Chasing Shade Part 4

And now the thought of wrapping the night up and saying goodnight to Betsey made him a little sad. His chest ached worse than his c.o.c.k if he thought about it.

It was thoroughly unsettling.

He stood on the small front porch of his new abode and watched her smile. It was a perfect smile.

'I think we've done well. At least considering we had limited supplies and a few hours. Now...' She rubbed her stomach. 'I'm starved. Wanna go attack that Salisbury steak?'

His stomach growled. 'As you can hear, that's a yes. Hey, there was a liquor store on the way here. Want me to go grab us some beers? Toast all this hard work?'

Her dark-brown eyes clouded for a moment. Her happy face came down to sad. 'I don't...I don't drink,' she said. 'But if you want to it's fine by m'

'No,' he said. Something in her gaze made him sorry he'd brought it up. 'I can definitely go without. No worries.'

'Sorry,' she said, blushing. 'Sorry to be such a party p.o.o.per.'

'Hey,' he said, grabbing her arm and giving her a soft hug. 'People make a fun party. Not booze. It's really no big deal, Betsey. Let's go eat that food. I'm ready to drop.'

She took his cue and looped her arm through his as they walked companionably towards her trailer. 'Thanks, Archie,' she whispered.

Another hug. He tried to keep it brotherly. He found it hard to believe they'd met less than eight hours ago. 'Thank you, Betsey. You have single-handedly turned my world around in a single day. You're amazing.'

She seemed uncomfortable with the praise and quickly changed the subject. 'We definitely need to get you a shower curtain. It's the only thing I didn't have.'

'Yeah. Not sure how I'm going to handle that one.' Archie chuckled.

She squeezed his arm. 'You can just take one at my place tonight. Tomorrow we'll get you your own.'

Don't think dirty things...don't think dirty things...

But Archie failed and ended up, in the back of his mind, thinking dirty things the whole way to Betsey's trailer.

The Salisbury steak was to die for.

'I didn't believe you,' he said, forking into a big bite. They sat at her tiny two-person table and the fairy lights were twinkling. The whole place made him feel a peace and serenity he hadn't felt in a very long time.

'No one ever does,' she said, winking. 'They think I'm just talking up the diner's food. Then they eat it. And they go, "Ooooooooh."' She laughed.

'So tell me, Betsey who saved my a.s.s today Smith, how did you come to be working here? Why is it the waitressing life for you?'

There it was again. That small frown he'd seen earlier and then again when he'd offered to go buy beer. Before she could even attempt to speak, Archie held up a hand. 'Never mind. Strike that question.'

She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at him and he saw that she twirled her long honey-toned hair around her finger when she was nervous. She was twirling it now. Making a tight twist of her hair and then letting it go before repeating the manoeuvre.

'Why do you say that? Why take the question off the table?'

'Because your expression says you don't want to talk about it and I can respect that. I, for some bizarre reason, wanted to talk about life c.r.a.p when we started talking.'

She chuckled. Ate a forkful of potatoes.

'Oh, trust me,' Archie said. 'It shocked even me. But I did.' His voice broke a little and he hated how vulnerable he sounded. 'But I did and I'm grateful for it.'

She blushed and looked down at her plate, at the floor, at the kitchenette. Anywhere but at him. He realised she was a very good person who was very uncomfortable with anyone knowing it.

'I'm glad I could listen. And maybe...' She twirled her fork through her potatoes but didn't eat them. 'Maybe I'll want to talk one day soon. To you. I think I will. But it's hard for me the talking part I'm still not one hundred per cent with who I am. Better than I was once upon a time, but still, I think I could be better.'

Archie rubbed his eyes, unsure of what to say. What could he say to that? How someone as good as Betsey Smith could feel that way, think she could be better and in some huge way, judging by her tone and her expression, was beyond him. It hurt his head.

'I doubt that.'

She patted his hand but quickly withdrew her fingers when he jumped slightly. Her touching him, it always affected him. 'It's true. Now about that shower. You're all done with your dinner. I could make us some quick brownies while you take one. If you want. If not, I can loan you an old tablecloth to drape over your shower-curtain rod until we get you one.'

Until we get you one...

Why did that 'we' make him so utterly happy? It frightened Archie.

'Sure. I'd love to shower in your shower. But it's really the brownies I'm after,' he said, clearing his plate.

'Typical man,' Betsey said and laughed.

Her laugh made something warm glow in his chest. He rubbed it and followed her directions to find the clean towels. And found himself whistling along the way.

Chapter 7.

