The cop folded his notebook, left a business card on the desk, and headed for the door. "Ms. Roundtree, don't drag Tom into something he doesn't deserve. Call me, when you want to talk." He stood in the doorway, turned back and pointed at his Coke bottle on the desk. "I forgot my soda."
Before Tom could react, Hannah jumped up, grabbed the bottle, and handed it to the officer. She didn't know if Tom had a criminal record, but she wouldn't risk it. The man was right. Tom deserved better.
When the cabin door closed, it closed on her future. The police now had her fingerprints. It wouldn't be long until her record would ruin everything. A chill swept down her spine. Blood drained to her feet. Her body swayed uncontrollably. Hannah wanted to move, but the floor seemed spongy, her knees wobbly. She felt herself sinking.
Strong hands caught her and pulled her tight against a solid body. A voice from the woolly ether said, "Hannah, its gonna be all right."
On a cloud, she rose up, and floated. The room faded to black, but arms cradled her, held her safe. She dissolved into the inviting warmth, felt the bed give beneath her. Her mind hovered near unconsciousness, and gave up control. She let herself linger on the edge. A hand stroked her hair. Lips kissed her forehead.
"I'll take care of you."
Never had a man been so comforting and sympathetic. No one ever really cared. If only she could believe in something.
Just this once, she'd let herself indulge in the fantasy for a moment. "I'm scared."
"Don't be. It'll all work out." He kissed her. It was a sweet kiss, filled with promise.
"You can't help me. No one can."
"I will. I need you with me. We're connected now… forever. The Great Spirit gave you to me. He didn't bring me an animal spirit guide, he brought you."
Tom gave Hannah a lingering kiss, and she felt its power course through her. The strange idea of a spiritual bond excited her. The providential events of the past few days reinforced the wild myth. Maybe Tom was right. Maybe she did belong to him now, only him.
"Tom..."
"Shhh."
A supernatural power was at work. It must be. Maybe it was in their blood, in their heritage, because Tom had discovered an untapped store of feral desire within her. Whenever he held her, her body readied for him, eager. It must be a sign. They WERE bonded. If Tom believed it, let it be so. Her strength returned, and she kissed back.
Tom wrapped her tight. The scratches on her back stung from the pressure. It felt good to be loved through the discomfort. The pain faded and into penance for past sin. An exhausted soul, Hannah needed peace and simplicity, and embraced Tom with desperate hope.
His mouth left her, and said, "It's stopped raining. Let's go for a walk."
"Really?" She fondled his bottom, and said, "I thought you had something else on your mind."
"Postponement only makes it better."
Usually, Hannah hurried her lovers, teased them to completion, just to get it over with. She didn't understand this expectant in-between time. Titillation was something she gave not something she received, until now.
Without conviction, she said, "Maybe you should get in your truck and leave. The cop was right. Staying will screw up your life."
"Shut up, and put on your new clothes," he said, while removing his torn shirt.
The flash of his naked chest made her belly tingle.
Hannah stood and wiggled, and the borrowed pants dropped to the floor. The shirttail was long enough to hide everything indecent. But it didn't stop him from looking. She made a good show of nothing but legs.
"I can't get my new clothes dirty. I don't want to look like a slob on the bus tomorrow."
Sitting on the bedside, she had her new jeans pulled halfway up, when Tom suddenly pushed her down and loomed above her. His eyes wandered to the fabric covering her sex. "I've decided I'm not letting you go."
"YOU decided?"
He knelt on the floor between her legs, grabbed behind her knees, and dragged her toward him. She felt the shirt ride up, felt cool air on hot skin. His head dipped, and his breath tickled. Juice began to flow anew.
"You said, you wouldn't leave my side until I let you go. Were you lying?"
"No, but--"
"Then do what I say." He stood and extended his hand. "Come on."
Outside, the gray clouds boiled overhead. Tom and Hannah strolled toward a maid's cart, parked in front of an open cabin.
The grizzled proprietor, Mr. Wentworth, came out, this time armed with a toilet brush instead of a shotgun. "I see the Chief didn't arrest you two," and then he made a wheezing sound that may have been a laugh.
Tom smiled, and said, "No sir, we're not in any kind of trouble."
"What can I getcha? Clean towels? Sheets? Rubbers?" He wheezed another laugh.
"No sir… Actually, I was hoping I could do something for you," Tom proceeded to give Mr. Wentworth a verbal résumé that went on for three minutes without a break. "So, I was hoping you could use some help. I'd like to live around here. But, I need a job."
