Page 26 of Saddles

My arms wrap my waist. I feel exposed, naked, even with the scant clothes on.

“In the top drawer next to you is a pair of sweats and a hoodie. If you want to crawl back in, I’ll get the fire going.” He keeps his gaze averted as he talks.

He leans over the edge of the mattress and picks up his discarded pair of jeans, then slides them over his legs.

When he stands, he’s fills the tiny space.

“Look, I gotta ask…” He trails off as he grabs his shirt. “Are you okay? I mean, there was blood…”

I might be sick.

“I’m fine. I just need to go home.” The drawer is stiff and resists my weak efforts to tug on it.

He ducks, peering out the small window. “I don’t think that’s happening today.” Taking a deep breath, he turns and looks at me for what feels like the first time. “I wish you could.”

Is that pity or disgust in his features?

“Whatever. Thanks for saving me, I didn’t mean to intrude on—” I wave my hand. “—your alone time.” I’m flailing at the dresser and tears of frustration begin to burn in my eyes.

No, fuck that. I’m not crying over furniture.

“Here. Let me.”

When he looms towards me, it’s hard not to flinch.

“Shit,” he says under his breath, but I hear him.

He jerks it open, then steps away. “I don’t know what to do here, so I’m gonna go check on my horse.” Slinging his coat over his bare shoulders, he grabs the handle to the door.

“Wait. Do you have a phone?” It’s the whole reason I came here, that single hope.

When he nods, his hair droops over his eyes. “It’s there on the cabinet. I’ll be back in a bit to stoke up the fire.”

With a swirl of snow, he and his dog disappear into the blizzard.

“Damn. I must really look scary.” I’m glad there isn’t a mirror here.

These clothes are way too big, but they’re clean.

And warm.

I almost feel guilty putting them on my filthy body. My joints ache, and I’m not sure if it’s the cold or the trauma of the last few days that weighs heavier.

I’m just happy the bed is comfy. I curl up under it, burying myself against the pillows that smell like the mystery man.

Ford.

The numbers on the phone glow when I hit the first one.

It takes five rings before I get an answer on Dad’s cell.

“Hello?” Norma’s voice cuts through the static filled line.

“This is April. Where’s my dad?” I didn’t call the house. Why is she the one to pick up?

“April, you almost killed your father. You aren’t welcome here.” She doesn’t try to hide her inner bitch.

Dad must not be close by.

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