Page 37 of Suspicion

Slipping from the cabin, he ensured the door was locked before he reentered the barn. Working quickly, he cleared away the fallen pieces of rope, the abandoned cup that had provided him with so much entertainment the night before, and collected the oil lamp. Bringing the items back into the cabin, he returned outside one last time to the small pantry outhouse, where he kept food items that perished without the cool air. Selecting a pie he’d made the day before her arrival, he collected a bowl of water and was back in the cabin before Ella had even noticed, shutting and bolting the door behind him.

Turning to what constituted his kitchen, he shared out the water into various vessels, using one to clean his hands before he transferred the pie from its cloth cover and placed it inside the pot already in place over the fire. The pot hung over the flames, secured by a tripod he’d built himself from various scrap metal he’d collected from town. The trick to successful baking without a stove was to ensure a constant temperature throughout the cooking time. The cast-iron pot achieved this with enough time, and since the contents of the pie had already been braised, all that was required was to cook the pastry.

Satisfied that there would soon be a hot meal for them both, he turned his attention to his paperwork. Pulling up one of only two chairs in the cabin, he glanced back at Ella before he took his place at the counter by the window.

The fact that he chose a simpler life for himself didn’t mean that he himself was simple. Tucker knew where every penny of his money was at any given moment. He knew who owed him and where their pressure points were.

Ella.

He straightened, twisting around to see her again. She was one of those pressure points, another name on a list he’d kept for years, but never in his cold pursuit of cash had he considered holding one of those pressure points as a hostage. At worst, she should only have been a bargaining chip—leverage that he could use over Bennett. It had been the asshole himself who’d suggested Tucker take her as a warranty for his arrears.

But I agreed.

His fist clenched around the pen. Yes, he’d agreed. Did that make him as bad as her father or perhaps an even bigger monster than Alexander Bennett?

He shuddered at the thought. If Tucker thought he was genuinely as corrupt as Bennett, he’d have taken the blade to his throat. The truth was, he wasn’t that awful. Sure, he was a bad man. He’d made unfeeling decisions to suit his own needs, but he’d never sacrificed someone he loved for cold, hard cash.

Because I don’t love anyone.

A wave of cold realization broke over him, sweat beading on his brow as he contemplated the accuracy of his thoughts. The lack of love in his life was at the crux of everything, at the root of every choice.

Because he didn’t have anyone to love, he had nothing to lose. There was money, of course, but its endless digits and piles of paper brought little reassurance.

Perhaps he’d never know love. Maybe the feeling had been vacant from his life for so long that he wouldn’t recognize it if it came calling. Deep down, he feared he wasn’t capable of feeling anything. That his previous traumas had left nothing but scar tissue where there had once been a beating heart.

“Something smells good.”

She sounded sleepy as she stirred, and by the time he’d spun around to face her, she’d lifted her bound wrists to her face to brush away her hair.

“I’m glad you think so.” He couldn’t resist a smile at her disheveled appearance.

Fresh from her nap and the night’s ordeal, her hair was unkempt, and the bags under her eyes told their own story, but to Tucker, she looked glorious. God only knew how scum like Bennett had helped to make her.

“It’s a pie I made the day before yesterday.” He turned back to his papers, collecting them into a neat pile and moving them aside. The accountancy would have to wait now he had better-looking distractions. He reasoned that he’d cope.

“You made a pie?” Her brow rose as if she couldn’t believe he was capable.

“That’s right.” He was happy to surprise her. Military service and years of living alone had made him more than able to cope. In actual fact, he suspected he was a pretty decent chef, especially given the rudimentary conditions he had to work with. “Don’t tell me you eat gluten-free?”

Living in the wilderness made dietary concepts like gluten-free seem almost absurd, but somehow, it wouldn’t have shocked him if Ella had turned out to subscribe to it. She was certainly slim, which made him wonder if she ate many carbs at all.

“No, I’m…” Her voice trailed away as she glanced around the cabin. “I just hadn’t expected you to cook.”

“Of course, I cook.” He rose from his seat and walked toward her. “I have to look after myself.”

“Right.” She tugged his mother’s blue blanket higher as he neared. “I don’t do much cooking myself.”

Now, there’s a surprise…

“So, how do you survive?” He’d wager he already knew the answer. Tucker had left a life that he bet was similar to Ella’s. No doubt she had at least a cook, a cleaner, and a housekeeper to take care of her domestic chores.

“Other people help me.” She didn’t elaborate, but he noticed the emotion brimming in her eyes. The reminder of the life she’d been snatched from presumably stung. “And I guess I never learned.”

“Listen, are you okay?” It was a stupid question to ask. Of course, she wasn’t all right. He’d had her tied in the barn and had treated her like shit. Why would she be all right?

“Not really.” She turned her head away from him as he perched on the edge of the bed beside her.

“Hey.” His brows furrowed. Tucker had no right to offer consolation—he had no right for any of this—but something about her pained expression tugged at what remained of his heartstrings. “Today’s another day. It’s a better day.”

---