Page 30 of Like A Moth To A Flame

I slowly undid the locks and popped the door open, and Barrett’s worried face peered in at me. Satisfied, I ushered him in before pushing the door closed and flipping the locks back into place.

“You alright?” he asked, looking around.

“I mean, all things considered,” I sighed, moving into the kitchen and dropping the knife into the sink. I felt safer now. Barrett was a cowboy and Kansas was an open-carry state. While heused his gun strictly on coyotes, the bulge in the front of his flannel shirt made me feel much better.

Bigger target, better odds. Right?

“Did you call the cops yet?”

I sighed, a hand coming up to press against my eyes.

“No,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Barrett, come on!” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “I have no evidence! I have no proof! Who are they gonna protect me against?! I don’t have cameras, and I have no idea who it is. My hands are tied.”

“So what are you gonna do?” he asked, and he sounded angry.

I didn’t blame him, even if part of me wanted to. It didn’t make sense to him. Why would it? He was a man.

“I don’t know. I don’t know whattodo.”

“You need to get out of the house.”

“No,” I said, stepping past him and moving toward the stairs.

“What?!”

“If I leave, I let him win. I am not gonna let him win!”

“Oh okay, stay here and get murdered for theprincipalof it. That makes so much more sense.”

Ignoring him, I moved up the stairs. I needed to pee; I needed a change of clothes, and maybe I needed a shower. When I didn’t answer, Barrett followed after me.

“What are you doing?” he asked, standing on the landing with his arms crossed.

“I’m going to pee, find clothes, and take a damn shower. I am exhausted.”

“When’s the last time you slept?”

When I thought about it, the answer made me nauseous.

Stepping into the guest room, I kicked open my suitcase and knelt, searching for clothes. I found a pair of jean shorts with butterflies on the pockets and wrinkled my nose. No, those were too close to moths for my liking. Pants? No, it was too hot for pants. Why had I evenpackedpants?

At the bottom of the suitcase, I found a pair of pink bike shorts and a blue tank top. It didn’t match, but it was clothes. I needed to do the laundry.

“Been a couple of nights,” I said honestly.

“So why don’t you take a shower and then take a nap? I’m here. I’ll keep a lookout.”

I stopped, standing with arms full of clothes and looking over at him.

“You’d do that for me?”

“No shit,” he said. I watched as he plopped down on the top step, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on and shower. I’ll be right here.”

And he was. By the time I got out of the shower and dressed, he was sitting on the top of the stairs, leaning back against the wall with his Stetson pulled down over his eyes.

---