Rock Me Deeper (Licks of Leather #5) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,18
together beneath a thin wool blanket in the woods while a massive blizzard howled around us. I’d given up trying to stay warm and focused on merely surviving, but the flimsy lean-to I’d constructed beneath a big fir tree was no match for the blustery winds and swirling snow.
I’d done my best to shield Caris with my body, but my limbs had grown numb, and all I’d wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. Somewhere I’d learned about hypothermia and knew that if we didn’t find a better shelter, we’d be dead by morning.
I’d wrapped the dirty blanket around her, then we’d ducked our heads and trudged through biting wind and knee-deep snow. I’d planned to pick the lock on the loading dock at the sawmill on the outskirts of Diamond City. Since we’d been labeled runaways, we couldn’t risk being seen by anyone. But a half mile from town, the wind inhaled, and I’d spotted a light on at Old Lady Halloran’s farmhouse. I’d been so fucking cold and miserable I’d decided to take a chance.
When I’d started leading Caris toward the house, she’d dug her heels in the snow and shaken her head. “Are you crazy? She’ll call the sheriff.”
“Then you run and take shelter someplace safe, then do whatever it takes to stay alive.”
Caris had fought me every step of the way, but I’d clutched her tighter and dragged her with me until we’d reached the back door. I’d peered inside and watched the old woman stir a steaming pot on the stove. I could smell the food she was cooking, and it made my stomach growl. After I’d swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth—along with my pride—I’d lifted a numb hand and knocked on her door.
The old woman had opened it and scowled. “The chickens are locked in the barn. You won’t be stealing any of them tonight, you little thief.”
I’d been shocked she’d known I was the one who’d pilfered several of her birds and a whole lot of eggs. But instead of cowering or admitting my guilt, I’d simply lifted my chin.
“I’m not here to steal your chickens,” I assured, shoving Caris toward the old woman. “I’m here to ask if you’ll let her warm up inside and feed her something. I haven’t seen any rabbits or squirrels since the weather turned cold, and she hasn’t eaten in three days.”
The weathered lines on the woman’s face and her rheumy blue eyes softened. “When was the last time you ate, Sydney Wilston?”
The fact that she’d known who I was had sent my panic spiking. But then I’d realized, she’d never called the cops or social services and turned me in. So, instead of yanking Caris from the cozy, warm kitchen, I’d waited to see what the old woman would do.
“You ran away from the Andersons eight months ago,” she’d scolded. “Why? They’re salt-of-the-earth, God-fearing Christians, doing all they can to help you. And you repay them by running out in the middle of the night, taking this sweet girl from her foster folks, too. For what? So you can live like a couple of hermits out in the woods and steal my chickens in the middle of the night?”
I wasn’t about to tell her that almighty, God-fearing Herbert Anderson liked to sneak into my room late at night, place a rusty knife at my throat, then fondle my junk while he jacked off on my stomach. Or that he’d promised to use that same rusty knife and cut out my tongue if I ever told anyone about his special visits.
“I got my reasons,” I’d answered softly.
“Get your skinny ass inside, boy. You’re letting all the cold air in,” she’d ordered, then nodded for me and Caris to sit at the table.
When she’d placed two big bowls, brimmed with chicken and noodles, in front of us, the robust aroma was enough to make me weep. I’d lifted my head, met her sad blue eyes, and thanked her, while Caris grabbed her spoon and—like now—shoveled the food into her mouth as fast as she could.
Blinking the memory away, I found Caris intently watching me.
“Where’d you go just now?” she asked.
“Old Lady Halloran’s house the night of that blizzard.”
Without taking her eyes off me, Caris set her spoon down and leaned back. A tiny smile curled the corners of her lips. “She never did turn us in.”
“Nope. But she sure tried to make everyone think she was a badass.”