24. Hurt

HURT

L ess than an hour later, we're joined by five men who pile out of several beat-up pickup trucks. In jeans, cowboy boots, and the requisite cowboy hat, the men fit my image of ranch hand to a T.

It takes them less than a minute to get to work. One of them brings an Australian Shepard who's more than eager to round up the cows. Two of them inspect the fence with Drake, while the last two yank tools out of the back of one of the trucks.

It's amazing watching the men work, but even more fascinating is the dog.

It took well over twenty minutes for Drake to get four of the cattle back onto the other side of the busted fence while we waited for reinforcements. When he went back for a fifth, two of the cows followed him, rejoining the herd on the wrong side of the fence.

The dog doesn't have that problem. It's totally in control and loving every bit of it. I might be terrified of getting in the mix with the massive beasts, but the dog doesn't mind at all. It runs around, snapping at their hooves, getting them gathered together, then the dog magically herds the cows back through the opening like it's nothing.

They're now on the correct side of the fence, happily chewing their cud and grazing on fresh shoots of grass while the dog plops down and rests its muzzle on its paws.

With the dog done, the men get busy.

For the most part, they work in silence. Each of them knows exactly what to do, leading me to believe this isn't the first time they've worked as a team.

After a while, the men finish. Wiping the sweat from their brows, they gather together to inspect their handiwork.

I look at the ground. Last night it was thick grass. Now, it's churned mud. Unlike the men, I'm not wearing boots, and I'm not sure how much of that mud isn't excrement from the cows.

Drake appears satisfied with the fence. He makes quick introductions, but it's obvious he's eager to be alone with me again.

After a few waves, the men depart, and Drake comes to my side of the truck.

"You need some help?" He glances at the ground and then at my pathetic footwear.

"There's no way I'm stepping in any of that."

"Come here, city girl." He gestures for me to come to his side of the truck. Drake pops open the passenger door and holds his arms out.

"You're nothing short of amazing." I'm a strong, independent woman, but there's a time and a place for that.

I'm perfectly happy letting Drake play gallant hero. I climb into his arms and clutch his neck as he lifts me free of the truck bed and deposits me gently on the passenger seat.

He gives a slow shake of his head, laughing under his breath and mutters something about city girls as he circles around the truck. He jumps in and we're off.

"Wanna see some of your land?" I love the way his left eyebrow arches when he asks a question. It's sexy as sin.

As for seeing some of my land, it's still early, and I have nowhere to be until the clinic opens on Monday.

"I'd love to, if that's okay."

"Okay?" He gives me a look. "You realize you're technically my boss."

"Actually, I'm not your boss yet."

"How so?"

"My uncle says the trust holds the land until I turn thirty, and I'm a couple of years shy of that."

"Well…" He taps the steering wheel with his fingers. "Then I'll do my best to keep it in trust for you." He points out the window. "We're headed north, away from town. I have five thousand acres, which I use for my cattle. Your land extends north from mine crossing out of Peace Springs and heading into Bear Creek."

"Bear Creek?"

"Small town in the mountains. I grew up there."

"I like the name. Sounds homey."

"If you think Peace Springs is small, you've seen nothing yet. Bear Creek is tiny in comparison. I'll take you there sometime."

"I'd like that." I settle into my seat, getting comfortable, as Drake heads back onto the road.

For the next couple of hours, Drake takes me on a tour of my land. When he brings me to the creek I remember as a girl, I get excited.

"Stop. Stop!"

"Here?"

"Yes, this is where my mom and my aunt used to bring me."

Drake pulls off the dusty road. I hastily unbuckle and jump out of the truck before it comes to a complete stop.

"I wish I had my bathing suit," I call over my shoulder as I race to the edge of the best swimming hole on the planet. A deep breath in brings a flood of memories racing through me.

"Why?"

"This is where I swam as a kid. My mom and my aunt brought me up here for picnics all the time."

The place looks exactly like I remember, except the shade tree we used to eat under is much larger. The water, however, is exactly the same. It flows crystal clear, tumbling over a small ledge of rock less than ten-feet high to spill into a broad pool before flowing out the other side.

Large boulders pepper the land, none taller than a man. Some are right on the edge of the swimming hole; great places to jump into the water. Others are under the water, which makes diving and jumping treacherous, but I have a few favorite rocks, cleared by my parents, as safe for jumping.

I'd leap into the air, wishing I could fly. I'd hang suspended for a fraction of a second before plummeting downward.

The water is snowmelt, which flows down from the mountains. It's crystal clear with a blueish glow and splashes into a basin carved out of the ground at the bottom of the waterfall.

All the best memories in my life happened here.