Wentworth's squinty stare alternated between Tom and Hannah for long seconds, before he said, "Tell ya what. If you clean the cabins tonight, I'll think about it and let you know tomorrow." He handed the toilet brush to Hannah, and thumbed in the direction of the open door. "This one needs sheets and towels. The next one needs a thorough cleanin'. I'm spectin' a bunch tonight, and I need 'em done quick." As he walked away, he grumbled, "I'm too old for this crap. When you're done, stow everything in the barn."
Tom smiled at Hannah. "What did you just hear?"
After a short pause, she wrinkled her nose and said, "Work."
He grabbed the toilet brush from her. "Yeah, work… and opportunity." Tom looked around, before he added, "This is just between us. I want to own this place someday. It's perfect. Grab some sheets and I'll get started on the next cabin."
With an arm full of linens, Hannah stood rooted in place and watched Tom push the cart away. When he disappeared inside, she got busy performing the mundane chores of housekeeping. Thoughts of an uncomplicated future began to percolate. The idea of a life here felt abnormally normal.
She fought against the unrealistic expectation, and became distracted by her blistered feet. They were sore. She should tell Tom. He'd let her go back to the room. He's too nice. This whole 'bonded', spirit guide mythology might work to her advantage. She could goof off and heal up, while figuring out what to do next.
When the bed was made, Hannah limped to the next cabin.
Tom was inside, singing low, "Then put your little hand in mine,
There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb,
Babe,"
Warmth gathered in her face. When she added her voice to the chorus, Tom spun around, smiling bright.
Ninety minutes later, hot from hard labor, Hannah limped beside Tom, toward the barn.
Tom braked the cart, and said, "Your need to get off your feet. Go back to the cabin. I'll finish up."
"I'm fine." She smiled sweetly. "I can't leave you, remember?"
Tom pulled her in front. "Here, stand on the cart."
Hannah balanced on the edge, locked between his arms, as he pushed and made motor sounds. The growling whir drew closer. His face penetrated her hair. His breath tickled the back of her neck, then suddenly his lips rear-ended her. He pressed his chest against her shoulder blades. There was a long inhalation. His tongue licked behind her ear. "Mmm, you're salty. Let's pretend I'm a bull and you're a salt lick." They continued down the asphalt path, while Tom snacked on nape.
"It tickles." She bent her head sideways to stop the tingle that spread to her chest and groin.
At the end of the twisty path stood an old barn, built long before the motel. Tom pulled the wrought iron door handle and the heavy timber squeaked and echoed in the cavernous interior.
A sense of childish adventure bubble up, as Hannah rolled inside. The earthy aroma of old wood and fresh hay engulfed her. "Wow, I like the smell."
The floor was a mottled gray cobblestone, making the cart ride too bumpy. Hanna stepped off and strolled down the center aisle, peeking inside the empty stalls. She counted six on a side. Four of them had clean sawdust on the floor. The rest were bare. Bygone animals had chewed curves into the top of the wainscot and hoof marks striped the inside walls. It reminded her of graffiti prisoners would leave in their cells.
The metallic rumble of a door sliding open made her turn around.
Tom said, "He must keep the cart in here with the cleaning supplies," and disappeared into a side room.
Impetuously, Hannah ran to the far end of the aisle and searched for a place to hide. A ladder, nailed to the wall, caught her attention. The two-by-four rungs were blackened and worn along the top edge from countless feet. Quickly, she climbed up through a trap door and entered the hayloft. A grassy breeze wafted through an open window at each end. Pigeons and swallows fluttered in the hand-hewn beams overhead. The neatly stacked bales towered along the sides.
"Hannah?" yelled a muffled voice from below.
Darting through the canyon of hay, Hannah spotted a canvas tarp and picked it up. She wedged herself between the wall and the bales, and covered up. Waiting with heightened awareness, every flap of bird wing made her heart race faster. The musty darkness became humid from her excited breaths and body heat.
Meant to be a spontaneous game of hide-and-seek, this black cocoon conjured unpleasant childhood memories of hiding from drunk Uncle Roger. She'd hid under dirty clothes in the laundry room, until he gave up or passed out, and the smell was similar to this moldy canvas. A fear that Tom might be pissed grew. Was there anger in his call? It was too distant to tell. She wasn't supposed to leave his side. He kept saying that she belonged to him. Maybe he was a whacked, control freak. No, he was sweet… wasn't he? Sweet at first, crazy after a while.
"Gotcha!"
