Beneath Blackwater River Leslie Wolfe (me reader txt) 📖

with the aroma, clashing with the mouthwatering smell of butter-roasted potatoes. Suddenly curious, he took the wrapper and read the ingredients.

“Lemongrass and linden flowers,” he said, then threw the wrapper in the trash. Wondering if it was appropriate, he turned on the radio, thinking it might help her feel better. It always helped him. Maybe the DJ would tell a joke on the air, or maybe the country songs they’d play would not be blue, but funny, like the one about that red SOLO cup he used to hum all day long. Toby Keith played that one.

The potatoes still had twenty minutes or so to go before he could serve dinner, and he struggled with the silence, especially if he was to stand still with nothing to do. He’d finished setting up her room, cleaned the bathroom, loaded the dishwasher, and did everything else he could think of doing to kill time until the food was done. That DJ kept on blabbing something about the weekly countdown, instead of playing some music already.

“My sister will be home soon,” he eventually said. She raised her red eyes and looked at him briefly, smiling shyly. “We don’t have to wait for her with dinner, you know. I can make us the omelet right now, if you’d like.”

She didn’t say a word, just shrugged, her thin shoulders poking through that cardigan like meatless bones. If she was going to stay with them for a while, he’d see that she put some meat on those bones and get some rest. She could sleep all day for all he cared; he could take care of her.

“My name’s Jacob, by the way,” he said, ready to offer his hand if she wanted to shake, but landing it in his pocket awkwardly instead.

Her smile widened, and her gaze lingered a little more. “I know, you told me.”

“Oh,” he said, then turned toward the sink, suddenly preoccupied with the silverware soaking in there.

“I’m Nicole,” she offered, still smiling although her eyes were brimming with tears. “I don’t think I said that.”

“It’s a beautiful name,” he replied, starting to get the table set for three. Seeing how she shied away from him when he put plates and napkins on the table triggered memories of his mother, flinching whenever his father walked past her. “You’ll be okay,” he said, scratching his beard and then wiping the sweat off his palms against the back side of his jeans. He didn’t know how to be with people. When he was anxious around them, his palms sweated something fierce. “Kay won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, lowering her gaze again.

“And you can stay here as long as you want.”

A tear trailed down her cheek and she caught it quickly with a swipe of a finger.

“You’ll have your own room and everything. You’ll have the main bedroom, so if you need the bathroom, it’s right there.”

Finally, some music came on that darn radio, ridding him of the need to fill the silence. A song about rediscovering the will to live after a heartbreak.

How fitting.

Finally, the timer on his phone told Jacob the potatoes were done, and he rushed past Nicole to get to the oven, happy the wait was over. In passing, he grazed her shoulder with his arm, a mere accident, nothing more, a fleeting touch most people would’ve ignored or not even registered.

She yelped and jumped out of her skin, springing to her feet and rushing backward until she ran into the wall, her arm raised to protect her face.

He’d seen the same image before, in the same kitchen, his mother in Nicole’s place. Stunned and speechless, he stopped in place and elevated his hands, as if he were surrendering to the cops.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say, after the thumping of his heart released the choke on his throat. “I would never hurt you; I swear I wouldn’t.”

She still panted, but she lowered her arm and looked ashamed, guilty of some unforgivable sin.

“Look, if you’d prefer, I can wait outside until Kay comes back. Whatever you want, only to make you feel safe.” He sidestepped until he reached the side door. “I am sorry,” he repeated. “I know you think you can’t trust me, but I grew up like this, both of us did. My dad was punching on my mom and I—” He stopped, realizing he was about to say too much. “I could never lay a finger on you. Let me just take the potatoes out of the oven, and I’ll go outside and wait in the truck.”

He turned and opened the oven, then removed the tray and set it on the stove to cool. When Kay would be home, he’d make the omelet, or maybe he should make Nicole’s and feed her now. What’s the point in keeping her waiting?

Grabbing a small skillet, he dropped a cube of butter in it, then set it on the stove. He was about to get the eggs from the fridge when he felt her cold, hesitant fingers touch his forearm.

“No one’s ever been this good to me,” she murmured, her voice strangled, weak. “I’m sorry… I keep seeing him in every corner of the room, about to pounce and hurt me again.” Briefly, she raised her tearful eyes and met his, then she rested her cheek against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll take care of you.”

His words fueled her tears, and soon she was heaving, her face buried at his chest. Where was Kay when he needed her? She’d know the right things to say to make her pain go away.

Unsure of himself and afraid to do or say the wrong thing, he stood as still as possible, comforting her until her sobs weakened.

“I’m so scared,” she whispered, clinging on to his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of the fabric and hiding her face in it. “I know he’s going to kill me. I can feel it.”

38Sheriff

The neon sign above Katse was