Long, lazy summer days with nothing to do, nowhere to be, and all day long to have fun. My mom and my aunt would sit on the rocks along the side, dangling their feet in the water as they read their favorite books. I swam and jumped and dove and had the best time as my fingers and toes turned to prunes from the water.

We'd take a break for lunch, and I spent an agonizing half an hour on land until my mom would let me swim again. I spent that time combing the water's edge looking for turtles, frogs, salamanders, and tiny fish hiding in the shallows. Years of memories rush through me—happier times when nothing could hurt me.

Children are truly blessed. It's only when we grow old that the world loses some of that luster.

Aunts get cancer and die. Terrible accidents steal those closest to you. Boyfriends turn violent, kicking and hitting and terrorizing those they're supposed to love.

And when you feel like things can't get any worse, the world gives you something to treasure.

Returning to Peace Springs makes me believe it truly is possible to escape Scott's brutality.

"This is a beautiful place." Drake joins me by the water's edge.

So caught up in my memories, I forget I'm not alone. Drake's steadying presence makes me reach for his arm. I wrap my hand around his bicep, thankful for the blessings Peace Springs brought me in years past and now, in the present.

"I loved coming up here."

"Tell me about it."

"My mom and aunt would bring me. We spent all day swimming and hiking and reading and playing silly games. On the weekends, Uncle Pete and my dad would join us. They made everything an adventure. We'd camp, stay up late, and stare at the stars until we all fell asleep." I tip my head back, loving the way the warmth of the sun heats my face. "We'd look for shooting stars, chase fireflies, listen to the cattle lowing in the distance. It was wonderful."

"It sounds amazing. Maybe we should move movie night and have it here instead of at my place? We can watch our favorite films, do a little skinny dipping, cuddle to get warm…" His voice trails off and I know exactly what he's thinking.

There's more water spilling over the rocky ledge than I remember. The creek leading out is a bit wider than I recall. Other than that, it's picture-perfect.

"You love this place." He meanders toward the creek leading away from the swimming hole. There, he dips his muddy boots into the clear water, letting the gentle flow clean off the mud clinging to his boots. He glances over his shoulder and a mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes. "I'm thinking a little skinny dipping might be fun." Before I know it, he kicks off his boots and yanks off his shirt.

"Last one in is a rotten egg!" He fumbles with his belt buckle while I race to the water's edge.

That water is cold, cold, cold. I definitely remember how cold it was, and most surely still is, but I don't care. A sense of being carefree overcomes me, and there's no way I'm losing that bet.

Following Drake's lead, I yank my shirt over my head and kick off my shoes while undoing my bra. My thumbs hook in my panties and I yank them off. I stop by Drake, who's still having problems with his jeans.

With kid-like glee, I snap my panties at him and laugh as they hit his face. Drake doesn't miss a beat. He grabs my panties and makes a show of sniffing them, then finally gets one leg free. He hops on one foot, yanking his jeans off while still holding my panties to his face. He runs behind me in his boxer briefs.

"That's not fair." He closes the distance between us as I race toward my favorite rock. The water here is deep, and I spent my summers jumping off that rock. I know it's safe to launch into the air and let gravity take over.

I do that now, running without a care in the world and leap off the edge. It's the only way to deal with the chilly water. There is no going slow.

For a split second, I'm in the air. Then I drop, gasping as the bone-chilling waters shock my body. I press my lips tight together and pinch my eyes as the water closes over my head.

Way colder than I remember as a girl, I'm not prepared for the icy shock of the frigid waters. I claw my way to the surface, shivering and turning blue. Drake stands above me, still on the rock, my red lace panties gripped in his hand.

"No way did I think you'd do that." He shakes his head, laughs, then jumps in, tucking knees to chest, and cannonballs me.

Icy water sprays my face as I kick to shore. I think I'm going to make it when a firm hand grabs my ankle. Drake yanks hard, pulling me back. My head goes under.

It's cold. Like colder than the night we met when I battled frostbite and won. Already, my body grows sluggish, but then Drake's arm locks around me and our legs intertwine as we tread water. He brushes the hair off my face and stares deeply into my eyes.

"You are something else, city girl. An unexpected treasure."

With those words, he kisses me. It would be way more romantic if I could feel my lips, but I'll take every kiss he wants to give me. I thread my fingers into the hair at his nape, loving the silky glide of his wet hair and shiver.

"I-I th-think we should get out of the water."

"Agree." Drake releases me and we both angle toward the shore.

His long strokes get him there before me, which means I get to watch the water sluicing off his naked body.

Damn, but the man has a nice ass.

