Page 33 of Love on the Run

A happy bark cut into her bleak thoughts. Bruiser had found the stick, but he was running to her, not to Jake, with his prize. Callie laughed, praising the dog for finding it. Bruiser dropped the stick at her feet, clearly hoping for a replay. Callie picked it up and flung it, hoping that she could match Jake’s distance.

“Not bad,” Jake noted, tracking the stick with his eyes. Bruiser did the same, and was off again.

“I got skills,” Callie said. She’d dropped her flower when she threw the stick, and she bent to retrieve it.

“I never doubted that,” he replied, but she couldn’t detect any implications in his tone. He moved to walk beside her, and Callie began to feel a tingling throughout her body, either due to the dry heat of the day or Jake’s proximity. The ground was rocky enough that she had to watch her footing, so she didn’t look at the man beside her until Bruiser returned again.

“Once more,” Jake told the dog, then gave an epic throw.

“He’ll never find that,” Callie said, watching the stick vanish.

“Sure he will,” Jake nodded. “He’s tenacious.”

“Wonder who taught him that trick,” Callie muttered. But she was smiling.

Jake grinned back, and her breath caught in her throat. She had to stop noticing how attractive he was. “Maybe I learned it from him.”

“Hey, I never said anything!” she laughed.

“I wish you would,” he said, suddenly serious.

“Wish I would what?”

“Say anything. I wish you could trust me.”

The warmth went out of the afternoon. Callie looked down at the flower in her hand. “I want to disappear,” she whispered.

“What?” Jake stopped short, reaching out and spinning her so she faced him. “What did you say?”

“I wish I could just…vanish,” Callie said, tears pricking at her eyes. “Hide. From everyone.”

“Even me?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“That’s kind of my job, sweetheart.”

“But you don’t know…I can’t tell you anything.” She shook her head. “It’s not fair.”

“You said that before,” Jake noted gently. “What’s not fair?”

“Everything,” Callie said, before she broke down. “No, that’s not true. It is fair. I deserve this.” Maybe it was the fact that they were outside, in this wilderness, but she suddenly felt that she could actually speak about the nightmare her life had become. “That night…” she began, the vision of the dead body floating before her eyes again, obscuring the beautiful scene around her, “that night, when Malcolm shot…”

“When he shot you,” Jake completed her sentence.

“I wasn’t the only one.”

“The only one there?”

“I wasn’t the only one Malcolm shot,” she nearly gasped out the words, suddenly more afraid of not telling Jake what happened than keeping it a secret. “There was a man—we were down by the garage—this man came up—they were arguing—I shouldn’t even have been there—I’m nobody. Malcolm shot him. Blood all over the car, the garage floor, his face wasgone…”

Jake pulled Callie to him, and she found herself crying into his chest, letting the fear of the last days, the last year, erupt in this torrent of tears. Through it all, he just held her, not asking any questions at all. “I’m sorry,” she said finally, pulling away to look up at him. “I never cry. Honestly. And I’ve destroyed your shirt.”

“You’re worried about theshirt? I have more,” he reassured her. “And you haven’t destroyed anything.”

“Yes, I have,” she suddenly recalled her fear. Without warning, she began to cry again. Without a word, Jake simply held her tight again. Of course Callie had been such a wreck. He never would have guessed she was suppressing something like that.

After a moment, she pulled away, sniffing. “Okay, I’m better now. Promise.”

---