What Lies Between (36 page)

When I turned onto the MacIvers’ lane, my heart nearly leaped out of my chest to see the distant spot of light shining over the front door of the cottage. I couldn’t have been more happy to catch sight of that house—MacIver property or not.

The rumble of an engine grew louder behind me, and I moved to the edge of the road, waiting for the vehicle to pass. The headlights caught me in their beam and the truck slowed to a stop.

“Ellie, what are you doing out here?” Ben asked.

“Just walking back to the cottage.” Too close to the brink of falling apart, I didn’t dare say any more and hoped my face didn’t look as tear-stained as the rest of me felt.

“In with you,” he said, turning and pushing open the passenger door.

Of course he wouldn’t let me keep walking, and certainly not if he knew I’d already trekked more than two miles and was nearly frozen. I needed food, the warmth of a fire, and a hot shower to wash off Jason’s contempt and the film of my own betrayal coating my skin. Anger at myself for bringing Jason into my world weighed on me more than anything.

I had always known he was despicable, and I put myself right in his way. Still, Jason was responsible for his behavior. If I hadn’t jumped out of the car and fought him off, he would have done more than attempt to hurt me. My instinct was to turn away from it, separate myself from it, and forget it, because more important in my mind than revenge, or even justice, was my need to save Glenbroch.

Walking around the back of the truck, I swung myself up into the passenger seat, turning away from the dome light that would illuminate the scrape beginning to sting on the side of my face. I felt stupid, ashamed that I’d put myself in that situation. Shouldn’t I have known Jason would go too far? My body shuddered, repulsed, at the thought of him; I breathed and reminded myself of the truth. If anyone should be ashamed, it was Jason.

“Ellie, you weren’t out for a walk. What happened?”

I shook my head, unwilling to speak or meet his firm stare; he would know someone had hurt me, and he would know who. I didn’t want any more trouble around me.

He pulled in front of the cottage and turned my face into the dome light. “What happened to you?”

I didn’t answer, and Ben’s body tensed. A hardness settled into his eyes, and then they grew distant, as if he was already hunting Jason down. Whatever was going through his mind, this man was the last person on earth I would want to encounter if I were Jason Marks.

But anger wasn’t all that burned in Ben MacIver’s eyes. He touched my arm, and I understood: it was time to trust him and let him care for me. Sitting quietly in the truck, I waited until he came around, opened the door, and helped me out.

Within minutes, Ben had a fire blazing in the sitting room’s fireplace. Its flames danced, catching my gaze. The coal chunks glowed, crumbled. The heat slowly thawed my frozen body.

Ben took a blanket from the back of the chair, laid it over me, and handed me a box of tissues for the stream of fluid coming from my nose as I began to warm up.

In the quiet of the cottage, my mind reflected on the disaster Jason would bring down on me. I had crossed him, and I had never seen anyone challenge Jason and still be standing when it was over.

20

As horrible as my encounter with Jason had been, under Ben’s care it had already begun to fade. Hearing Ben’s shuffling in his tiny kitchen also served to calm me. The sounds of his activity reverberated through the compact space: the gas burner clicking on, cupboards opening and shutting, glasses set down on the counter, kettle boiling. I was happy to do as he asked and sit in front of the fire.

He brought in two mugs and handed one to me. I inhaled the cinnamon, let the steam from the spiced cider warm my face, the mug warm my hands. He left the room and returned, laid a first aid box on the floor, kneeled in front of me, placed his hand on my mug, and waited for me to release it. When I did, he set it on the nearby table. My arms recoiled to my chest and folded themselves against my body. He took hold of one, held it still until my resistance quieted, then stretched it out to inspect the cuts and scratches I hadn’t noticed. He took the other arm and did the same.

Ben’s eyes troubled me. Usually full of movement and life, they were too still and far away. My hair pricked up on my arms and neck the same way it did when an unpredictable Oklahoma storm was coming.

Ben moved a wisp from my forehead, dabbed a scrape with a cotton pad dipped in antiseptic, and inspected a scratch that was beginning to sting. His fingers trailed my face and nudged another straggling hair behind my ear.

When he spoke, his voice was strained. “I don’t know what happened tonight, but you’re safe here.”

