stepped across the indoor/outdoor carpet. No T.V. No separate bedrooms. A functional, yet woefully undersized, bathroom completed the space.
Grace rubbed the sudden chill from her arms. She’d foolishly thought they’d quickly find Ryker and part ways. What a gross error in judgment on her part.
She couldn’t stay here. It was too uncomfortable. Too intimate. She’d spent nearly half her life despising Keith and everything he represented. What would keep her from shouting accusations at him in the silence?
Grace spun to leave, but the door slammed shut and she found herself face to face with Keith instead. His warm breath whooshed across her cheek, her pulse spiked. The furniture suddenly seemed to shrink, making Grace feel as if she and Keith were giants in a miniature dollhouse.
Oh, yeah, he was definitely too close for comfort.
“You...okay?”
Keith’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. He shot her a puzzled look before moving to the mini-me stove where he twisted one of the dials and brought a ring of bluish flames dancing to life.
“I...I don’t know,” she stammered.
How should okay feel? If it was this yawning emptiness and confusion, then she guessed okay covered her state of mind.
Keith shrugged, twisted the dial in the opposite direction and watched the flame wink out. He rubbed the back of his neck, then shoved his hands in his pockets and strode to the recliner. Dropping into it, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
She tried to look away, forced herself to focus on the rough knotty wood paneling that surrounded the room, but her betraying eyes kept coming back to rest on his face.
He commanded the small space, even from his relaxed position on the recliner. She had the strong urge to reach out and touch him. Her hands curled into fists, reminding her just how wrong that would be. Touching was a huge no-no, but looking…there was no harm in that. The hard angles of his face and the presence of the thin silvery scar along his jaw made him somehow seem capable and self-assured. Calm. She had the impression that not much slipped by him. If anyone could find Ryker, it would be Keith.
Weariness suddenly hit her with the force of a bolt of lightning. Her legs felt rubbery, her head swam, and try as she might, she couldn’t push the image of the always smiling, good-natured, Uncle Jack with a bullet hole in his heart from her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut. What if Ryker and Mark ended up the same way?
She crushed her lips together to keep from crying out. “I...I’m going to take a shower.”
She dashed into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Her hands shook, but after a few unsuccessful attempts, she managed to pull her shirt over her head.
Her teeth started to chatter. She yanked her jeans off and made quick work of shedding her bra and panties. The faucet whistled when she jerked it on. She twisted the knob to maximum hot and stepped into the shower.
The spray scalded her chilled skin. She welcomed the pain, welcomed the numbness, but it did little to ease the horror over the day’s events that welled up inside her. She tried to choke back a sob, and failed. Once the one escaped, more followed, until she couldn’t breathe.
She missed Ryker with a frenzied desperation. Her house had, in all likelihood, burned to the ground, leaving nothing but ash and smoke. Ryker’s toys, the clothes that held his scent, all his baby pictures and photo albums. Gone. Every last one of them. The loss slammed into her and forced her to her knees in the tub.
She couldn’t lose him. He was her world. Her reason for living.
Keith knocked on the door and she lifted her head.
“Grace, that water’s gotta be cold by now. Come on out and get something to eat.”
She shivered. He was right. Cold water sprayed her back. How long had she been in here? She leaned forward and shut the water off.
“Ummm...I’m not hungry.” Her voice echoed off the walls of the tiny
Grace rubbed the sudden chill from her arms. She’d foolishly thought they’d quickly find Ryker and part ways. What a gross error in judgment on her part.
She couldn’t stay here. It was too uncomfortable. Too intimate. She’d spent nearly half her life despising Keith and everything he represented. What would keep her from shouting accusations at him in the silence?
Grace spun to leave, but the door slammed shut and she found herself face to face with Keith instead. His warm breath whooshed across her cheek, her pulse spiked. The furniture suddenly seemed to shrink, making Grace feel as if she and Keith were giants in a miniature dollhouse.
Oh, yeah, he was definitely too close for comfort.
“You...okay?”
Keith’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. He shot her a puzzled look before moving to the mini-me stove where he twisted one of the dials and brought a ring of bluish flames dancing to life.
“I...I don’t know,” she stammered.
How should okay feel? If it was this yawning emptiness and confusion, then she guessed okay covered her state of mind.
Keith shrugged, twisted the dial in the opposite direction and watched the flame wink out. He rubbed the back of his neck, then shoved his hands in his pockets and strode to the recliner. Dropping into it, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
She tried to look away, forced herself to focus on the rough knotty wood paneling that surrounded the room, but her betraying eyes kept coming back to rest on his face.
He commanded the small space, even from his relaxed position on the recliner. She had the strong urge to reach out and touch him. Her hands curled into fists, reminding her just how wrong that would be. Touching was a huge no-no, but looking…there was no harm in that. The hard angles of his face and the presence of the thin silvery scar along his jaw made him somehow seem capable and self-assured. Calm. She had the impression that not much slipped by him. If anyone could find Ryker, it would be Keith.
Weariness suddenly hit her with the force of a bolt of lightning. Her legs felt rubbery, her head swam, and try as she might, she couldn’t push the image of the always smiling, good-natured, Uncle Jack with a bullet hole in his heart from her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut. What if Ryker and Mark ended up the same way?
She crushed her lips together to keep from crying out. “I...I’m going to take a shower.”
She dashed into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Her hands shook, but after a few unsuccessful attempts, she managed to pull her shirt over her head.
Her teeth started to chatter. She yanked her jeans off and made quick work of shedding her bra and panties. The faucet whistled when she jerked it on. She twisted the knob to maximum hot and stepped into the shower.
The spray scalded her chilled skin. She welcomed the pain, welcomed the numbness, but it did little to ease the horror over the day’s events that welled up inside her. She tried to choke back a sob, and failed. Once the one escaped, more followed, until she couldn’t breathe.
She missed Ryker with a frenzied desperation. Her house had, in all likelihood, burned to the ground, leaving nothing but ash and smoke. Ryker’s toys, the clothes that held his scent, all his baby pictures and photo albums. Gone. Every last one of them. The loss slammed into her and forced her to her knees in the tub.
She couldn’t lose him. He was her world. Her reason for living.
Keith knocked on the door and she lifted her head.
“Grace, that water’s gotta be cold by now. Come on out and get something to eat.”
She shivered. He was right. Cold water sprayed her back. How long had she been in here? She leaned forward and shut the water off.
“Ummm...I’m not hungry.” Her voice echoed off the walls of the tiny
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