Chapter Eighteen

Calee

I feel better the moment I swallow down the first bite of my pancakes. I chew quickly and shovel more into my mouth, adding a bite of bacon for good measure. I wash it all down with a long swallow of orange juice.

“I'm sorry for my manners,” I say. “I guess I didn't realize how hungry I was until the food arrived.”

“No need to apologize to me. I was in the service, I've seen people with far fewer manners than you. Believe me,” the man replies. “Eat. Enjoy it. And if you're still hungry, we'll get you some more.”

We're sitting in the diner we'd just left, heaping plates of food in front of us both. It's been about a day since I'd eaten anything substantial. I've been getting by on a bag of chips here, a candy bar there. I still have most of the money Danny left in his cabin, but I'm parceling it out carefully. Rationing it. I don't know how much I'm going to need to get to where ever it is I end up going. I still haven't figured that part out yet.

I cast a quick glance at the man sitting across from me – he said his name is Eric Galloway. I don't know why he's being so nice to me and I feel like a jerk for being so skeptical and rude. But I just don't trust anybody right now. I can't afford to. My life is at stake and if I make the wrong decision, somebody is going to be fishing my body – and the body of my unborn child – out of a river.

And that's the thing that keeps me going and on guard. I'm not just thinking for myself anymore. I have a child to worry about now.

“Where are you from?” the man asks and sips from his cup of coffee.

“Originally?” I say around a mouthful of pancake. “St. Paul, Minnesota. Lived there until I was about ten.”

He nods. “Where have you been living since then?”

I shrug. “Around. Mostly in Wyoming.”

I know he's making normal, everyday conversation, but I feel like I'm being interrogated and it puts me on edge.

“You said you were in the service?” I ask, mostly to deflect the conversation away from me.

He nods. “Served about eighteen months on the front lines in Afghanistan and then served out the rest of my enlistment at Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany.”

I cock my head and look at him. “Were you wounded?”

He gives me a small smile. “No, I'm a doctor.”

“A doctor?” I ask, impressed. “Wow.”

“Surgeon,” he says. “Trust me, it's not as glamorous as it sounds. Not unless you enjoy being wrist deep in blood and gore everyday.”

“I'm sure you saw some terrible things.”

He nods and I see a haunted look in his eyes. Just a shadow really – gone as quick as it appeared. I can tell that he's a man who has tight control over his emotions. But, in that brief flash, I saw that he's also a man who has some dark ghosts lingering inside of him. Out on the street, he said that it looked like it had been a few days since I'd gotten a decent night's rest – I wonder how long it's been since he's had one.

He clears his throat and looks at me. “So, are you living here in Fort Collins or just passing through?”

“Just passing through,” I say without thinking.

“Oh? Where are you headed?”

That's the million-dollar question – one I don't have an answer for. I take another big bite of pancake and start to chew – mostly to give myself a moment to think. I have no idea where I'm going. Have no idea how far I can go on the money I have left. Part of me fears that I won't be able to go far enough to escape Raymond's reach. Though, another part of me fears nowhere in the world will be far enough.

“I – I really don't know,” I say. “Anywhere but here, I guess.”

He sits back and looks like he doesn't know what to say. Or rather, that he has a million questions and is afraid to ask them. I look back down at my plate and content myself with stuffing my face. I eat everything – the pancakes, eggs, bacon, and hash browns. And when I've cleaned every last bit of it, I look at my plate longingly.

He pushes his plate – that he hasn't even touched – over to me. I look up at him and give him a small smile.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “You must think I'm a starving refugee or something.”

He shrugs. “I make no judgments.”

I pull the plate over and dig into the food, savoring every bite. I should feel happy. I'm free. I escaped from Raymond and the Ark. But ever since I left, all I've felt is fear. Nothing but tension and fear. I'm always looking over my shoulder, just waiting for Raymond and his men to find me. To haul me back to that pit of Hell.

Since I left, I haven't had a moment's peace and feel completely wrung out. I haven't slept for more than fifteen minutes or so at a time. I'm exhausted. And stuffing my face like I am is only making me more tired.

I look up at the man who's looking back at me intently, a look of pure curiosity on his face.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nods. “Shoot.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask. “Why are you so insistent on helping me?”

He chuckles to himself softly. “You want the truth?”

“Please.”

He sighs and puts his coffee cup down. “Honestly, I don't know,” he says. “I'm normally not the kind of guy who sticks my nose into other people's business or gets drawn into their drama.”

“Could have fooled me,” I say and grin.

He nods, the smile on his face looking somewhat awkward and out of place – and yet, strangely enough, it looks nice on him. It lights up his face and makes his eyes sparkle. I get the feeling though, that Eric Galloway isn't a man who smiles very often.

