Page 111 of Those Who Are Bound

Jonah: WHY?

Lucy: Dude. Seriously.

Jonah: Call me.

Elliott tipped the beer bottle to her lips as she sat on the tree stump, one foot up as she draped her elbow across her raised knee, staring blankly at the stacked stones. When she had escaped here after her confrontation with the tree trimmers, the stones had, of course, been knocked over in the storm.It happened. Nature knocked them over, and she re-stacked them. That was the point.

Well, the calming effect was the point. And there was supposed to be a message somewhere about how constant things were always changing.

This afternoon, her third beer in the sweltering heat was the calming effect more than the act of stacking the stones, and the message was lost on her.

It would figure that after two hours of having a sense of peace and happiness, of being optimistic that she could begin to move beyond her guilt, something would happen to smack her in the face, as though to punish her for her hubris. The replacement crew didn’t know her rule: no ropes. She’d walked to the front of the property with a paper lawn bag of limbs and had seen men using ropes to pull down a tree limb.

Yep, she’d freaked out. At first, she’d frozen. Stared, looking at the web of lines snaking up into the trees. Her mind had battered her with images of a hanging man, but her own demon had also breathed fire; the conflict had nearly sent her to her knees. She’d screamed at them. She’d screamed at Lucy. She’d pointed her finger, ordering the ropes gone; berating Lucy. She’dtoldher ropes weren’t allowed on the property.

She ignored the blonde’s stricken expression; ignored how the older woman tried to calm her, placate her. “Get them the fuck off my property, Lucy!” Had been her last words before she’d stormed into the event space, grabbed a beer, and had escaped here, into the woods on the back of the property.

Long enough ago that her heart rate had settled. The images had cleared. The demon was chained. The rocks were stacked and the beer was warm. The cicadas were beginning to shriek in the late afternoon heat. And she was exhausted.

She was turning her phone over and over in her other hand, contemplating calling Becks back. So far, she had been able to resist the temptation, telling herself to let him have his moment of peace when it came to her. He hadn’t had these moments often—she couldn’t take it away from him so quickly, so selfishly—because she couldn’t keep her cool over a few lines of rope strung on her property.

Dropping her head onto her crooked elbow, she gave herself a little rock. She would have to apologize to Lucy, poor woman. Right after admitting that Elliott made her nervous, she had to suffer through a meltdown. So unprofessional. The whole episode had been embarrassing.

The crunch of twigs made her sigh; at least Lucy was brave enough to seek her out.

Lifting her head, Elliott looked toward the path that led to her little sanctuary. She blinked and frowned, her heartbeat speeding up, not sure she believed what she saw: Jonah standing in front of the small clearing where the stones were stacked. He was taking in the design she had created, his hands in the pockets of his dark blue pants. He was wearing a short-sleeved burgundy cotton shirt and his boots.

Elliott turned her phone over and peered at the screen, wondering if she’d missed a text. When she glanced back at him in question, he was focused on her.

She held up her phone. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were going to text.” Not that she cared. Seeing him was more soothing to her soul than stacking a mountain of stones. She needed him, and he was somehow here.

He gave a short shake of his head and looked at the stacked stones again. “Did you do this?”

Elliott looked at the stones. “Yep.”

“Hidden talents, Miss Rork.”

Elliott looked from him to the three-foot high design. “Not really. Gage used to do it; it calmed him, focused him.”

“What does it do for you?”

She shrugged, dropping her leg to the ground, bracing her feet at the base of the stump, resting the beer bottle between her spread thighs. “I suppose it does the same.” She pushed her phone into her back pocket.

He moved around the circular clearance toward her. His perusal of her was so thorough, she became self-conscious about what had to be a disheveled appearance. Large wisps of hair escaped her bun; she was decorated with dirt, bark, and bits of leaves from her labors, along with a couple of scrapes.

He stopped in front of her and took a piece of bark from her hair, smiling as he showed it to her before tossing it away.

Elliott shrugged. Yep, she was a hot mess.

Squatting down between her legs, he pulled the beer bottle from her light grip and took a swig, grimacing at the warm fizz. He gave it back. “Elliott!”

She lost her battle at that and smiled down at him with a small chuckle. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He caressed her shins as he looked up at her, studying her.

Elliott’s smile faded. That hewashere, for seemingly no reason, a hint of concern on his face, had her sucking in her breath and her brows knitting together. She looked over his head. “You aren’t here for me.” Before he could answer her, she pushed against his shoulders. “You’re here for Lucy.”

“Elliott…”

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