The smoldering coals did nothing to warm the chill in my bones. Late afternoon was transitioning to early evening. The orange-and-purple-tipped clouds slanted warm light through the bay window. I still hadn’t seen Lincoln since he’d stormed out of his office.
My insides felt hollowed out. It was humiliating telling Decker what the men had said and done in the confines of the forest. He insisted on taking photographs of the bruising on my arm. His unwavering professionalism did little to comfort me, but when he was done taking my statement, he brushed a tendril of hair from my eyes and gently squeezed my hand. Deck was a kind man and a good friend who was doing his duty. My humiliation stretched on as Finn followed me around like Bud’s clone, insisting on staying within three feet of me at my cottage.
“Tea or coffee?” Finn held up a chipped floral mug and a spoon from the cottage kitchen. His eyes hadn’t left me since I fell apart in his arms in the doorway of his office.
“Coffee would be nice.” A small smile hitched at the corners of my mouth. “Cream, no sugar, please.”
I smoothed the course auburn hair along Bud’s neck. My furry companion hadn’t left my side either. Despite the love radiating from both of these adorable men, the one man I wanted—needed—with me wasn’t here.
“Any word from Lincoln?” I asked Finn.
He sauntered to the couch, placed my steaming mug on the side table, and rubbed his expansive palm across my shoulder, kneading a small line of knots with his thumb. “No word yet.” His typical wide grin was set in a hard line. “I did hear from Decker, though,” he went on. “I still think you should press charges.”
I stared into the depths of my biscuit-colored coffee. My eyelids felt heavy, and my thoughts were scattered. I wanted to curl under a blanket, preferably with the safety of Lincoln’s strong arms around me, and sleep and sleep. A lackluster shoulder lift was all I could muster.
Finn sat opposite me on the couch, but his long legs ate up most of the space between us. He picked at imaginary lint on his jeans and said, “Decker also said that Lincoln ran into Stan and Todd. They got into it at the bar. I didn’t get all the details, but he said it was pretty brutal.”
“Brutal?” I sat up. “Is Lincoln hurt?” The flustered edge in my voice expanded.
He shook his head. “Lincoln can handle himself. I just wish he’d answer his damn phone.” He tapped the screen again, frowning at the lack of messages.
Bud looked up at me with his warm, honey-flecked eyes and let out a small whine. I leaned closer to him, feeling the soft fur of his ears against my cheek. “I know, buddy. I’m worried about him, too.”
At the rumble of a truck engine and the familiar crunch of gravel, Bud’s whine flipped to a soft staccato whimpering. My heart ticked up and my breath hitched. I stared a hole into the back of the cottage door.
Lincoln did not saunter into my cottage with his familiar pine-smoke smell that warmed my senses like so many nights before. Instead, I heard the brakes whine and the engine cut, but then, silence.
Finn loped into the kitchen and peeked out of the gauzy curtains at the window above the sink. He walked to the door and poked his head outside. “Hey, man,” he called. “She’s insi—oh, fuck.”
At his words, I shot to my feet, feeling a prickle of worry inch up my back. Finn stepped back, making room for Lincoln to walk through the small front door.
His head hung low, shoulders slumped, but he still managed to take up most of the entryway. My eyes fluttered over the expanse of his body, taking in the chaos of his appearance.
His shirt was bloodied and torn at the collar. Deep maroon smears climbed up his forearms as the roped muscles twitched with every flex of his hands. Lincoln’s hard, chiseled face was puffy and angry across an eyebrow, and a circular bruise the color of rotting eggplant along one side of his jaw.
I moved toward him, but he raised his hand, fixing my feet to the floor.
“Are you all right?” Lincoln’s voice felt cold and distant.
“I should ask you the same thing. Lincoln, what happened?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head.
“Okay.” The word dragged out as my mind raced to piece together what was happening. “Well, get in here. You’re bleeding. Let me help you.”
I started to step forward again when he raised his blue eyes to mine. Something swirled in them, making the tiny hairs on my arm feel tight. He stared at me a beat longer but then nodded his head slightly. I took the invitation and stepped into his space. I slipped my arms around his trim torso and pulled him into me. I didn’t care that he was bloodied and smelled like sweat. I needed to feel him envelop me and tell me everything was going to be okay.