He turns around, one hand cupping his groin, and extends a hand out to me. I take his hand and find my footing. His gaze drops to my chest, where my nipples are cold, hard pebbles.

"Don't even think it." I wade out of the water, flapping my arms like a chicken as I try to get my blood circulating. Thankfully, the sun's up far enough to heat the air.

Immediately, sensation rushes back to my toes, my fingers, and my kneecaps. Who knew kneecaps could get cold like that?

"I don't remember it being that cold when I was a kid."

"I'm not surprised, but it's a month earlier than when you came up."

I pause and decide he's right. "Come to think of it, we came up in mid-June and left mid-August."

"That water's probably not even forty degrees."

"It certainly felt like diving into an ice bath." I gather my hair, wringing it to get as much water out as possible. As for my clothes, they're strewn about.

I gather everything and walk back to his truck naked. Drake follows me, getting closer.

Closer still.

I feel him all around me, and my heart rate spikes.

The man has an effect on me.

Combine that with the fact we're both naked and the inevitable is bound to happen.

Spinning around, he brackets me between his rock-hard body and the metal of the truck. Normally, I wouldn't lean against a work truck, but the hood is warm, radiating the engine's heat.

Drake stares at me, desire smoldering in his eyes. Strings of dark hair cling to his face. The scar is whiter than I remember, probably a result of the cold.

"I know one way to get warm." His heated gaze simmers.

"Really?"

"Want me to show you?"

"Yes, please."

No way I'm saying no to that.

With my heart pounding in my throat, the tonal undertones of his voice melt me from the inside out. His sheer size blocks my escape, not that I'm interested in escaping him.

Despite the scar, his face is unbearably handsome, marred for life by the most unfortunate of accidents. We're both drenched but drying fast. His masculine aroma hits my nose, flooding my senses with his need.

Drake's hand closes around my throat. It's meant to be sensual, sexy, but blood pounds in my ears, and my pulse skyrockets. My breaths turn spastic. Hyperventilating, blood roars past my ears as memories of a different man fill my mind.

Scott used to choke me when he beat me, cutting off my air until I passed out. He would do it over and over again, brutally punishing me for whatever mistake I had made.

My vision swims, and my legs buckle.

The world tilts beneath me as I crumble.

"Abby!" Drake's shout sounds a mile away.

I'm being carried. His bare feet slap against the firm ground. He jostles me as something solid, something metal, falls and then stops. Cold metal presses against my bare skin as I blink and the world comes back into focus.

Drake peers at me, leaning in, staring at each of my eyes in turn. He presses the pads of his fingers against my inner wrist, feeling for a pulse.

He's going to feel the panic swimming in my veins.

I blink again and take a deep breath. Some of the constriction around my chest eases.

"What happened?" Drake lifts my chin and forces me to look at him.

His brows tug together. Ex-military, he knows a post-traumatic episode when he sees one. There's no way I'm getting away with not telling him.

I wipe at my cheeks and take in a deep breath.

"Who hurt you?" He barely touches my throat.

I sniff and straighten my spine. If he had the strength to tell me about his scar, and losing his wife along with their unborn child, then I can tell him about Scott.

"It's not your fault." I don't want him to be afraid to touch me. "That's just something…" My voice trails off. This is harder than I think it should be.

"That triggers you?" He takes half a step back. "Who hurt you?"

I take in a deep breath. "Moving here gave me the excuse I needed to get out of Redlands."

"Get out? Or get away?"

"Both." I hang my head in shame and tell him about Scott.

He doesn't interrupt, letting me tell him at my own pace.

I cry.

I get angry.

I berate myself. That's when he touches me, calming me down.

When I run out of words, Drake draws me into his embrace.

"You're safe, Abby. No one will ever hurt you again." He states it like a promise; a promise I know he'll keep.

Scott's a thousand miles in my rearview mirror. I'm free of his abuse. With my freak-out episode killing the mood, Drake and I dress in silence. He comes to me, pulls me into his arms, and does nothing other than hold me for what seems like forever.

In his arms, I feel safe.

In his arms, I feel his pain.

In his arms, we hold the trauma of our pasts, and it suddenly feels like less of a burden.

I'm no longer alone.

We pile into his truck and head back to town, saying little as the miles fall behind us.

The rest of the day, we goof off, winding up at Eddie's Soda Shoppe, where we gorge on burgers, milkshakes, and fries. He takes me to Top Bar, where I order a glass of wine and he, of course, orders a whiskey. Neat.

With liquid courage flowing in my veins, somehow, he convinces me to join the crowd on the dance floor.

It takes a minute to learn the steps of the line dance, but before I know it, I'm laughing and dancing and having the best time of my life.

But all good things come to an end.