Page 9 of Provoked

I eat my sandwich without really tasting it. I’m pretty sure my leg is better. I’m going to test it later today and then tomorrow make Justin take me into town for groceries and hopefully a car. And it’s also time to get back to work soon. I gave myself a two-week vacation to deal with the move, but that’s almost up and my materials will be arriving in the next day or so. I was going to use the room Justin’s sleeping in as my studio, but that would be awkward, assuming he’s still here when the boxes arrive. So many moving puzzle pieces.

Setting the tray aside, I inspect my injured leg. The swelling went down yesterday and the bruising is starting to fade. It’s still pretty virulent but less colorful than it was. Hesitantly, I swing it over the side of the bed, eyeing the doorway for a sudden Justin appearance. All clear. I stand waiting for the wince of pain, but it doesn’t come. I’m better!

I walk the length of the room carefully, delighted when all I feel is a slight hesitancy in my gait from being laid up. When I turn to walk back, Justin is standing in the doorway, glowering.

“Relax. It’s better. Really.”

“Sit, and let me see,” he orders, pointing at the bed.

With a sigh, I do as he said, raising my leg up for his inspection. His touch is gentle as he runs his fingers over my shin.Finally, he gives a nod, looking slightly shut off. Isn’t he pleased?

“Justin?” I falter, not even sure what I’m asking.

He gives me a weak smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “I want to make sure you have transportation of your own, then I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow.”

My heart sinks. It’s what I expected. No, it’s what I want. Isn’t it? I nod again. “We can go into town in the morning? I want to get groceries, anyway.”

“Right. Better rest up then. That’s going to be a busy day.”

He sounds dead serious and his face is stern, but I catch the twinkle deep in his eyes, which means he meant that as a joke. I give him a genuine smile back. “You should check your blood pressure while we’re there and when you get back to New York. I’ll bet it’s a hundred times lower here.”

He snorts. “Cows rarely require legal services, Ingrid.”

I snicker at the image of him in his fancy suits listening to a friendly bovine complain about a corporate takeover. It could happen.

I still don’t feel right about leaving Ingrid here, so isolated and alone. But as she’s said numerous times, she’s an adult and can make her own decisions. I respect that, but I know damn well she still has no idea of the amount of evil lurking in the world. And she shouldn’t need to, and wouldn’t if she had someone here with only her interests at heart to protect her.

My brain turns that puzzle over as I head back downstairs. God only knows what messages are waiting for me on my cell. There’s no signal here, and the internet hasn’t been connected yet so… I’m cut off from all my usual sources of information. I don’t like it. It makes me feel naked somehow. But going back to my penthouse, even though it’s filled with every modern convenience and ultra high security communications leaves me feeling cold.

That ambiguity hangs over my head as we head into ‘town’. As near as I can tell when we get there, it’s some buildings on either side of the highway. If there’s even one cross street, I missed it as we drove past. At twenty-five miles an hour. The scenery is beautiful, though. Tall pine trees shelter between giant boulders along the road. About ten miles past the far edge of town, we find the grocery store Ingrid directed me to. It’s bigger than I expected, but hardly super-sized. I gather from the vehicles pulling in from both directions of the highway that it must serve more than one local community.

Ingrid puts me in charge of pushing the cart, and I let her. I haven’t done my own grocery shopping in at least twenty years. And since I found Kathy, I haven’t even had to make the list. So I’m slightly in awe of Ingrid’s easy maneuvering of the crowded aisles. Her eyes scan, and then she selects. A few times she squints at the ingredient list and then puts the item back, selecting a different brand.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she remarks dryly as she sets a jar of dill pickles in the cart.

“Merely contemplating how long it’s been since I’ve been in a grocery store.” I don’t mean it in a pejorative way, but of course, Ingrid’s spine stiffens.

She opens her mouth to say something, no doubt provoking if the sparks in her eyes are anything to judge by. But then her jaw lifts abruptly, and she turns away. In an odd way, I’m disappointed.

The rest of the grocery run is conducted in silence. If Ingrid is seething, she doesn’t show it. She’s all business as we check out except for the glare when I instinctively reach for my wallet.

I make brisk business of loading the bags into the back of my rental while Ingrid keeps up a running commentary on the local community based on studying the parking lot. “Crazy drivers,” she mutters as we both turn to watch a dark vehicle maneuver for a closer spot by zig-zagging between lanes through unoccupied spaces.

“I’d like to see someone try that in New York,” I comment idly, trying to see who’s driving.

The auto dealership is another twenty miles up the deserted highway. Five salesmen instinctively appear and begin salivating when they catch sight of Ingrid’s Nordic beauty. And that air of old money, but really I think they’d all forego the sale if she asked them to fetch her something from the other side of town. I growl in warning and they immediately sober up. The older one of the lot steps forward.

“How can we help you today?”

“Iam looking for something basic that can handle these roads year-round.” Her emphasis on the singular pronoun does not go unnoticed. An hour later and Ingrid is smiling with satisfaction from behind the wheel of a used all-wheel-drive sedan. Her happiness is at odds with the vehicle as far as I’m concerned. It cost less than her monthly allowance would be if she did as she was told and lived in New York. It’s at least ten years old and there are claw marks on the dashboard. From what, nobody can say, but Ingrid laughingly insists that the vehicle must have belonged to a werewolf and she can’t wait to tell her friend Rose all about it.

“I thought you two weren’t friends anymore?” I ask bewildered when she said that. She looks genuinely shocked.

“Whatever gave you that idea? She moved to Washington because that’s where her husband’s job is, but we talk at least once a week. And she’s due any minute now.”

“Due?”

“A baby, Justin. You do know what those are, right?”

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