He's a handsome man. Dark hair, light blue eyes, chiseled features, and looks like he's in good shape. I would say that he works out a bit, although he's not an overly muscular, hulk of a guy. And although I normally don't like facial hair on men, his beard makes him look – distinguished, in a way. I have a feeling that if he ever shaved it off though, he'd look like a kid. I don't know how old he is exactly, but I can tell that he's a few years older than I am.

“It's just that...” he starts and then lets his voice taper off.

“It's just that what?” I ask.

He sighs. “It's just that when I saw you sitting over in that booth, looking so sad and lost – something made me feel like I had to help,” he says, his voice colored by uncertainty. “I don't know what it is, but something just kind of drew me to you. Made me want to find out what was wrong and do what I could to help fix it.”

I look down at the table and take a bite of my bacon, chewing it slowly. “I appreciate that,” I say. “But trust me when I tell you that there isn't anything you can do to fix this.”

“Try me,” I say. “If nothing else, I'm a good listener. I've even been known to come up with a good idea now and again.”

I keep eating, my mind spinning. Eric is being so nice to me and yet, I still feel on guard. I still don't know if I can trust him. Although I'm not in any position to turn down help if it's offered – and should take a helping hand – something inside of me just won't let me do it.

And as I let it rattle around in my head, really thinking about it, I realize that it's not just because I fear for me and my child, it's because I fear that anybody who helps me will end up like Danny. Shot down and dumped into a river.

It's a realization that's as simple as it is stark and rocks me to my very core. It's my fault that Danny's dead. And I know that as long as Raymond is hunting for me – and he'll always hunt for me – I'm never going to be safe. And anybody around me will be in danger too. I'm poison.

“I appreciate that, Eric,” I say. “I appreciate everything you've done for me. But the best thing you can do is get as far away from me as you can. It's safer for you that way.”

The smile that touches his lips is grim and a little sad. “Look,” he says. “I can't force you to accept my help – but I offer it willingly and with my eyes open. But you also don't need to protect me. I'm quite capable of protecting myself.”

I shake my head. “You don't know these men,” I say.

“I've been in a literal warzone,” he says. “I've had armed insurgents shooting at me. Throwing grenades at me. I've stared death in the eye more times than I can count. I know bad guys and I know death. And they don't scare me anymore. I can take care of myself.”

I finish what's on the plate and suddenly feel like I'm about to explode. Sitting back in the booth, I hold my belly and groan – and can't stifle the big yawn that comes over me.

“I think I ate too much,” I say.

He gives me a gentle smile. “I'm staying at a hotel down the street,” he says. “It's not the nicest place I've stayed in, but the water's hot and the bed's soft. Why don't you let me get you a room for the night? Maybe a good night's sleep will help.”

I'm overcome by gratitude as I look at him and don't know what to say. This man doesn't know me and yet, he's been nothing but kind. Compassionate. It's not something I'm used to. And deep down, there's still that part of me – a small voice that sounds like Raymond – that tells me it's not something I deserve.

“I can't let you do that,” I say.

He waves me off. “Sure you can,” he says. “You look like you can use some rest.”

I look down at my hands and don't say anything. The idea of a hot shower and a comfortable bed is incredibly appealing. But part of me thinks I need to keep moving. That I need to figure out my next step and take it.

But the siren song of a shower and a soft bed is strong. Overpoweringly strong.

I look up at him, a small smile upon my lips. “I don't know that I'll ever be able to repay you for your kindness.”

“There's only one thing I want in return.”

A lance of fear stabs my heart when he speaks. The jaded and cynical part of my mind tells me exactly what it is he wants – what most all men want from a woman – and I feel repulsed by it. The humiliation and degradation I suffered at Raymond's hands flashes through my mind. I see and feel the ghosts of what he did to me for all those years.

I try to fight off all the negative thoughts and emotions swirling through my mind. Eric has been nothing other than a complete gentleman. He's given me no reason to think he's anything other than that – a decent man. Like Danny. I try to wrap myself in the thoughts and memories of him. Of the only man who treated me like a human being. Treated me like somebody worth caring for.

“W – what do you want?” I ask softly and clear my throat.

“Your name,” he replies.

I look up at him and feel a wave of relief come crashing down over me. I smile, but inside feel terrible for making the judgments and assumptions I made about him. But experience is a tough master to overcome. And my experience in this life has left deep scars upon me.

“Calee,” I say. “Calee Russell.”

That warm smile that lights up his face returns and I feel a breath catch in my throat.

“Nice to meet you, Calee Russell,” he says. “Now, how about we go get you a room for the night?”

“I – I'd like that,” I say. “Thank you.”