Standing naked in her shower wasn't helping him. Archie became supremely aware of how affected he'd been by the off-and-on contact they'd had through the day. Her taking his hands, hugging him, how her lush body had felt pressed against him. He grabbed his c.o.c.k roughly and gave it three good tugs before dropping it like it was a loaded gun. He chuckled darkly.

'Probably a bit creepy to beat off in her shower while she bakes you brownies. Might want to save that until you get home.'

His c.o.c.k throbbed and his chest ached with a physical need to bring his arousal to conclusion. But also to do something anything to act on the weird and sudden feelings he had for this woman who seemed to have fallen into his lap. It was as if after beating him up for months on end, over a year actually, the universe had decided to drop a good thing in his lap. A bright and shiny thing that made him feel happier than he had in a very long time.

'Sappy, sappy,' he sighed, scrubbing his hair. He stood there smelling like peaches and lavender of all things, looking at her loofah and her pink razor and the towel that had suns and moons all over, and decided to kiss her. Really kiss her. And tell her what he was feeling.

She seemed the kind of person he could confess to and she wouldn't run away.

He'd go out there, have a brownie, plant one on her and confess. Then they could see how it went. If it went.

Problem solved.

Archie towelled off quickly, dressed in his old clothes but shoved his boxer briefs in his back pocket and marched out barefoot to spill it all to Betsey Smith.

The oven timer was going off and she was sound asleep. Curled on her brightly patterned sofa with his bomber jacket draped over her. She was snoring lightly.

It made him smile. 'd.a.m.n,' Archie said and turned off the oven after putting the brownies on the stove top to cool.

He got his boots on and cut a slab of brownies and put them, still burning hot, on a paper plate to take to his hovel. Then he wrote on a napkin: THANKS FOR THE DINNER. AND THE JOB. AND THE FIRST GOOD DAY I'VE HAD IN A LONG TIME.

SLEEP WELL, BETSEY.

A.

His walk home was short but lonely. It was odd, Archie realised, how obvious Betsey's absence was after less than a day of her presence. She had secrets. He could tell. But he found himself OK with that. He believed her when she said that one day she would tell him. He thought it was true.

He'd pulled his truck around to the trailer while they were cleaning. He made sure all his bags were inside and locked it up. 'I love you,' he said to it, 'But I'm sure as h.e.l.l glad I don't have to live in you.'

Inside his new home, Betsey's energy radiated everywhere. He could smell her. See her when he glanced at the sofa and the bed. The clean floor and the neatly stacked dishes reminded him of her. When he glanced in the bathroom he saw the toilet paper folded to a point at the end and found himself laughing.

It was easy then, being in his own little s.p.a.ce, to lock the door, turn on the ancient TV set and flop on to the bed. He shucked his jeans and took his bare c.o.c.k in hand and just a few strokes got him off thinking about her. About the way her hair smelled and her body felt and the warmth of her curve against his body and her laugh...G.o.d, her laugh. He fell asleep with the comforter pulled loosely over him and the late show's laugh track sounding in his ears.

She could feel him coming but her legs wouldn't move. The ancient Buick faded black with scabby sections of paint peeling away rolled towards her. She couldn't see it, but she could hear it. Could feel it. She knew it was there and she knew it was transporting Denton Jackson Miller. A former mailman with a penchant for abducting and keeping young girls. The first three had been abducted along his route. It had brought him down, eventually that connection.

She was to be the last. And here he came. His gasoline-powered beast huffing expectant breath behind her as she stood there, on her way to school, as always. She was frozen. Frozen in the headlights. It was an overcast November day. Cold and bitter and the wind blew right up her school skirt, bit through her knee socks, tossed her ponytails.

She tried to run. Betsey had been here before. Over and over again and she knew the sensation of her legs being nestled in wet, sticky mola.s.ses. Wanting to move needing to move and yet unable to.

'Run,' she said to herself and shivered. The car crept closer.

Here came his voice, a sickening, almost-pleading query. 'Need a ride?'

She said no. 'No.' She always did. She had. And yet he continued to follow along in his car.

She was at the end of the road. No one was coming. He blocked her with his car. She could run off into the underbrush at the edge of the nearby park at the end of this cul de sac. She could. Why didn't she? Because fear had locked her. Fear had buckled her down, m.u.f.fled her instinct and clouded her judgment.

He got out of the car. Coming towards her. This is where she acted. This is where she ran. Made noise and ended this thing. But he reached for her with his short grubby fingers. Reached for her and took her wrists in his hand, his grip tight and unyielding. This time he had her. This time she wouldn't get away. He was coming...

'Jesus Christ, Betsey, wake up!'

She opened her eyes to find Archie over her. His blue eyes wide and wild and scared. 'Archie?'

