The Stillwater Girls(27)

Anytime he needs to go number one, he steps outside the front door and walks around to the back of the house, as if taking a quick jaunt to the outhouse is too risky for him.

When the stranger returns, he shoves Mama’s bed into place, blocking the door once more, and shrugs out of his flannel shirt.

“Tomorrow we leave,” he says, words slow and voice heavy. “First thing. I suggest you two get some sleep. We’ve got a lot of miles to cover.”

Heading to the wardrobe, Sage meets my gaze with a nod before pulling open a door for concealment. Peeling out of the day’s clothes, she begins to dress in layers, just as I instructed her—a camisole first, followed by a woolen sweater and knit stockings. When she’s finished, she tugs a white nightshirt over her head to hide it all.

I do the same.

He’s snoring by the time we’re dressed.

The strap of his bag hangs over the edge of Mama’s bed, hooked onto one of the posts, and a lump forms in my throat when I think about me trying to grab it and him waking up, but I have to go for it. There’s no other option.

“Shoes and coat,” I mouth to Sage, pointing to where we keep them.

Tiptoeing across the room, I reach for the black leather band, attempting to lift it with slow, careful effort. Only it’s heavier than it looks. Releasing a gentle breath, I try again, the rhythmic snort of his breathing my only reassurance that it’s safe to do so.

When I glance at Sage, she waves her hands as if she wants me to hurry up. Summoning all my strength, I hoist the bag up one last time—so slowly my muscles quaver—and exhale when I free it from the post.

Slipping it over my shoulders, I’m almost positive this thing weighs as much as Evie, but I don’t have time to think about that.

Pointing to the greased kitchen window, I head in that direction, dragging a throw blanket off my bed on the way and placing it over a chair to muffle any sounds should it bump against the wall as we climb out.

As soon as everything is in place, I slide the window up and help my sister out first, followed by the bag, which I lower to her.

It falls on the ground with a dead thud after slipping through her waiting arms, and my heart ricochets.

Turning toward the sleeping stranger, I wait, ensuring he’s still snoring before I climb the chair and hoist myself out the window.

The cold bites the parts of our flesh left exposed, and only a half moon lights our way.

“I have to lift you,” I whisper. “We need to close the window. Slow and quiet, do you understand?”

We have to keep the cabin warm. One cold draft could pull him out of his slumber, and the second he gets up to shut the window, he’ll see that we’ve fled.

Sage bites her bottom lip and nods, and I wrap my arms around her hips, lifting her as high as I can. My muscles shake, barely able to sustain her weight despite her slight size, but within seconds, her willowy fingertips press against the dirty glass, sliding it down without so much as a squeak.

Lowering Sage to the cold earth, I regain my balance before slipping the bag over my shoulders and looping my hand in hers.

“Ready?” My voice is whisper soft.

My sister nods.

And then we run.





CHAPTER 20

NICOLETTE

Davis doesn’t use his turn signal as he pulls into his driveway this morning—then again, he wouldn’t need to. There are no neighbors for miles. The ruts in these dirt-and-gravel county roads leading up to his secluded acreage are his and only his.

The clock on my dash reads 8:54 AM, which confirms he’s still working nights at the factory in the next town. He’s going on three and a half years now of steady employment—a new record.

I kill my engine just as Davis climbs down from his truck and slams the door. It’s only when he jerks his head in my direction that I realize he had no idea I’d been behind him for the past couple of miles.

His thick-skinned, sun-spotted hand rubs at his chest as he steps toward my car, and I roll down my window. I don’t bother stepping out. I have no intention of making this anything other than a quick and painless-for-him visit. Always a bit of a recluse with hermit tendencies, he’s never been a big fan of company. The one time I did stop by unannounced, it was early in my relationship with Brant. I’d brought Davis some leftovers, hoping I could score brownie points with the one family member who seemed to mean anything to my boyfriend at the time. I’ll never forget the way he blocked his door with his guarded stance, peering down his nose as if I were Cinderella’s evil stepmother delivering a poisoned apple. When I’d told Brant about it later, he said not to take it personally, that his brother didn’t like unannounced visits—or most people for that matter.

My visit today is unannounced, but the thousand-dollar personal check resting on my passenger seat should remedy any minor inconvenience this may have caused dear Davis.

“Nicolette.” He yanks the dusty ball cap off his thinning head of hair and wipes his forearm against his furrowed brow.

“Do you have a minute?” I ask.

He scoffs. “Do I have a choice?”

I reach for the check, handing it through the open window. He yanks it out of my fingers before examining it.

“What the hell is this?” he asks, chuckling. “Brant know you’re out here?”

“He does not.” I sit a little straighter and clear my throat. “And I need for it to stay that way.”