Chapter Five

The Pie

Tucker

She clung to Tucker with bound wrists as he carried her to the cabin, but as they passed through the threshold, her head fell heavy against his bicep as though she was asleep.

He admired her beautiful face as her breathing slowed, eyeing the mark that the gag's strap had branded on her pale skin. Her toil had taken its toll. She was well and truly worn out after the night in the barn.

"You can rest." His voice was soft, conscious that he didn't want to wake her, that he'd done enough already.

She was the picture of serenity in his arms—quite unlike the wildcat he'd been forced to restrain—but even the wildcat hadn't warranted all the treatment he'd delivered.

She'd have run without restraints. He inhaled at the certainty. Hell, she had run even with them.

But still…His brow furrowed as he recalled how uncomfortable she must have been. He'd been over the top to tie her that way.

He'd been cruel.

A pang of something akin to remorse echoed in his chest as he recalled how she'd been compelled to remain while he was curled up in the hay. He hadn't treated her fairly, and he knew it, but as he grappled with his guilt, he saw flashes of the way she'd looked in the half-light—her bared breasts and delectable ass exposed and vulnerable.

Fuck.

He paused in the middle of the cabin, overwrought by the sudden intensity of the memories. Yes, his treatment of her had been callous, but by God, she'd looked as hot as hell hanging there in his ropes.

He wanted more of that, and as he closed the distance to the bed, he realized there was no point in lying to himself about the desire. He'd never accepted Ella for anything more than surety for her father's debt, but that was before he'd seen her—before he'd gotten to know her.

She wasn't only a physical delight. The woman had a sharp wit melded with what he suspected was a raft of experiences to share. If he'd been in the market for a match, she might have been perfect.

"But I'm not." His whisper was curt as he laid her gently on the covers. Ducking beneath the structure, he pulled his woven blanket from its hiding place and stretched it over her sleeping form.

Taking a step back, he took a moment just to look at her. Covered in the blanket, she looked even more helpless than she had in the barn. The baby blue bedspread across her body had been handmade by his mother, Sarah, and was about the only thing of hers that he still owned. Tucker couldn't decide if the matriarch would have approved of the beauty curling up under it. Sure as hell, she wouldn't have favored the circumstances by which she was there on his bed.

"Forget Mum." Pressing his lips into a hard line, he turned and walked back to the door. Pushing it closed, he started work on a new fire.

Keeping busy helped to keep his thoughts under control, so he used his blade to spark the flames rather than matches. The latter were kept for emergencies when time and tolerance were short, but Tucker preferred the old ways. By the time the flames were licking at the fresh logs in the hearth, his mind was finally free of his mother. She often haunted his mind but never lingered for long.

He glanced over his shoulder as he rose, noting that Ella was still fast asleep. Best that he emptied the barn of his paraphernalia, then started work on a meal for them. Failing to feed her the day before had been another area where he'd been remiss, and that had to change. However he might feel about the dazzling blonde currently sighing against his pillow, he had a moral duty to feed her. That much was obvious.

Slipping from the cabin, he ensured the door was locked before he reentered the barn. Working quickly, he cleared away the fallen pieces of rope, the abandoned cup that had provided him with so much entertainment the night before, and collected the oil lamp. Bringing the items back into the cabin, he returned outside one last time to the small pantry outhouse, where he kept food items that perished without the cool air. Selecting a pie he'd made the day before her arrival, he collected a bowl of water and was back in the cabin before Ella had even noticed, shutting and bolting the door behind him.

Turning to what constituted his kitchen, he shared out the water into various vessels, using one to clean his hands before he transferred the pie from its cloth cover and placed it inside the pot already in place over the fire. The pot hung over the flames, secured by a tripod he'd built himself from various scrap metal he'd collected from town. The trick to successful baking without a stove was to ensure a constant temperature throughout the cooking time. The cast-iron pot achieved this with enough time, and since the contents of the pie had already been braised, all that was required was to cook the pastry.

Satisfied that there would soon be a hot meal for them both, he turned his attention to his paperwork. Pulling up one of only two chairs in the cabin, he glanced back at Ella before he took his place at the counter by the window.

The fact that he chose a simpler life for himself didn't mean that he himself was simple. Tucker knew where every penny of his money was at any given moment. He knew who owed him and where their pressure points were.

Ella.

He straightened, twisting around to see her again. She was one of those pressure points, another name on a list he'd kept for years, but never in his cold pursuit of cash had he considered holding one of those pressure points as a hostage. At worst, she should only have been a bargaining chip—leverage that he could use over Bennett. It had been the asshole himself who'd suggested Tucker take her as a warranty for his arrears.

But I agreed.

His fist clenched around the pen. Yes, he'd agreed. Did that make him as bad as her father or perhaps an even bigger monster than Alexander Bennett?

He shuddered at the thought. If Tucker thought he was genuinely as corrupt as Bennett, he'd have taken the blade to his throat. The truth was, he wasn't that awful. Sure, he was a bad man. He'd made unfeeling decisions to suit his own needs, but he'd never sacrificed someone he loved for cold, hard cash.