She was on her sofa, covered up, and for a second confusion overwhelmed her. 'Did I fall asleep while you were showering?' She was wrapped in his jacket so it couldn't have been that long.

'Hours and hours ago. I left you...I just came back because I heard you.'

She pushed the jacket away and sat up. Her head swam for a moment. 'From your trailer?'

He dropped down next to her, putting his hand over his heart. He was pale. She'd scared him. It was then that Betsey realised her heart was pounding. 'Jesus Christ, yes, from my trailer,' he said, his breath short. 'You scared the s.h.i.t out of me. I thought someone was killing you.'

She shivered when he said that. Sobbed but then got herself under control. His expression one of concern, he reached for her but she waved him off. 'Don't. Please. Not yet.'

'I'm sorry,' she said after a moment of silence. Her heart was slowing to normal. Her fingers and her face weren't so cold. Still, she stood and pushed the thermostat up a notch.

'Don't be sorry,' Archie said. She realised he was in a giant sweatshirt and jeans. No shoes. No socks. No jacket. 'Just tell me what happ' He stopped himself. She watched him reconsider and had the urge to kiss him just for the effort. He could read her. Knew he was treading sacred ground. 'Just tell me what I can do for you.'

'Nothing,' she said. It was a lie. A small one, but a lie.

'Are you sure?'

'Thank you for coming,' she said. Her eyes darted to the letter there on the small table by the front door where she kept the bowl for her keys and her umbrella and outgoing/incoming mail.

He followed her gaze but remained silent. Finally, he stood and rubbed his hands together, blowing on them. 'You're sure?'

'I am.'

'If you change your mind...' He chuckled. 'Just yell.' He kissed her on the forehead and she fought the urge to melt into that contact with him. It would be unfair to Archie to bring him into this mess. After what he'd been through. He'd had enough s.h.i.t.

'I will.' She hugged him very fast as if she might burn him if she held on too long.

When the door swung shut behind him, the sobs came out. Big wracking sobs that bunched her stomach muscles painfully and twisted her body so she bent double. She stuffed the heel of her hand against her mouth but they still came. Exhausting her. Twisting her up inside. Huge sobs that didn't even come with tears. Her eyes were nearly dry. It was the fear and the anger and the memories that she'd stuffed down down down all rushing out at once.

The door popped open and she almost screamed. Archie's face was there. Worried, pale, tired. 'OK, see, I can hear that ' he began.

Betsey's sobs turned to laughter. Almost maniacal laughter. Crazy-person laughter.

Archie stepped inside, moving slowly as if he might spook her. As if he could! 'See, you might think these things are insulated from sounds but, Betsey, gotta tell you, honey, not so much.'

Here came the tears, finally. Sneaking in at the end of the emotional upheaval. Then more sobs. He moved towards her slowly but deliberately. He sat beside her, his thigh pressed up against hers, but not touching her in any other way. Until she bowed her body towards his. Until she made that move. Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her.

She caved. Gave in to that welcome warmth of another person holding her. Caring what was going on. It was a heady feeling. More addictive and attractive than any drug.

'What is it, Betsey? What can I do for you?'

She settled. Everything in her growing still, like the moment when a violent storm blows out and what was just chaos and darkness is silence and light.

'Really?' she asked.

'Really. Anything,' he said. His arm curled around her shoulder. He held her close.

'Will you...go to bed with me? Hold me?'

It took an enormous amount of courage to ask him that. More than it had to read that d.a.m.n letter from the state. More than it had to come to Turner's Corner and start a life. More than anything in a very long time. Oh, she'd fallen into bed with two men since she'd moved here. But it had been temporary and just for fun, for release. She had never asked one to share her bed or her emotional upheaval.

He didn't answer her. Just stood, locked the door and held out his hand. 'Let's go. You look exhausted.'

Betsey took his hand.

She woke up hot. It was so hot and Betsey couldn't figure out why. Until she remembered being so terribly cold and turning up the heat. Then there was the extra body heat of a large man next to her. Curled up against her. One hand flung possessively across her belly. She let herself lie there and feel that. How good it felt to have someone touching her.

Betsey moved his hand as slowly as she possibly could so as not to wake him. She'd probably scared the s.h.i.t out of him, yelling from her nightmare. She'd been having them, the same one mostly, ever since the letter had arrived. She pushed the thought away, crept out of bed and went into the living room to turn down the heat. All she could think about now that she was calm and sleep-drunk was how long her propane would last if she kept cranking up the heat any old time she felt like it.

She hit the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She'd slept on the sofa and then the crying and yelling and heat of the trailer had left her with a dry mouth that tasted like death.

'Death,' she said in the mirror, grimacing at herself.