Page 7 of The Lies We Told Ourselves

What was I? Some kind of spy?

I looked around the cute little bedroom again in wonder. Turning up here was the best thing that had happened to me in a long time. I might be okay with being murdered in my sleep if this was where it happened.

Getting into the car with Booker had been possibly the stupidest and yet the best thing I’d ever done. Lying low on the ranch to recover and build up some savings was exactly what I needed. But I could also have easily ended up in the basement, tied up, and making friends with the rats.

Desperation made people do stupid things, and I needed to make sure I never put myself in a situation like that again.

I stood up with a wince and headed into the bathroom. This place was clearly set up as some kind of holiday cottage, and I was surprised that Booker would be happy to have something like that so close to his own house. He didn’t come across as the most social person in the world, but there was clearly a big heart hiding underneath all that barbed wire he liked to pretend was there.

Hugging him might have been a mistake. I chuckled at the memory of the Booker-shaped hole he’d nearly left in the wall. The poor guy couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

I turned on the shower to let the water heat while I brushed my teeth, all the while staring at my face in the mirror. The black eye was changing to that horrible green color, but at least that meant it was healing.

I rushed through the shower. Washing my hair was getting easier, but I never wanted to experience agony like that again, and I made that vow right here and now.

Never again.

I would never let myself get in a situation with a man where I was too blind to see the signs. Where I was too isolated to feel like I had anyone who could protect me. Where I didn’t have some kind of escape route.

My eyes locked onto my reflection as I examined the job I’d done with the few makeup supplies I had. It wasn’t good. I looked like a woman with a black eye who’d tried—and mostly failed—to cover it up. Then I sighed. This was as good as it wasgoing to get. At least it was fading now and, hopefully, wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.

My stomach grumbled as I quickly pulled on some jeans and a shirt. I didn’t really have any work clothes, not that I had any idea what work I’d be doing, so I slipped on my sneakers just as there was a loud knock on the door.

I pulled it open to find Booker scowling on the other side. He looked down at his watch as if I was supposed to know what that meant.

When I said nothing, he sighed.

“What are you still doing here?”

“Erm, you said I could have a job and stay in the cottage.” I couldn’t lose this place already, and I was ready to beg for that job if that was what it took.

He sighed again. “It’s already nine a.m. Why are you not in my kitchen for breakfast?”

My back snapped straight, and I immediately regretted it as a flash of pain surged from my ribs, taking my breath away. Booker must have noticed because his scowl deepened before he turned and stormed back to the house.

I swore softly and hurried after him. I should have realized that this was my job. Even if it wasn’t, it was the least I could do, considering he’d essentially pulled me out of a burning car.

Damn. Booker was literally my hero, and I couldn’t remember if I’d actually thanked him yet.

I hurried through the back door and then came to a stop so suddenly my sneakers squeaked on the floor.

The kitchen table was set and laid out with enough food for a whole family. There was a pot of coffee and a jug of orange juice. My mouth was already watering from the delicious smell of bacon floating my way.

“Sit,” Booker said as he pulled out a chair.

I scurried into it, my eyes fixed on the food like I was afraid it would disappear if I looked away. My stomach grumbled embarrassingly, and Booker’s gaze dropped to my abdomen before returning to my face.

Booker pushed a tube of cream toward me, and I looked at it curiously. Arnica.

“I’ll make you an appointment with the doc in the next town over for this afternoon,” Booker said, like it was already a done deal.

“No need.” His head snapped up, and I could tell he was getting ready to fight me on this. It was kind of endearing. I quickly added, “I went to the clinic last week. I’m healing nicely, and there’s nothing to do but ride it out.”

This was a conversation I didn’t want to have. Judging from Booker’s face, he didn’t either. Or rather, he hated it was even a conversation to begin with.

“Thank you for this,” I said, taking the tube of arnica and sliding it a little closer to me.

I didn’t really need it at this stage, but I could see that it made Booker feel better, and it didn’t cost me anything to do this for him.

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