His barely controlled anger frightened me. I began to see what it looked like when Ben MacIver marked an enemy. There was no doubt that I had never been his enemy . . . and I didn’t ever want to be.

He was right, and I would give no argument. The safest place for me was here, with him. I nodded agreement.

“I need you to make me a promise,” I said.

“What do you need?”

“Don’t go after Jason. Leave it alone. Please.”

His eyes flared hot with anger as he studied mine. Minutes passed before his breathing eased into a deep sigh and the storm in his eyes calmed. “Aye. You have my word.”

I nodded, relief easing through my body. I needed Ben to stay safe.

“I’ll run you a bath and you can make yourself comfortable in the room you stayed in before. I’m here if you want to talk. If not, no bother.”

Exhaustion seeped through my cells, leaving me with no desire to talk further, but I didn’t want to be alone.

I climbed the stairs, closed the door of the bathroom, and began filling the tub. Lying in the steaming bath was heaven. I wanted to stay there, but the cooling water motivated me to get out and dry off. He had left a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve thermal, along with a stack of fresh towels, on a chair. I rolled the sweatpants at the ankles and folded the waist a few times to snug it up. I didn’t mind the large size. They were soft and comforting—and his.

Ben delivered a fresh mug of cider, a couple of books—“in case you can’t sleep”—and a fuzzy hot water bottle to my room.

Thirty minutes later, as much as I’d tried and as threadbare as I felt, no sleep came. 

“Ben?” I called out.

“Down here.”

The creak of the stairs told me he was coming up to see what I needed. I scurried under the covers of the old, white-painted iron bed.

He appeared in the doorway, a silhouette against the hall light. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, I just . . .” I rolled my eyes at my own silliness. “Never mind.”

“No bother. Any requests for breakfast while I’m here?”

Managing a hoarse laugh, I said, “You’re killing me with kindness.”

“It’s selfish. I’m going to fix breakfast anyway, but I can’t decide what. Might as well make it easy on me and give me an idea. Otherwise, I’ll stand in the larder staring at the shelves. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Might not get any breakfast until midday.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” I said, giving him a serious look. “How about porridge?”

“Ah, now porridge I’m quite good at, another wee speciality, if I do say so.”

“Well, I can’t wait, then.”

“Anything else?”

“Let me think for a second,” I said, needing courage.

The lighthearted banter couldn’t fully chase back the fear sitting solid and immovable in my chest. My mind had made the decision that brought Jason here. It was time to let my heart take the helm. It couldn’t do worse.

I swallowed down the sadness and regret piggybacking on my fear and pushed myself to sitting. The scared child hidden away within me craved comfort, refused to be silent. Being vulnerable did not appeal to my mind, which tossed out the usual warnings. But my heart couldn’t ignore the needs of the child who seldom asked for anything.

“Ben?”

“Yes?”

His voice fell soft in the space between us, and my sliver of courage pulled itself as tall as it could.

“Would it be too awful a bother if you . . .” My courage skittered back into the shadows and took the rest of my words with it.

Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. “Ellie, tell me what you need.”

The beating of my heart drowned out the sound of my own voice as I summoned my words from the shadows. “Would you hold me? I mean, until I fall asleep?”

He stood up without taking his eyes off mine, then walked around the bed, slid under the covers, and pulled me back against him.

“Aye, I will hold you until the last of the dark leaves you.”

I turned into him, snugged myself against his chest, not able to hold all the hurt inside, not wanting to. Old wounds and new burst open, the sorrow soaking his shirt and leaving my body heaving and shuddering from the sheer volume. Ben held me feather light within his strength, sheltering my body with his until the last of my tears had fallen against the curve of his neck. I turned back over, spent and relieved, spooning my body close against him. His arms surrounded me, the hairs on his forearm brushing the curve of my mouth and face, his steady breath warming me. Mine slowed to his rhythm.

As my body quieted he began to sing—soft, slow. The sounds of the words told me they were Scottish Gaelic, although I had never heard these specific words and didn’t know their meaning. The rise and fall and melody of his accent, the cadence of the old language, proved more powerful than ancient pipes of war against what haunted me. The dark retreated, then turned back around and lunged at me again, stealing my breath. Ben pulled me closer, singing barely above a whisper, and the dark finally took flight. I sank back into his arms, certain that if anything ever happened to him, then I would truly know what it meant to be shattered.

