn’t bring more tampons, because I really believed it was over! I hope that this squirty cameo is just a one-off and will conclude itself soon.
“Let’s go.” Levi nudges his gun and guides me out of the shed.
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t you want to clean up? You smell worse than a goat.”
I frown. He’s right, though—and I silently thank him for giving me the opportunity.
We round the shed, and there it is. My supposed shower.
I take back my gratefulness. Really? I’m not a diva, but I bet not even he would take a shower here!
My shoulders lock together, imagining the chills. But I have to get the horse and grass smell off me. And most importantly, clean my sticky crotch.
The man is waiting about five yards away. All I have is a bucket above me, with a rope that I’m sure will unleash Niagara Falls. There’s no screen, there’s not even a sprout of shrub that will cover me. And Levi is keenly watching with his gun firmly in his hand.
“Don’t mind me,” he says.
“Turn around!” I respond in annoyance.