Chapter 24

24

ALY

S aturday, I went to work and I saw Linc from across the yard. He was alone, abandoned by his friends, organizing some logs in one of the piles. I put my head down and hurried past. I had thought he was different, but it turned out he was the same as all the rest of the guys in my life. Just like Porter said, all men were hounds.

I stomped my way into the office, pecking out emails with barely concealed fury. Last night at the Lucky Lady was supposed to have ironed out some of these wrinkles, but it seemed to have done little to brighten my mood. In a lucid moment, I decided that I had to give myself time, but that thought was lost in the next second, as memories of Linc and what he had done surfaced.

Damn my traitorous heart for beating faster at the memory of our lovemaking. It had meant nothing to him. He didn't want a family, and he had taken it out on me. Still, the image of him standing behind me, nailing me against the kitchen sink, sent shivers of delight up my spine. I really was a weak person.

After successfully avoiding him for the rest of the day, I climbed into my car to go home. In the employee parking lot, I saw him coming out of the barn. He was walking with Danny, though they were not talking. He looked up and our eyes met for one brief instant before I turned away and started my engine.

He looked sad. He looked worse than sad; he looked beaten down. I hoped that guilt was eating him alive inside because that was what he deserved. I couldn't spend too much energy cheering over his discomfort, though, or I would have to admit to myself that I cared. Aside from wanting him to succumb to some horrible fate—death by ants or crushed by a soda machine came to mind—I had to stop myself from thinking about him. It would do no good and only served to keep my wounds from healing.

I drove home. There was no one left to go out with, and even though it was Saturday night, I was beat. I got into my pajamas and sat in front of the television. Picking out a movie, I made sure to choose one with a lot of explosions and very few women. There was still one scene that made me cry. A beautiful woman, wearing much the same outfit as I had worn last night, allowed herself to be seduced by the main character.

"Turn him down, honey!" I yelled at the screen. "He's only going to break your heart."

The vixen didn't hear me and went on making out with the hero. I felt like I was drunk, though I hadn't touched a drop. My eyes were swollen and itchy, as if I had been rubbing them in poison ivy. My heart felt heavy and two sizes too big for my chest.

After the movie was over, I put on another. This one was a kid's movie, so there wouldn't be any sex. Still, the mother and the father sent me into another crying fit. Who knew that a movie about talking dogs would be so triggering? I watched as the fictional family went through the wringer together, coming out the other side having learned a valuable lesson.

I wanted a cigarette, but I had never smoked. I wanted to get drunk, but I didn't have any alcohol, nor did I have any desire to leave the house. I wanted to eat junk food until I exploded, but I was too sad to get off the couch. Instead, I just sat there, watching stupid movies and crying over the dumbest things.

It was two in the morning, and I was beginning to nod off when I heard a knock at the door. Fear gripped my chest. I threw off all the self-pitying haze that had been surrounding me since I got home and sobered up quickly. There was a baseball bat in my closet right by the door. I grabbed it, holding it like a weapon as I braved the intrusion.

"Who is it?" I yelled.

"It's Linc."

His voice sent a shiver of relief through my body. I lowered the bat and turned my back to the door. The fight or flight response left me feeling boneless, as if I had swum across the ocean and back. A moment later, I remembered that I hated him, and anger flared in my heart.

"What do you want?"

"Can I talk to you?" he asked.

"No!" I snapped. "I'm done talking to you."

"I'm sorry." His words cut me to the core, planting a tiny fragile seed of hope somewhere deep inside. "I was a jerk. I got scared. I know there's no excuse for treating you that way, but I want to make it up to you."

I couldn't help it. The idea of getting back together with him sent a wave of pleasure coursing through my veins. If it had all been an accident, if he hadn't used me in the worst possible way, then maybe there was still hope. Maybe the incident at the kitchen sink could be explained. I didn't see how, but maybe.

I searched for my anger and found it right where I had left it. It didn't matter what the cause of his betrayal was. He had hurt me beyond what was acceptable. I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a delightful power. He was on my doorstep, begging for forgiveness. I was the one who could choose to let him in or deny him his heart's desire just as he had denied me mine.

"I'm not sure," I said cautiously. "I'm not ready to talk right now."

There was silence on the other side of the door, and I wondered if he had followed my advice. As a minute stretched into two and then ten, without any new declarations, I chanced a peek outside. There, on the welcome mat, in the greasy light of the porch lamp, was a bouquet of flowers. Linc was nowhere in sight.

I stooped to pick up the gift. They were roses, wrapped in cellophane, at least two dozen of them. I let the door swing shut and locked it before crossing to the kitchen to find a vase. They went a long way toward healing the injury Linc had caused. The angry part of me didn't want to forgive him, but the lovestruck half was pleased.

I realized with a start that Linc didn't have a car. Had he walked all the way out here? It was at least five miles one way, down winding roads without sidewalks in the dark. Maybe I should go out and look for him. Even walking very fast, it was going to take him more than an hour to get home. I could probably catch him on Deer Tail Road, just beyond the turnoff to my cabin.

Instead of giving in to my romantic impulse, I set the flowers on my breakfast table and went back to the couch. Now for some reason, the implicit sexuality of the characters on screen made me grin. I didn't have to be heartbroken and mopey, but how far should Lincoln go to learn from his mistakes?