Just a Little Honesty (4 page)

“We’ll have to cover the rest on foot,” he said, nodding ahead at the stretch of dirt road. “It’s not even a mile; you’ll do fine.”

“One mile…on foot?” I asked, trying to steal his gaze, but he wouldn’t let me. “Where exactly are we going?”

I watched as a semi-playful smirk crept up his lip. He almost looked happy, maybe even excited. If it was at all possible for a Reibeck man to look giddy, Luke looked exactly that; and giddiness from Luke could only mean one thing: he was up to something.

“Why do I get the feeling that whatever is on the other end of this one-mile walk is going to leave me pitching a tent and setting up camp in the middle of the woods?”

“Pitching a tent?” Luke’s smile faded. He dropped his head and sighed. “Do you seriously think—given the circumstances, Julie—that I want you sleeping outside in the open woods?”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” I said, helping him unload the last suitcase. “It might be easier for you to just leave, let Milton hunt me down and kill me, and then you’d have one less problem on your hands.”

I half-expected Luke to fire a nasty remark back at me, but he didn’t. A simple smirk formed on his scarred lip.

“That’s one way to handle it, I suppose,” he said, not arguing for a second. “
Or
, we could just wait it out, let your uncle catch the evil son of a bitch, and then carry on with our lives.”

And with that, Luke slammed the trunk closed. With a bag over his shoulder and his suitcase in hand, I followed closely behind as I carried my own luggage.

Luke hadn’t been lying when he said that the road was narrow up ahead. Slowly but surely, the road we’d once been driving on had turned into nothing more than a small walking path.

We walked along small hills and slight curves, weaved in and out of trees, and stumbled over rocks all along the way. It wasn’t until we were about a mile into the walk—just as Luke had predicted—that we reached a large clearing. I could only assume—based on the smile he bore as we stopped—that we’d reached our final destination.

The wooded area ended, and we stood at the edge of an old, seemingly abandoned piece of property. No larger than an acre in size, the grass spanned the area—green, lush, and incredibly overgrown. Placed almost strategically dead-center in the field was a respectively small, two-story log cabin. 

“You wanted a place to stay,” Luke said, his eyes running rapidly over the countless tufts of wildflowers. “How’s this look?”

I let my eyes trace all the features that Luke had been studying since we stopped at the edge of the path. Like the dirt road we’d taken to get there, I’d never seen anything like it.

“Where are we?” I asked, turning to him.

He adjusted his bag and smiled up at the cabin, and for a moment I could’ve swore I heard him whisper “home.”

As if we didn’t need any kind of indication from the other, we both started toward the house, our steps almost perfectly in-sync as we reached the front door.

Luke reached above the doorframe to retrieve a hidden key. I watched him with a creased brow, wondering how he’d known that the key—or the road, property, and cabin, for that matter—had been there.

He put the key into the lock, turned it once, and proceeded to push the rickety door forward.

He took the liberty of stepping into the house first, so I followed right behind him. He bent over to put his bags down next to the door, and then he turned back to take mine.

“Luke,” I asked, throwing a glance around the cabin. Only the living room and staircase were visible from the doorway, but I assumed there was more to the house just beyond my line of sight. Letting my eyes trail up the staircase and to the second-floor loft, my eyes stopped on the beautiful woodwork that made up the indoor balcony. The view overlooked the first floor living space, which was complete with a couch, rocking chair, and three shelves of old books. I had no doubt that the cabin was old, but from what I could see it was clean and well-maintained. I half-expected to see an inch of dust on every surface, broken windows, and shoddy floorboards. But the house was surprisingly well-kept. “Where did you say we were?”

“Well,” he said, looking around the dimly lit space. The only light came through the old curtains hanging on the windows. “For the time being, this is our safe house.”

“
This
is our safe house?” I asked, not disguising my disbelief for even a second. “With all due respect to the plan, this doesn’t feel safe in the least. We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Exactly,” he said with one nod. “Only a few important people ever knew this place existed, and now they’re all gone. No one’s finding us out here.” He finally closed the door that we’d been standing in front of. “Now, make yourself at home, Little. We may be here a while.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Sunday, April 07 | 8:00 a.m.

