Witness On The Run. Susan Cliff

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      She accepted the shirt with gratitude.

      “I’m going to shower,” he muttered, and ducked into the bathroom.

      After the door closed, she brought the flannel to her nose and inhaled. It smelled nice, like cozy man and laundry detergent. She put on the shirt, securing the buttons. Then she climbed into bed and stared up at the log-beam ceiling. Her thoughts whirled around and around before settling on the obvious. She pictured Cam naked in a soapy lather. She wondered if he was hard-muscled all over, or if he carried most of his strength in his arms. Was he hairy, with a thick pelt on his chest to match his beard? Maybe he had ugly feet. She smiled at the thought. Surely he had flaws. He was just a man like any other.

      When he emerged from the bathroom, she had to revise her opinion. He was shirtless, in a pair of gray sweatpants. She couldn’t find a single imperfection. Splitting wood had brought his muscles into sharp definition. His shoulders were broad, his stomach tight. His biceps looked as hard and crisp as McIntosh apples. The smattering of hair across his chest didn’t qualify as a pelt, but it added to his rugged masculinity.

      He turned off the lights and headed toward the other bed, ignoring her. She watched him get settled under the blankets. They were quiet for several moments. She listened to the wood crackle and pop in the fireplace.

      It became clear that he wasn’t going to try to climb into bed with her. She didn’t have to worry about him demanding sexual favors in exchange for the ride to Fairbanks. Maybe she’d mistaken simple kindness for desire on his part.

      Maybe he didn’t want her.

      She should have been relieved by his decency. She could relax now that she knew where she stood with him. For some reason, she felt sad and restless. Although she was exhausted, sleep wouldn’t come.

      She turned toward him in the dark. The light from the fire didn’t reach his face. Although she couldn’t see his features, she sensed his tension. The reason for it eluded her. He hadn’t seemed anxious before they entered the cabin. Something had triggered him. While she showered, he’d gone outside to chop wood in a frenzy. “Are you awake?”

      “No,” he said in a clipped tone.

      She smiled at his curt response.

      “Do you need something?” he asked.

      “I don’t want to bother you.”

      “I don’t mind.”

      “What happened to your wife?”

      He paused for so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he said, “She was in an accident. Hit-and-run. They rushed her to the hospital and tried to save her. She was in a coma for a few months.”

      “She never woke up?”

      “No. She didn’t.”

      Her heart constricted with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

      He didn’t say anything.

      “Is that why you came to Alaska?”

      “Yes.”

      “You needed to get away from the bad memories.”

      He shifted on the mattress, seeming uncomfortable. “I thought if I kept moving, I could...move on.”

      “Did it work?”

      “What do you think?”

      “I think you’re too hard on yourself.”

      He fell silent again.

      “It’s okay to grieve, even for a long time.”

      “Let’s talk about you,” he said.

      “Me?”

      “You’re on the run for a reason.”

      It was her turn to be quiet.

      “You won’t tell me about it?”

      “No.”

      “You don’t trust me?”

      That wasn’t it. Right now, in the dark of the cabin, with flames crackling in the fireplace, she trusted him. She didn’t think he would hurt her or take advantage of her. But she also couldn’t expect him to rescue her from this mess. She had to rescue herself.

      “I don’t want to involve you,” she said finally.

      “Why not?”

      “It’s not your problem.”

      “Maybe I can help.”

      She shook her head in denial. “I just have to lay low for a while. I’ve done it before.”

      He grunted at this admission, as if it didn’t surprise him.

      “I’ll be okay. I can find a job.”

      “Where?”

      “At a diner.”

      “A diner with no cops or truckers? Good luck with that.”

      “I’m not worried about truckers.”

      “You should be, because they’ll recognize you.”

      “So?”

      “They’ll talk about you on the radio.”

      “They will not.”

      “Sure they will. They already do. I’ve heard them.”

      She moistened her lips, incredulous. “What do they say?”

      “Complimentary things. Some of it’s a little crude.”

      Those bastards. She curled her hands into fists. If truckers talked about her on the radio, she’d be in trouble. Anyone could listen to those stations, including the cops—and the killers. But maybe Walt was okay, and no one would come looking for her. Maybe no one would worry about a missing waitress.

      “I’m sure you’ll be able to find work on your back, if nothing else.”

      She sat up in bed, her eyes narrow. He wasn’t insulting her to be mean. He thought he was helping her. “You’re trying to scare me into going to the police.”

      “You should go to the police.”

      “Why do you care?”

      He tucked his hands behind his head. “I don’t know.”

      She settled back down and hugged a pillow to her chest. Cam meant well, but she didn’t trust the police. She could take care of herself. Cam felt responsible СКАЧАТЬ