59
Nostrils flaring with the scent of frying bacon, Ethan slowly opened his eyes as his hand reached for Zoë. Awareness dawned with the feel of the bedsheet under his palm. Of course she wasn’t beside him, she was cooking. His eyes snapped open. It was Monday morning. Was she cooking for the men, after everything she’d been through last night? He jerked upright but his motion stopped abruptly as a crippling pain raged in his side. Right, the gunshot wound.
Slowly, he rose from bed, and pulled on a pair of jeans, unsure if anyone else was in the house or if it was just Zoë downstairs. The bright sunlight spilling through the window told him it was far later than his usual waking time. He was miffed she hadn’t woken him. She’d undoubtedly thought he needed sleep, but he’d so wanted to wake up with her still in his arms. They felt more than empty, they felt abandoned, and he told himself that was ridiculous. She was downstairs. She hadn’t abandoned him.
His trip down the stairs took more time than he’d wanted. He was eager to see her, to ensure she was okay after last night’s horrors. Holding his arm protectively against his throbbing side, he made his made to the kitchen. Then he stood in the doorway and watched Zoë bustle around the kitchen in her normal manner.
Dressed in jeans and a blouse, her hair in a high ponytail, she flipped the sizzling bacon in a frying pan, then placed another pan on the neighbouring element and turned the stove’s dial. Turning to go to the fridge, she spotted him, and a warm smile spread across her lips.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” he responded slowly, unsure why she appeared so normal.
“Good.” She motioned to the island. “I got up early as usual. I went to town and got your prescription filled. You should take one.”
“Tell me you didn’t cook breakfast for the men.”
“No, Skip called me earlier to inform me he’d called them all and told them to eat before coming to work, to make sure we weren’t disturbed.”
Good man. He should’ve known Skip would handle the men, even with the concussion he had. Thinking Skip might have just earned a raise, he drew closer to the island. Zoë extracted eggs from the fridge, and then moved back to the stove. Her motions confused him. She was acting so normal. Last night, she’d been attacked in this very room by a man intent on killing her. He couldn’t understand how she could, the next morning, fall right back into her normal schedule, as if nothing had happened. After taking a painkiller, he leaned against the counter and watched her add butter to the pan. Then he noticed the slight shake to her shoulders. When she released a sob, he rushed to her, turned her to face him, and enveloped her in his arms.
“I tried,” she sobbed out, “I tried to act like everything was okay, and normal.”
She cried harder, and he reached out to turn off the stove, then moved the smoking pan off the element. He held her tightly, stroking her head and back, whispering soothing words, telling her they’d get through this with time. He believed his words fervently. It wouldn’t be easy, and they had a rocky path ahead of them, but they would get through it, with the help of one another.
Slowly, she calmed and then pulled away from him. She dabbed under her eyes with a paper towel, then blew her nose with it and discarded it. After washing her hands, she turned to face him.
“I don’t cry.” Well, she just had, but he figured she rarely did. The fact she’d needed to cry now solidified what he’d already known. She needed to take the time to address what had happened. “We’re going to have breakfast. We both need to eat, and you’re supposed to take those pills with food. After breakfast, we’ll talk. I know there’s much I need to tell you, and I will, I promise.”
With breakfast finished, they sat facing one another in the dining room, coffees in hand. She told him everything she’d been keeping from him. Repeating her story of how she fled Toronto, she added in details this time, how she’d been prepared with money, temporary IDs, and disguises. How she’d texted her father, purchased her truck and phone in Edmonton, and carefully searched for a job listing in a secluded environment. She even told him things he was surprised she shared, like how her mother had left just after her birth, and how active her grandparents had been in her upbringing. Her grandfather had been a retired CSIS agent and he, too, instructed her, having her field-stripping firearms from the age of six. Ethan found that odd, but couldn’t deny she’d had a loving experience as a child, evidenced by how adoringly she spoke of her grandparents and father. She explained how her father’s job could make those around him a target, and that was why she’d been working at the restaurant in Toronto under a synthetic identity. She outlined how she’d lived, avoiding an on-line footprint, never making close friendships, always on guard and ready to flee if needed. He’d found that sad, and reached out to hold her hand.
Finished her story, she sighed. “I’m so sorry I lied to you for so long. I understand if you can’t forgive me for that.”
“I already have,” he replied. “I understand why you felt you needed to keep things to yourself, but I really do wish you had have trusted me. We could’ve avoided a lot of misunderstanding and hurt if you’d been honest earlier.”
“I know, and I’ll always regret not confiding in you when I should have.”
He ran his thumb over her knuckles. She’d told him more than he expected, and it solidified what he knew. They belonged together. While they’d had a shaky start, she trusted him. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, exactly what he’d always dreamt of but never thought he could have. She was confident, fearless, compassionate, talented, so damn intelligent, and astoundingly beautiful. Best of all, she loved him as much as he loved her. She was perfect and, the danger that had plagued her behind them now, she could truly be his.
Heart soaring with that knowledge, something still nagged at him. She’d told him, and her father, that she wanted to remain on the ranch with him, but he needed to know in what context. He almost felt foolish asking, considering they’d only known each other for a month, but he had to voice the question. Nothing about their relationship so far had been normal, so he figured his proposal didn’t need to be either.
“I don’t need your regrets, but I do need your vow.”
When she cocked her head, he continued. “I want you to stay here on the ranch, with me. But, if you do, it’s for the long run. I don’t do things halfway and I need all of you. Ranching isn’t for most women, but then again you’re not just any woman.” He shrugged. “Shit, darling, you know I suck at voicing my feelings. What I’m trying to ask is, will you be mine? Wholeheartedly, and for life? Will you be my girlfriend, knowing I will make you my wife someday, when we’re ready to marry? I need to know. Will you be mine?”