Page 21 of Finding Limits

“Mornin’.” His low, raspy voice whispers into my ear and I breathe it in like it’s fresh air.

“I didn’t mean to—” He goes to move his arm away.

“It’s fine.” I rest my hand over it to keep it where it is, and when I feel him tense I wonder if it’s out of frustration or fear.

“It’s Sunday. You don’t have to rush off, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” I don’t turn around, but I can imagine the smile on his face. The half amused, half trying not to be, smile that always warms the pit of my stomach.

“I slept again last night, no nightmares.” I spin around so I can see what his reaction to that is.

“That’s good to hear.” His Adam’s apple sticks out as he swallows heavily, and I can’t help noticing how his eyes are fixed on my lips.

“Look, Mitch, I know this arrangement is odd. All of it is, but?—”

“If it's what ya need, I’m here for it,” he interrupts me.

“I’d just hate to think that there was a person out there that I was taking you away from.” I don’t even want to imagine that could be the case but I have to be sure.

“There ain’t no person.” His jaw tenses.

“But there could be.” I turn my body to face him properly. “Mitch, you're a good man. Every night, you come to me when you could be out?—”

“I’ve had my days of bein’ out. I can promise ya that comin’ home to you is exactly where I wanna be. One day, who knows, we might go out together.” I see a little sparkle of hope in his eyes, and even though the thought of it terrifies me I like the idea of making him happy.

“Maybe.” I shrug, knowing that day is a long way off. I don’t feel comfortable stepping out into the yard to hang out washing, let alone face up to civilization.

“Everythin’ at your pace, you know that,” he assures me.

“What is this?” I shake my head and laugh nervously. “We lie together like a master and his wife, but we’re not…” I trail off, not knowing what I’m trying to get at.

“What we have here, Everleigh, is a man who cares greatly for a woman and wants to save her from her past. You had no choices where ya came from, here you have nothin’ but choices. I’ll lie like this with ya every night for as long as you need me to, and I expect nothin’ for it.”

“You're a good man,” I tell him, wondering if the butterflies I get in my stomach every time I hear his deep, gravelly voice will ever fade away. “I want to give you more.”

Suddenly he looks panicked and he quickly slides away from me to climb out of bed.

“Where are you going?” I sit up.

“I just remembered Wade wants me to take the horse he’s trainin’ out for a stretch alongside JD. I won’t be gone long, but I could call Josie. I’m sure she’s better.”

“It’s fine, I don’t need her, not if you won’t be long.” I feel a little disappointed that he has to leave, and I can’t help wondering if it’s because of what I said. Lying beside him felt nice, and not at all awkward like it should have. I wanted to give him some indication of my feelings so maybe I could get a clue about what he’s thinking.

“You want me to make us some breakfast?” I climb out of bed myself, suddenly desperate for him to stay a little longer.

“No, sooner I can get gone, the sooner I can get back. I just… I should get goin’.” He picks up his jeans from the floor and rushes out the room. Seeing him so eager to get away from me puts a sick feeling in my stomach and makes me want to chase after him.

I hear the front door click five minutes later and when I step out into the kitchen and see my journal resting on the table, I open it and see my handwriting staring back up at me. I don’t want to read the words that I wrote yesterday, it would be a step backward. I have to focus on moving forward. My therapist was right, writing them down is clearing my head and allowing some space. Space that is currently being occupied by a certain cowboy who I want so badly to be normal for.

I sit at the table and pick up the pen, deciding to free up a little more space for him.

The door opens and when Solomon treads carefully down the stairs, I see the tray balanced on his hand and my stomach instantly grumbles. Abraham feeds me twice a day, and it's always stale bread or tasteless gruel. I see fresh fruit on a plate that’s on the tray and what looks a lot like a slice of cake.

“Morning, little dove.” He smiles as he places it on the floor, just out of the bounds that my shackles allow me to stretch to.

“Please, can you empty my bucket?” I refuse to look at the food he’s brought down here to tease me with. I’d much rather focus on the bucket that's overflowing with my body waste.

“All in good time.” He steps up in front of me.

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