His phone kept ringing, over and over, and he wouldn’t answer it. It had to be the club, and with each electronic chime, Holly’s tension wound tighter. She made coffee neither of them could drink. She set out a plate of cookies they didn’t touch.
“Maybe you should…” she started, and Michael shook his head.
“They can wait.”
It was over an hour before he glanced out the window, saw the headlights in the street below, and said, “That’s Wynn.”
Holly’s stomach jumped into her throat. “Michael, I don’t want to go,” she whispered, one last desperate display of nerves.
He came to her, gathered her up against his chest with his arms strong around her. His kiss was hot and fast and tasted like absolute despair.
“You’ll like him,” he said in a low, fierce voice, as his forehead rested against hers. “You’ll like the farm. I need you to be safe, and I’ll come for you when I can.”
She closed her eyes, her wet lashes gluing together. One last time, she breathed in the smell of him, felt the warmth of his hold and let it soak into her skin.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
He kissed her once more, and then it was time to go.
Part III:
Of Angels
Twenty
“Uncle Wynn” was Wynford Chace, Michael’s mother’s older brother. He wore working man’s clothes – heavy jeans, flannel shirt tucked in at the waist, canvas jacket and ball cap – but there his resemblance to her father and uncle ended. He was a tall, broad man, with a square face softened by age and weight, his cheeks ruddy in the crisp weather, his mouth one that seemed eager to tug into a smile. His iron gray hair was clipped in an outdated style, with a broad sweep across his forehead.
On the sidewalk in front of the apartment, he’d pulled Michael into a bear hug. “Missed you, boy.”
And then he’d turned to Holly, and he’d beamed. “I’ll be damned, you found yourself a woman, and ain’t she the prettiest little thing.” He’d pulled her hand into his great bear paw of a mitt and given it a gentle shake. “Wynford Chace, ma’am. Nice to meet ya.”
Holly had been charmed, and terrified. She’d been about to climb into a truck with a total stranger in the middle of the night, and her heart had been hammering mercilessly at her ribs.
She’d overheard Michael tell his uncle that she was his “old lady” and that he was scared he couldn’t keep her safe in Knoxville. Both admissions had knocked the breath out of her. But before she could marvel at either, he’d turned to her one last time and said, “Don’t do anything stupid, and let Wynn look out for you. He’s good at that.” He’d squeezed her arms, and his eyes had grown wide and meaningful in the harsh light of the streetlamp. “Don’t be worried,” he’d whispered. “I trust him with my life.”
That had been forty-five minutes ago, and now slender deer leapt away from the shoulder of the road as the headlights skimmed over them. The farther from Knoxville they traveled, the blacker the night became, only the occasional glow from a security light in front of someone’s farmhouse or barn giving her any sense of distance. And those were set well back off the road, illuminating swaths of field, of barnyard, of gravel driveways. They were in the country, and the Dodge’s diesel engine churned as the headlights sliced through the dark ahead of them, lighting up the bloodied remains of fresh roadkill, unfortunate possums and raccoons.
Slowly, during their drive, she’d felt the knot of tension in her belly begin to relax. She was still frightened for Michael – what his club would do to him for disobeying – but her fear for herself was waning down to a thin sliver.
Wynn had kept up a steady stream of chatter about his farm and the dogs he raised. As she stared through the windshield, he took a breath and said, “I feel like maybe I oughta say this, in case you’re wondering – Michael ain’t in the habit of asking me to put young ladies up at the farm. This ain’t usual for him.”
A soft laugh built in her throat. “I didn’t figure it was. He’s not exactly a ladies’ man, from everything I can tell.”
Wynn released a breath that sounded relieved. “No. Not Michael. That’s not how he plays it.” He was making a face when she glanced over, his profile limned in blue dash light. “Come to think of it, I don’t know how he plays it. He always kept that stuff real close to the vest.”
She smiled. “Kinda like he keeps everything.”
Wynn chuckled. “Yeah, that’s about right.”
He slowed the truck and they took a right.
Holly’s stomach gave a leap, but she forced it quiet, pressing a hand to it.Safe, she reminded herself.You’re safe. She had to trust Michael on this, and thereby trust Wynn.
“If he’s ever had a real girlfriend, though,” Wynn continued. “I’ve never met one of ‘em. You’re the first.” He turned to shoot her a broad smile through the cab before he glanced back at the road. “I’ve been telling him he oughta settle down. Have a couple kids. I always tell him not to wait too late and do things like I did ‘em, but he never listened. Neverusedto listen,” he corrected. “But now there’s you.”
“Now there’s me,” she murmured, still stunned with Michael’s fierce claim of ownership.