Because I don't love anyone.

A wave of cold realization broke over him, sweat beading on his brow as he contemplated the accuracy of his thoughts. The lack of love in his life was at the crux of everything, at the root of every choice.

Because he didn't have anyone to love, he had nothing to lose. There was money, of course, but its endless digits and piles of paper brought little reassurance.

Perhaps he'd never know love. Maybe the feeling had been vacant from his life for so long that he wouldn't recognize it if it came calling. Deep down, he feared he wasn't capable of feeling anything. That his previous traumas had left nothing but scar tissue where there had once been a beating heart.

"Something smells good."

She sounded sleepy as she stirred, and by the time he'd spun around to face her, she'd lifted her bound wrists to her face to brush away her hair.

"I'm glad you think so." He couldn't resist a smile at her disheveled appearance.

Fresh from her nap and the night's ordeal, her hair was unkempt, and the bags under her eyes told their own story, but to Tucker, she looked glorious. God only knew how scum like Bennett had helped to make her.

"It's a pie I made the day before yesterday." He turned back to his papers, collecting them into a neat pile and moving them aside. The accountancy would have to wait now he had better-looking distractions. He reasoned that he'd cope.

"You made a pie?" Her brow rose as if she couldn't believe he was capable.

"That's right." He was happy to surprise her. Military service and years of living alone had made him more than able to cope. In actual fact, he suspected he was a pretty decent chef, especially given the rudimentary conditions he had to work with. "Don't tell me you eat gluten-free?"

Living in the wilderness made dietary concepts like gluten-free seem almost absurd, but somehow, it wouldn't have shocked him if Ella had turned out to subscribe to it. She was certainly slim, which made him wonder if she ate many carbs at all.

"No, I'm…" Her voice trailed away as she glanced around the cabin. "I just hadn't expected you to cook."

"Of course, I cook." He rose from his seat and walked toward her. "I have to look after myself."

"Right." She tugged his mother's blue blanket higher as he neared. "I don't do much cooking myself."

Now, there's a surprise…

"So, how do you survive?" He'd wager he already knew the answer. Tucker had left a life that he bet was similar to Ella's. No doubt she had at least a cook, a cleaner, and a housekeeper to take care of her domestic chores.

"Other people help me." She didn't elaborate, but he noticed the emotion brimming in her eyes. The reminder of the life she'd been snatched from presumably stung. "And I guess I never learned."

"Listen, are you okay?" It was a stupid question to ask. Of course, she wasn't all right. He'd had her tied in the barn and had treated her like shit. Why would she be all right?

"Not really." She turned her head away from him as he perched on the edge of the bed beside her.

"Hey." His brows furrowed. Tucker had no right to offer consolation—he had no right for any of this—but something about her pained expression tugged at what remained of his heartstrings. "Today's another day. It's a better day."

She blinked at him, apparently unimpressed with his uplifting mantra. "If you say so."

"I do." He inched closer. "I want us to get along. I just have to make sure you toe the line."

"What does that mean?" Her watery gaze narrowed.

"Surely, by now, you know what it means." He was sure she was smarter than this. "That I'm in charge."

"Oh." She rolled her eyes, but there were fresh tears. "Is that all?"

"Don't cry." He had once been immune to women's tears, but Ella seemed able to infiltrate his unfazed fa?ade.

"Why not?" Her face crumpled as she shrugged. "Why do you care?"

It was a good question. Why did he care?

So what if he found her attractive? Why did her tears bother him?

"I just want a fresh start." He sighed. "You'll be here for a while, so let's try to work together."

"This is horrible." Flinching, she rubbed her eyes. "I'm hungry, tired, and I must look awful."

"You really don't," he assured her. "You're lovely."

Shit, had he said that out loud? Although, in reality, his behavior last night—deplorable as it was—had already conveyed his attraction to her.

"Thanks."

"If you didn't hate me so much, I'd give you a hug." He forced a laugh, scarcely believing what he was saying.

Give her a hug?Tucker Bowman didn't hug anyone. He barely showed any emotion at all.

What was she doing to him?

"I don't hate you." The venom in her voice said otherwise.

"So, you do want a hug?" Suddenly, the idea was all too enticing. He'd already seen part of her delectable body and yearned to be close to her again, but he wanted her to trust him, to want him, too.

Better stop being an asshole, then.

"What?" Her laughter sounded unsure. "So, after abusing me, you want to hug me?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that." Although he acknowledged, she wasn't wrong. "But yeah. Human interaction has been known to help with stressful situations."

"For fuck's sake…" She muttered the words into her chest. "How can I hug you like this?" She lifted her fettered wrists between them.

"I could hug you."

As he spoke, he realized he meant it. Not only did he want to be close to her, but he found that he sought to offer the solace she obviously needed.

"And that's it?" Her tone was suspicious. "No groping, nothing more?"

"No groping." A wave of shame washed over him. It was an emotion so strange, he only just recognized it. He'd taken appalling liberties in the barn. Even he knew better than that.

"Okay." She nodded, drawing her knees closer as she twisted to face him. "One hug."