Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 11

Part 11

An hour passed, and Wilson still had not returned.  She stored away her archery equipment and sat down outside his camper.  The small lamp above the door illuminated a circle of fluorescent light around her.  A breeze kicked up, causing her to shiver in the night air.  With a resigned sigh, she guessed she could talk to him in the morning.  Maybe her visit to the deer camp should be put off...

The crunch of his boots over the gravel drive brought her head up.  Wilson appeared in the dim glow.  When he saw her sitting there, he came to an abrupt halt.

“Hey,” she called softly.  “I was getting worried.  I thought, maybe, the rats got a hold of you.”

He stared at her coldly.  She'd never seen him so hostile.  Even his usual stoic behavior had some warmth to it.  Feet braced wide apart, hands curled loosely around his hips...no expression on his face, except the icy glare.  Tonight, she could not muster the fascination with him as she'd experienced all week.  Tonight, he seemed to have backed away from her, protecting himself from something she didn't know about and probably couldn't fathom if she did.

“Well,” she said, slapping her bare knees as she pushed erect.  “At least now I know you're safe.  Sweet dreams, Wilson.”  She averted her gaze as she brushed past him.  His eyes never left any part of her face.

As she came abreast of his motionless body, he suddenly snaked out a hand, grabbing her painfully by the wrist.  She winced, but didn't fight him.  She couldn't win if she did.  Slowly, she raised her eyes to his.  “I trust you,” he blurted out, like the words were stuck in his throat and he had to shove past a barrier to say them.  Sally sensed that there was supposed to be more to the simple statement than just the words.  She crinkled her forehead.

“Sure, Wilson.  I trust you, too.”

He released her, and she rubbed the bruised flesh.  With any other man, she'd beat him with the sharp end of a post-hole digger.  With Wilson, she only wanted to draw his head down to her breast and hold him like a lost child.  She'd never been one to mother a person, yet this man seemed to need that from her...or need something.

He let out a harsh laugh and paced forward a few steps.  Stopping, he turned and said, “I don't think you understand.  I trust you.”

She smiled carefully at him – because frankly she was still a bit confused – and replied, “Of course, you do.  I'm a trustworthy person.”

“Sally,” he said in a deep, serious tone, “I've placed my freedom in your hands tonight.  With one phone call, you can send my ass back to prison.”

A light bulb flared inside her.  “Oh, this is about shooting my bow!”  She laughed, feeling relieved that they weren't discussing anything detrimental.  “I'm pretty sure that's not a crime.”

He scowled at her, likely because she still wasn't all that concerned with the issue.  “It is if you're on parole.”

Sally flapped at the space between them.  “Don't be silly.  No one's gonna put you back in jail for shooting a hay bale.  It's not like you were using a waving a shotgun in a post office.”

“For someone like me, it's all the same thing,” he spit.  “I have to be careful about using a kitchen knife when people are around.  And for all I know, going to back to jail is exactly what would happen if anyone found out.”

“Well,” she huffed jovially and thrust her fists at her waist.  “I'm the only one who knows about it, so you don't need to worry any longer.”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, continuing to scowl at her.  “That's why I'm saying I trust you.  You have control over me now.”

Sally rolled her eyes.  “That's why you trust me?  I mean, really, Wilson.  You really know how to sweet-talk a woman, don't you?”