Page 18 of The Way Back Home
Shoving away thoughts of Noah’s body and what it was capable of, she towel-dried her hair and did it up into a quick braid, easily concealable under a cap. Brushed her teeth. Did all the things normal people did on the daily. Then she dressed, swallowed a few ibuprofen, and prepared to face Mona.
Teagan knew there would be questions. Questions she couldn’t—or more accurately, wouldn’t—answer, followed by offers of help she’d politely decline.
On impulse, she balled up the flannel shirt she’d slept in and shoved it into the bottom of her backpack, refusing to contemplate the why of it, beyond the fact that it was soft, warm, and large enough to fit over bandages without snagging.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee hit her the moment she stepped into the living space. Like the bedroom, it was clean and simple, rugged and masculine. The area was open plan, with a kitchen on one side, a couch and coffee table on the other.
Noah’s eyes locked on her, his gaze assessing, his body alert, as if he was looking for signs she was going to face-plant right then and there, but he needn’t worry.
“Coffee?”
“Absolutely,” she said, limping forward.
“You shouldn’t be putting weight on that ankle. Sit down, and I’ll bring it to you. Milk? Sugar?”
She ignored his command and continued to the small two-top in the kitchen area. “Black is fine.”
He waited until she sat at the table, then placed a mug in front of her. “You don’t listen very well, do you?”
She shrugged. Her shoulder protested, prompting a mental note for her not to do that again. “I listen. I consider. Then I make my own decision. This is good coffee. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’d offer to make you breakfast, but knowing Mona, she’s not coming empty-handed.”
As if on cue, the sound of an approaching vehicle grew louder. Teagan tensed—ready to bolt, hobble, whatever—as Noah peeked out of the closed blinds.
“It’s Mona,” he confirmed. “And she’s alone.”
Teagan silently released her breath. She didn’t think Mona would betray her, but sometimes, things changed when the authorities were involved.
Noah opened the door and ushered Mona inside. After scanning the area, he closed and locked the door again.
“Where is she?” Mona asked, scanning the modest space.
The moment she spotted Teagan, she closed the distance between them and eyed Teagan critically. Fully clothed and seated behind the table as she was, Mona wouldn’t see anything amiss.
“Oh, child. Are you all right?”
Teagan shifted, the concern in the older woman’s eyes making her uncomfortable. “I’m fine.”
Noah snorted. “Fine, right. Dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, sprained ankle, and eight stitches.”
“Narc,” Teagan mumbled under her breath, then changed the subject. “Whatever is in that basket smells fantastic.”
Mona narrowed her eyes but thankfully didn’t press. “Cinnamon rolls, breakfast sandwiches, fresh fruit, muffins.”
Noah leaned forward in interest and lifted the heavy linen cloth. “Jesus, Mona, when did you get the time to do all this?”
“Well, I couldn’t sleep a wink, worrying about our girl here,” she said cheerfully. “And that pest of a deputy Carl nearly cleaned me out of house and home this morning. I swear that boy’s mama must spend half her day cooking for him.”
Teagan’s stomach growled. The granola bar she’d had for lunch yesterday was long gone, and thoughts of a warm, home-cooked meal made her even hungrier. Normally, she lived on whatever she could carry in her backpack—items that were inexpensive, portable, and didn’t require cooking or refrigeration.
“Noah, get some plates, please,” Mona requested as she started unpacking the basket. “You can fill me in while you eat. Why is the sheriff looking for you?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Teagan asked carefully.
“He said something about a recent string of thefts,” Mona said, waving her hand dismissively, “but I don’t believe that for a moment.”
Teagan said nothing, though Mona’s misplaced faith was nice.