Our first night in the cabin was a restless one.

After taking a few minutes to give me the grand tour of the house—a whopping two-minute walk-through—Luke proceeded to lay down the ground rules. I was ordered to sleep in the double bed in the upstairs loft. Since there were no windows or entrances to the second floor (with the exception of the staircase), he seemed to believe I’d be safest there. His plan was to sleep on the sofa bed in the living room—if sleep became necessary—and otherwise stand guard on the first floor while I slept.

By nightfall, Luke hadn’t said much. We’d already left the cabin once earlier in the evening to find dinner (after skipping lunch that afternoon), but he hadn’t even taken
that
opportunity to play nice. He simply kept to himself, and he seemed to be perfectly content in doing so.

We’d only been back at the cabin for a few hours after dinner, but each of us had gone our separate ways. Luke spent most of his time on the couch leafing through an old book he’d found tucked away on a shelf in the living room. He seemed intrigued by whatever it was, and that only made me more and more curious as to what it could’ve been. I’d never known Luke to focus his attention on something for so long, especially if it wasn’t worth his time. So, based on the way he kept his head low for hours, I knew it must’ve been something important. I watched him for a while, but the results of my efforts were inconclusive. I couldn’t quite tell what it said or what it was—only that it was a book—but I studied him from the second-story loft nonetheless.

Sometime after nine, I retreated to my bed at the far end of the second floor. I pulled the old sheets and quilt back, did a thorough check for bugs, snakes, or anything else that could eat me in my sleep, and finally climbed inside. I heard Luke come up the stairs four or five times over the next few hours, but he only seemed to stick around long enough to make sure I hadn’t gone missing.

Falling asleep hadn’t been easy, but when I finally managed to drift off, I slept like a rock. It wasn’t until the next morning that my eyes snapped open, and I realized that I’d made it through my first night in Luke’s so-called “safe house.”

I heard the faint sound of running water downstairs, and I rolled out of bed sometime just after eight. I walked groggily across the floor, wiping the sleep from my still-tired eyes. My clothes were wrinkled and disheveled from a long night of sleep, and there was no doubt that my hair looked exactly the same.

Before I could take the first step on the staircase to retreat to the first floor, the running water trickled slower and eventually stopped. Only moments after the sound vanished, the bathroom door creaked open. I stopped walking once I reached the loft balcony and watched as Luke returned to the living room—freshly showered, shirtless, and wearing nothing but a long towel on his hips.

He hadn’t seemed to notice that I was awake, or else he probably would’ve said something. He simply leaned over his suitcase—which sat on the couch—and worked the zipper to open the lid. In all the time that he went through his belongings, he kept his head low and his eyes fixed on the task at hand. If Luke had any indication that I was watching him, he never once let on. But he stood there sifting through his folded clothes—practically naked and unashamed—and there wasn’t a thing I could do to tear my eyes away from his still-wet body. 

I’d experienced my first crush back in September when I met Luke at the Oakland PD. After weeks of working side-by-side and spending time together, I finally learned what it meant to truly love another person. But it wasn’t until that moment—watching him stand only feet away wearing nothing but a towel—that I finally understood the concept of lust. I found myself staring at him the way I’d seen so many of my female classmates stare at Matt. If my jaw could’ve hit the floor, no doubt it would’ve been resting contently on the cold, hard wood beneath my feet.

Still, I didn’t much care. I rather enjoyed watching him, so I kept on doing just that. I kept staring, guiltily putting my nose where it didn’t belong. Luke wasn’t mine to stare at; he hadn’t been for a long time.

But still, something had me staring with overwhelming admiration.

If Luke’s face was anything to brag about—and yes, yes it most certainly was—then I didn’t even know where to begin to describe his body. True, it had never been a secret that his shoulders were broad and strong, but there was just something about seeing them uncovered that made my muscles a little too tense. 