But all is well now.

I accepted the sweet relief of this simple truth and surrendered to the thick Scotch mist of sleep.

My eyes flicked open and I lay quiet, allowing my mind the chance to wake up and get hold of the morning and my thoughts. The lingering heat of Ben’s body was still with me. He had stayed with me as I’d asked, held me through the night. And now, in the morning’s light, I felt rested, edgy, and worried at the same time.

I had crossed a line, many lines, with Jason, with Ben, with myself. My heart had plunged itself into the middle of a troubled sea, churned by a wind with a mind of its own. This wind would quiet if and when it decided to, and I could only hope to stay above the waves long enough to make it to shore . . . but what if I couldn’t?

Blood seeped from the bandage on my forehead into my eye. The earlier part of last night came into focus. Jason. His threats. His mouth on mine.

The house was too quiet. Where was Ben? Trepidation coursed through me. I looked in his room—empty—and then made my way to the kitchen. No one else was in the house. He had told me he wouldn’t leave me alone. What if Jason had made good on his threat, but instead of me, he had hurt Ben?

The back door creaked and my body shrank against the wall, heart pounding. Where was my phone? Ben appeared in the doorway and my nerves sagged as their tension drained away. I hated feeling jumpy; the previous night messed me up more than I had thought.

“You’re awake.” His brows lifted in surprise. “I thought you would have a long lie.”

“You said you wouldn’t leave me alone.” I wanted to trust him, but when it came to trust, I was a preschooler trying to understand calculus.

“You weren’t alone. I was out in the garden, giving the chickens their breakfast. Now nip back to bed, you, so I can do for you what I meant to.”

Not ready to leave his side, I watched him as he began to assemble breakfast.

“What’s that you’re using to stir the porridge?” I asked, curious about the utensil that resembled a wooden dowel with a fat, curved end.

“This would be a spurtle. My mum always uses one. When I set up house I couldn’t think of making porridge without it.”

“I think I’ll get one of those.”

“Aye, but away with you now.”

I scrambled up the stairs and settled myself back into the comfy guest bed. My burst of energy had no staying power. The effects of the previous night left my body aching and my mind heavy with worry. A light knock came several minutes later.

“Come in.” I scooted to an upright position, eager for more of Ben’s cooking.

Ben entered and set a tray with a bowl of porridge, fresh fruit, milk, and more coffee onto the bed. “No black pudding for you, but I’m having some if you fancy a taste.”

“No thanks. I’m not ever planning to taste black pudding, thank you very much,” I said, grimacing at the thought of fried pig’s blood. Why would that ever be considered food?

“Suit yourself.” Ben moved to the window, raised the fabric shades, and opened the room to the day. A bright sun shone through the window. “The morning mist is burning off. Look what the day has on offer. Brilliant.”

The sun’s rays shone directly in my eyes, making me squint, which I’m sure made me look grumpy. “You are the most annoying morning person ever. Too nice, way too cheery, and you fix proper breakfasts. You’re ridiculous.”

He lifted a brow. “Not sure if my parents or mates would agree with you on any of those points. But hey, I’m sorry, I should have asked you if you wanted to see the most gorgeous Highland morning just waiting to help you forget everything you don’t need to remember.”

“I should appreciate you’re a morning person. I suppose someone has to be.”

“Coming to see the bit of good in me then?”

I patted the edge of the bed and he took a seat. “I think there might be the tiniest, microscopic, bit of good in you, aye.”

Bantering with him was like plugging my heart into a charger; it made my entire being spark with energy. Warmth flowed into my sore, battered limbs.

“I remember the first day I arrived. You know how to offer proper Highland hospitality, that’s for sure. I owe you one.”

Disappointment or frustration, or maybe both, clouded his face. “You needed someone. I was here. You owe me nothing. I would have done it for anyone.” His eyes darkened. “I don’t know what happened to you, Ellie, but whatever it was, it should never . . .”