Instead, he stood, a monolith—hard and unmoving. My hand rubbed up the center of his lower back. My mind screamed for him to hold me as tears welled under my lids. His heart hammered against my ear.
“I went back to where you were on the water. I think I was able to get all of your gear, but you’ll have to check for yourself.” He stood unwavering, but I clung to him, digging my fingertips into his back.
Finn cleared his throat. “I can take it all back to the shop. You two should take it easy tonight.”
He moved behind me, circling his arms around us both in an awkward Jo-sandwich. Finn placed his palm at the back of my neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Finn and Lincoln’s eyes met, and they gave each other a curt nod. Without another word, Finn left us in the dim fluorescence of the cottage kitchen.
My hands moved up the hard lines of Lincoln’s abs, floating over the stained fabric, unsure of where to touch him. I settled my hands delicately at the sides of his bruised face. Lincoln’s eyes were fixed to the floor.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Please look at me.”
He closed his eyes on a sigh. Lincoln worked his jaw but didn’t speak. I felt a chasm opening between us, and the uncomfortable frenzy of panic vibrated through me.
With the tip of his head, Lincoln finally—finally—lowered his head and leaned into me. The breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshed out of my lungs as I squeezed my eyes closed even tighter. A hot tear slipped beneath my lashes and trailed down my cheek.
When I lifted my head, I could see that his right eye was swollen nearly shut. I touched a tentative fingertip on its outside edge. A soft grunt was the only reaction to my touch.
“Oh, Lincoln…” I whispered.
“I need to get cleaned up.” He shifted his body, but I held him in place by his shoulders. Lincoln’s attention moved to my upper arm. Purple-and-black fingertips stained the thin skin of my inner arm. I watched his nostrils flare once.
My hand moved instinctively to cover the bruise. “I swear it’s okay.”
“No.” I didn’t recognize the hardness in his voice as it was directed toward me.
“Truly. I’m all right. I took care of myself.” I needed him to understand that I was rattled but otherwise unharmed, mostly.
“Took care of yourself?” Lincoln sounded outraged.
Blinking, I struggled to understand the dark tone laced in his voice.
“You think you took care of yourself?” Lincoln took a step back and unwound himself from my embrace. “Joanna, I don’t think you realize what you did today.”
A hot spark of anger flared in my jaw. “What I did? What is it that you think I did?” Lincoln stood, exhaling into the silence. “Well?” I placed my hands on my hips. “Besides covering for your guide service instead of my own? Besides kneeing some prick in the balls because he overstepped his bounds? What is it exactly you think that I did wrong today?”
“Look, I’m not saying you brought this on yourself, but—”
“Excuse me?!” An incredulous intake of my breath brought a renewed energy coursing through my body. Anger at the men who touched me I had seen coming, but this?
“No. Joanna. That’s not what I—damn it. Ok, look. You’re a woman, alone, with strangers.”
I hitched an eyebrow. At my silence, Lincoln continued. “You think you can just go out alone and do everything yourself. You’re not like other women, and I can’t be standing around waiting to come to your rescue.”
You’re not like other women.
The familiar words gutted me when they spilled from Lincoln’s mouth. How many other men had told me that? That I was too independent, too strong, or too different. I would never be the one he chose in the end.
“I never asked you to rescue me.” I was scrambling to hold together the scraps of my dignity. “What the hell is going on with you?” I searched his eyes for something, anything, that could clue me in as to why the conversation was spiraling out of control.
“I can’t do this.” Lincoln’s body went rigid, his shoulders straight, and he stared through me.
“Lincoln, what are you saying?” My hands were frigid and shaking.
“I’m saying this is over.” His eyes never met mine. Lincoln stood with military precision, as he tore my heart from my chest.
Desperate for him to understand what I was feeling, I pleaded, “I care about you. Talk to me.” My voice cracked, and I was seconds from full-on hysterics.
He wants a real woman. One that’s soft and sweet and normal and doesn’t put herself in a position like you did today.
Humiliation burned on my cheeks. I felt crushed and emptied. Building a wall was the only way I knew to protect my heart.
Ice filled Lincoln’s eyes, but I lifted my chin in defiance. He pinned me with his stare before turning his back to me.
“I thought you were a good man.” I flung the words at his back and cursed the tears that tumbled down my cheeks.
Lincoln wrenched open the front door and turned his head over his shoulder. “You were wrong.”