I pressed my lips together to restrain a childish giggle as my gaze trailed down his legs and to his feet; it was the first time I’d seen his little piggies completely unmasked, and it was the first time I’d gotten to see the cold, hard proof of his accident at the shooting range. Just as he’d told me—not that I had ever doubted it—his right foot was missing one very critical thing: a little toe.

I didn’t let my stare linger on his wound for too long; there were far too many curves that had yet to be explored. And though my eyes fought to stay glued to his perfectly sculpted abs—or even the towel as it slowly loosened itself with his subtle movements—my focus fell to his chest, and my heart jumped to my throat.

Suddenly,
crush
,
love
, and
lust
were out the window, and all I could feel was an overpowering sense of remorse.

There, as if I’d completely forgotten all about it, was a familiar reminder of the sacrifice Luke had made for me the night he took a bullet at the hands of Hannah Milton. The gunshot and surgical wounds had long since healed and were nothing more than giant scars against his perfectly tanned skin.

The sound of Luke clearing his throat brought me back to the moment. My eyes snapped up, and I was fully prepared to meet his stare. But his head was still low, and he hadn’t seemed to have noticed that I was staring intently.

I waited for a few long minutes until Luke returned to the bathroom with a change of clothes—admittedly a
little
disappointed that he’d sought privacy for the inevitable moment when he’d drop his towel—before I quietly took the stairs down to the first floor.

I moseyed into the kitchen and set off on a mission to find food. With a perfect view of the bathroom door, I turned back every few seconds as I waited for Luke to return. As I waited, I took the opportunity to open every cabinet, every drawer, and even search the pantry; but I came up completely empty-handed. As hard as I looked, I only found pots, pans, and utensils, but no food.  It wasn’t until I stood staring into the empty refrigerator that Luke returned, fully dressed—all the way down to his socks—and back to his reserved self. 

“Good morning,” he said joining me in the kitchen. He watched as I looked from him to the empty refrigerator, and then back to him again. “Ah, you’re hungry.”

“Ding, ding, ding,” I said, not even expending the effort to smile sarcastically.

“We can head back into town as soon as you’re showered and dressed,” he said, unfazed by my sarcasm.

And that’s just what we did.

As soon as I could hightail it upstairs to retrieve my suitcase, I shot back down to the first floor and into the bathroom for a time-breaking shower. Under any normal circumstances, I would’ve stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. But I was hungry, and nothing—not even a hot, relaxing shower—trumped the growling in the pit of my belly.

Just like he’d promised, we left the cabin as soon as I was ready. We walked the mile-long trail back to the car, drove quietly down the old dirt road, and ended up in the center of Piqua—all within the matter of an hour.

A quick stop at the local grocery store ended with Luke paying a rather hefty bill from Charlie’s cash envelope, and together we carried out more paper sacks than we could count. I hadn’t expected Luke to be much involved in the shopping process, but he was surprisingly vocal about what we needed, what he thought was necessary to take back, and what (junk foods) he thought I could survive a few days without.

After a drive to the dirt siding and a long, arduous walk back through the woods with the groceries in hand, we reached the log cabin once again.

After unloading the food from the countless bags and organizing it neatly in the cabinets and refrigerator, Luke and I each made something to eat. It was a separate task in making each of our meals; there was absolutely no teamwork necessary. I didn’t rely on him, and he didn’t rely on me. He hovered in his own corner of the kitchen, and I did much the same. When all was said and done, Luke settled for nothing more than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but I needed something more comforting. I needed pizza.

After a silent meal on both of our behalves, the rest of the afternoon was uneventful. Luke had mentioned something about taking a quick nap, but I couldn’t have gotten so lucky. He remained wide awake, fully alert, and in-tune to everything that was going on. And that’s not to say that he really had much to keep an eye on; he hadn’t let me leave the cabin once since we’d gotten back—and where I stayed, he stayed.

There was a lot of peace and quiet, but that was only because there were no (good) books to read, no magazines to skim, and no television to watch. And despite the quiet and ungodly boredom, the only privacy I got came in two-minute increments (when I’d excused myself to the bathroom just to bang my head on the wall (out of pure frustration)).