Chapter Ten
Sam
Holy Hell. The fear in Marynne's eyes shook me to the core. She honestly thought I would rape her because she allowed me a kiss. After hearing a little more about how she was raised, I could understand how it happened, but Dear God! No woman should have to fear spending a few moments with a man, and being attracted to him, would lead to anything she didn't want to happen. Yes, I knew there were men out there who didn't know the meaning of the word no, but for any woman to be raised to believe owning a penis made a person deaf to the word…it was twisted on so many different levels.
That old bitch expertly terrified Marynne of males, ensuring she took no chances at losing her virginity before Grams decreed it acceptable. She also made sure the poor girl could never trust a man, even when she eventually married. That woman needed to be set straight, but the harm was done. She succeeded in hurting Marynne in too many ways to count or measure.
My reactions to Marynne concerned me as much as the damage her grandmother had done her. I felt like a moth being drawn into a flame. I knew I should keep my distance from her. I wasn't looking for any kind of relationship, and she was too damaged for a relationship, or for just having fun. Oil and water. Moth and flame. Yet I felt an undeniable pull to protect her, to fix everything for her. To simply be with her.
If I knew what was good for me, as soon as Nate rolled up tomorrow, I would ask Dad to send me out and let Nate take my place doing stuff around home with her. Nate was withdrawn and distant enough that she posed no risk to him. He wasn't going to fall in love with her. I, on the other, just might.
Fuck!
The old bunkhouse loomed in the near distance, and I allowed my feet to turn in that direction. Dad didn't allow alcohol in the house, but my brothers and I had long kept a bottle stashed in the bunkhouse, just in case one of us needed a drink. None of us were drinkers by nature, beyond a beer here and there, but some things simply warranted the hard stuff. This was one of those things. Maybe a jolt to my brain from some ninety-proof would shake something loose and I could navigate my way clear of this situation with Marynne.
Whichever way things went, though, I was not willing to send her away to preserve my own sanity. She needed a safe place to learn who she was and what she liked. I wanted that place to be here, among people who gave a damn what happened to her and wouldn't take advantage of her. She had a world of damage to overcome, and she would need all the help in the world to get through it.
The dusty bottle waited right where we'd left it, in the back of a dank and musty cabinet intended to hold a cowboy's personal belongings. I opened it, and didn't bother wishing for a glass. This kind of drink needed to come straight from the neck of the bottle.
The whiskey burned going down, nearly choking me at first with the unaccustomed taste. After a few seconds, my skin started to warm, followed by everything else. The smart thing would be to put the lid back on and leave the bottle where I found it, and get the hell out of there. I never claimed to be all that smart. Instead, I took another long pull. And another.
After a few moments, the world looked decidedly less bleak. I could figure out a way through this mess that left Marynne unharmed, and me sane. And I could still enjoy her company. Yes. That was it. I would show her how a real man treated a woman. No forcing. No pushing or coercing. Just supporting her and expecting nothing in return. She might even learn to trust eventually. And I would get to be near her, to help her.
The walk back to the house seemed far longer than usual, but I laid that off on being so tired. It had been a long day, after all. If taking a drink clarified problems like this, I would definitely put it on my list of problem solving skills. I laughed out loud. Something about that thought struck me as hilarious, but I couldn't remember what.
Around the time I reached the porch, my feet started trying to tangle themselves together. Gramma's old rocking chair looked like the perfect place to rest and get my shit back together. I aimed for the seat and sat down, but missed and landed on the porch on my ass. My brothers would laugh their asses off at me. One good drink of liquor, and I was drunk off my ass. Literally. I chuckled then gave up and lay back on the porch.
At some point, I must have fallen asleep there, because I dreamed of Marynne's kisses, warm and wet, but then I realized it was real, not a dream. I kept my eyes closed and let her keep kissing me, enjoying every moment. Until she began to pant in my face.
My eyes popped open, unable to focus at first, but then, Shep's big brown eyes and broad smile came into sharp detail. "Motherfucker." I scrubbed my hand over my face and mouth, wiping away his slobber.
"Son, I hope you have a good explanation for sleeping out on the porch, for making out with the dog, and for smelling like a distillery exploded." Dad's voice made me wince.
"That bad, huh?" My voice sounded thick. Felt like one of Janna's stuffed toys took a crap in my mouth and left behind all its stuffing.
"Yep. That bad." Ice cold water suddenly splashed over my face, forcing me to sit up, spluttering. "Get your ass sobered up before Miss Marynne wakes up. You go acting like every damn jackass her old dragon bitch told her about, you won't have a chance with her."
I stared. "How did you—?"
He shook his head, cutting me off. "Son, you don't make a good drunk. You tell every damn thing you know when you pass out." His boots thudded painfully across the porch as he left to take care of his early chores.
Marynne
The house still sat silent as I slipped from my room, lugging my bag along after me. I had no idea how I might do it, but I knew I had to get out of here. All night long, my brain reminded me of the dangers Sam Quick presented to me. The drugging passion of his kisses easily made me forget the risks. Eventually, I might be forced to endure a man's lusts in exchange for some kind of security, but I hadn't reached that point yet. I spent hours reminding myself that Sam's lusts were the same as those of any other man, including the boy who nearly raped me when I was fifteen. The restless night left me exhausted and wanting nothing more than to snuggle deeper in the bed and just stay there, but I didn't have that luxury.
My plan, if you could call it that, involved getting myself to town. Surely if I made it out to the road, I could catch a ride. From there, I would ask the preacher to help me make arrangements. Surely he could do that much after giving away my position and lodging. Even though Mr. Quick's praise had given me some measure of confidence, I couldn't stay in this area. I would have to go somewhere to find work and begin to make my own success.
