Page 36 of Wanted

"Good." She crosses her arms over her heaving chest and settles back onto the bed. But not without those fiery eyes pinning me in place.

"I don't think you any less capable because you're in a shit situation," I say quietly.

"It doesn't feel that way."

"You catch me off guard sometimes. It's been a long time since I've had to be in survival mode. I forgot what it's like."

"What do you mean?" Her voice is equally quiet. A grittiness not normally present enters her tone.

But I'm not here to swap war stories and have a heart-to-heart over pancakes. "I'll call the doctor. Enjoy your breakfast."

"Jude!"

I pause at the door with my back to the room. I turn my chin toward my shoulder. "Not something I like to talk about, Frankie. Leave it at that."

10

Frankie

The scratch of the pencil against the paper soothes me. Only a week has passed since I last immersed myself in drawing, but the time away feels much longer. Each swipe allows the world to melt away until all that remains is me and my work.

I've been drawing for as long as I can remember. The realism style attracted my attention from the time I was little, left alone and bored in our house. The lights would be off because someone inevitably forgot to pay the power bill, so I'd prop a flashlight up beside me in the corner of my bedroom and doodle. Over the years those doodles transformed into a style uniquely my own.

The past several years I worked with a small boutique in town to commission my work. Any free time I could spare I'd spend working on canvasses for Lola to sell in her shop. Enough tourists would pass through our town on their way up north that I managed to sell a few higher-priced ones a year. It wasn't until Lola opened her online shop that I really started to see a decent payout.

Our dynamic worked seamlessly. She handled the business side of things that I had no time or inclination for, and in return, she'd receive a small percentage of my earnings.

Saying goodbye to Lola and her boutique was one of the hardest parts of getting into that car with Dillon. I said goodbye to a piece of my independence for someone else’s pipe dream.

Now that I'm still in the state, I wonder if I should reach out to her. I could continue to draw in my free time and make some extra money to supplement what I'll make from Jude. She still has two of my art pieces up on her online shop that we agreed to leave until they sell. I've already decided once the money comes in from them, I'll pay Jude and his sisters back for their kindness.

My attention shifts from the paper in front of me to my current muse, the fluffy white dog sleeping against my feet. I wiggle my bare toes and brush against her soft fur. I know Jude isn't happy his favorite companion has temporarily chosen me over her master, but she's brought me so much comfort over the last couple of days. I can't imagine I would have stuck around this long without her.

Despite agreeing to stay, I still feel as if my insides are all jumbled. The missing pieces of my memory is the clear culprit to my unsettled state.

The other obvious reason is Jude.

Not because he's prickly. I actually quite enjoy his gruffly spoken words and his bantering attitude.

No, it's the way he seems to effortlessly care that's thrown me for a loop.

For all he's shown me, I'd have expected him to be rude for the sake of being rude. But the more time I spend around him, the more I can feel there's something beneath the surface. Jude uses his sharp tongue as a defense mechanism. An electrically charged fence he's erected around himself to keep unwanted feelings—or people—out.

The more time I spend around him, the more I want to know why he put up the fence to begin with.

Yet despite his rigidity and fortified walls, he's taken to caring for me as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Something I suspect is inherently the true Jude Powell. He might trade a few barbs in the process, but to me, they speak of his adjustment to the circumstances. I don't refuse to believe he's simply an ass.

Assholes I've met don't care about some random woman in dire circumstances. In fact, they prey upon them.

For all he's offered, Jude's never asked anything in return.

I suspect if I put up a fight about helping at his sanctuary, he'd rescind that requirement too. Not that I would. But I can just feel it in my bones that he wouldn't force me to do anything I didn't want to do, unless it was for my benefit. Like forcing me back to the doctor for a proper cast.

I look down at the purple wrap encasing my right arm and smile softly. Jude managed to talk the doctor into seeing me bright and early on Friday. That was two days ago, and he's been scarcely in my presence since.

That all ends tomorrow when I begin working for him with his dogs.

A knock echoes off the wall.

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