Logically, I knew all these things, but the rest of me wanted to stay right there. Sam promised he wasn't like Grandmother described men. Considering everything else, I should at least give him the benefit of the doubt despite my personal experiences. Grandmother proved without a doubt, over and over, that she had something other than my best interests in mind. So far, Sam had done nothing but help me. I couldn't afford to take the chance, though. So, I had to leave.
I wished I'd thought to leave a note, explaining to Mr. Quick after his kindness, but I couldn't risk taking the time now. Careful not to make a sound, I paused at the door for another look around. I would miss this place. I would always consider it as the first step in finding myself, no matter where or how that ended up. With one last regretful look over my shoulder, I stepped onto the porch.
And promptly fell over something solid and heavy. Something that grunted as I landed half across it. Pain speared through the palm of my hand, giving me no time to consider what I'd tripped over, and I cried out.
I moved again, but not under my own power. I kept my eyes squeezed tightly closed, not needing to see to recognize Sam's touch and scent. He sat me upright and cradled me to his chest.
"Marynne, what are you doing out here?" He sounded hoarse, like he had a sore throat. "Shit, your hand's bleeding. Come on." He shuffled me around some and stood, then lifted me in his arms.
"I'm okay." I finally found the backbone to resist a little.
"Stop. That's a lot of blood and you're going to make it worse."
For the first time, I looked at my hand, and immediately wanted to vomit. Blood flowed freely from a gash, down my fingers, and dripped to the ground. "Oh, God."
He set me down, but I didn't pay attention to where. I couldn't take my eyes off the blood. "Shit. Of all the times for me to get drunk." Water began running. "Okay, this will probably hurt, but we need to get out any dirt and get some idea how bad the cut is."
I shrieked as an iron band clamped around my wrist and dragged my hand forward, then thrust it under an icy flow of water. My head spun, and my stomach made threats again. "Gonna be sick."
"Breathe with me. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slow down." His arms wrapped around me and his voice began a hypnotic rhythm, compelling me to listen and calm down. "You're okay now. I'm going to put some pressure on there to get the bleeding stopped now. Ready?"
I kept my eyes closed and nodded. The grip around my wrist gentled, and I realized it was his fingers, not metal. Soft cloth pressed against my palm as he raised my hand above my shoulder. And then the pressure came. I cried out again.
"I'm sorry. I'm really trying not to hurt you, but we have to get this under control." My hand throbbed so hard with every beat of my heart, I felt like Daisy stood on it. Sam stayed close, commanding me to keep breathing with him.
I nodded. "Talk to me. Say anything. Please" I kept my eyes clenched.
He gave a little chuckle. "Yes, ma'am. And then you can talk to me. How about I tell you how I came to be laying on the porch in front of the door?"
I nodded. It didn't matter what he said, as long as it distracted me from the pain in my hand, even a little.
"Last night, after you came inside, I walked around for a bit, thinking. I came to the conclusion your Grandmother worked even more of a number on you than I'd thought. She downright lied to you. I also came to the conclusion I want you to stay here and get to learn how things really work. And I realized I didn't want you to be afraid of me, and that means I don't pressure you and that I keep my distance, no matter how badly I want to be near you. So, to drown my sorrows, I snuck out to the old bunkhouse where my brothers and I stashed a bottle of whiskey a long time ago. A drink sounded like the perfect way to get it all straight in my head, but I think I must have drank more than I'd planned. When I came back to the house, I fell on the porch and didn't have the energy to get up, so I stayed. And I woke up thinking you were kissing me, but it was Shep. And Dad poured ice water on me. Now, your turn."
I tried to process all he'd said and figure out what to say. "I was leaving. I like you, but I'll get hurt eventually if I stay. I couldn't face that, so I was being a coward and sneaking away without saying goodbye." Wow. That was absolutely not what I meant to say. "I mean—"
"I know you don't trust me. I can't blame you, considering. You need to know though, I'll leave before I hurt you."
I couldn't do it. This conversation had gone into dangerous territory, and I had no idea how to get it back to comfortable ground. So I kept silent.
After an eternity, Sam let me lower my hand. "Let's take a look. I think the bleeding has mostly stopped." Gently, he peeled back the cloth, which I now realized had been his shirt. The calloused tips of his fingers moved over my skin, soft as butterfly wings. "I don't think you need stitches, but you'll have to keep it bandaged up and clean. Sit still so you don't fall, I'll be right back with the first aid kit."
He left and I felt like he took all the air out of the room with him. I concentrated on making my lungs work, and paying attention. He had placed me on the counter by the sink when he set me down, so getting down would be simple enough on my own. Yet I still followed his directions and stayed there. I reasoned that moving around could start the cut bleeding again, and I certainly preferred that not happen.
Sam returned, his hair damp, and water droplets rolling down the tanned skin of his still-bare chest. I swallowed hard as my stomach tightened with nerves. "Sorry, I took time to wash the dog drool off, and brush my teeth before I killed you with morning breath." Indeed, his breath smelled minty fresh. He placed a big white box on the counter beside me, then tugged my hand closer.
I hissed, then concentrated on looking anywhere but my hand when he began to dab antiseptic on the deep gash. My gaze immediately settled on the base of his throat, and the pulse beating wildly beneath his skin. An insane impulse begged me to lean forward, just a little, and taste his flesh.
I must have made a sound, because he shushed me. "Shh. I'm sorry. Almost done. I just don't want you getting an infection." The words drew my attention to his lips, and the memory of how they felt on my own last night. How could something so amazing lead to anything bad?