When I get to the other side of the mountain, I let out a breath of relief when I see a farm about a half-mile ahead. I’d rather be in a barn than be out here in the open. “Okay, up ya go,” I tell her as I swing her into my arms again.
She squeals, and her arms hook around my neck. This time, I’m carrying her like I would my bride, and something about holding her that way feels right. It’s difficult to run down an incline with her in my arms, but I’d rather be in control and know she’s safe than wonder if she is able to keep up.
Plus, her boots are still smoking. I bet her feet are hot, and the skin is sensitive.
My leg twinges where I got shot a few months back, and my knee buckles, slamming against a very well-placed rock. I groan, grinding my teeth together as pain shoots up my thigh.
“Are you okay? I can walk—” she says, placing a hand against my cheek.
“No, it’s okay. It’s the gunshot wound. I thought I was healed for the most part, but this incline sucks.” I find myself leaning against her hand for a split second before I push myself back to my feet.
Mary buries her head in my chest as the rain starts to pour again. The wind gusts, sending water and sand against us in a whirlwind of fury. Alarms ring throughout the city, which tells everyone to take cover because a tornado has been spotted.
When we get to the fence, I lift her over the wooden post, exhausted, cold, drenched in sweat and mud. I place her down on the ground and hop over in one leap, then pick her up again. If I was that scrawny kid I used to be, I wouldn’t be able to do this.
This is why I refuse to be weak. I wouldn’t be able to protect the people I care about.
I run toward the rundown barn, and now when I see it, it isn’t a farm, but an abandoned building. When we get to the barn door, the wood is nearly rotten, the lock rusted, but it’s the best we have right now.
Right as I try to open the door, the wind decides to push against me. I lift my head to see the swirling of clouds, the rain blinding me, and I grunt, digging my feet in the sand. I would run over a damn mountain to escape a tornado just to have another one form on this side too, but I won’t let this fucking storm beat me. I refuse to be defeated again.
I won’t let any situation get the best of me.
Mary grips the edge and puts her back into it. With her help, we open the door, and I’m surprised. I didn’t expect her to help me.
“Why are you standing out there? Get in here, you fucking mad man,” she grips me by my shirt and yanks me inside where it’s nice and dry.
I turn around, hiding the shock on my face, and close the door, sliding the wooden slab across the width to lock it in place. The inside is spacious, but there is hay and a few old saddle blankets for horses. I survey the room, looking for anything else we can use when I see a section of the barn where there is a white tarp covering something.
“Stay away from sharp objects.”
“So I should stay away from you, since you always carry sharp objects, right?”
I don’t say anything because I don’t have the energy to argue with her or bitch about semantics. She knows what I mean.
The tin roof dings with the hail and rain pounding against it. The old bones of the barn shake from the wind, and Mary wraps her arms around herself. She’s scared. I don’t blame her. Storms like this aren’t fun.
Before I walk over to the white tarp, I tilt her chin up with my finger, doing everything I can not to kiss her. Kissing her is a bad idea. Things turn to shit when our lips meet, and if that isn’t a sign to stay away from her, I don’t know what is.
“Everything is going to be okay,” I tell her, locking our eyes so she can see the truth in mine. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“You can’t promise that. Anything can happen. We don’t know how long this storm will last, and this barn is being held up by hopes and freaking dreams.”
I smirk at her silly words and wipe a drop of water hanging off her bottom lip. I’ve tasted those lips, and they are just as delicious as they look. “I can promise I won’t let anything happen to you, Hellraiser.”
“I am not.”
I snort and slide my thumb off her lip as I walk away. “You’re a fucking train wreck, but that’s okay. I wouldn’t have you any other way.” When I get to the corner where the tarp is, I grip the corner of the crinkled material and yank it off. Dust flies and my dumb ass inhales, causing me to cough. I wave my hand in front of my face and see what goodies we have here. I want to know if there is anything to get us warm.
Standing before me is a vintage bike, but the beauty is gone. It’s rusted from the inside out, and the tires are flat. There is an iron bedframe that needs some TLC. There is a black chest with gold hinges, but it’s locked, and if there is a key, it’s somewhere in here. I don’t care to look.
“I’ll be damned,” I mutter, wondering if I’m seeing what I’m really seeing. There is a wood-burning stove in the corner. It’s small, but it’s enough to warm up us. I know I won’t be able to pick it up. These things are made out of pure iron.
“What is it?” Mary asks.
“Salvation,” I say, cleaning the cobwebs off. I wipe my hands against my jeans and start pushing against the stove, but it isn’t moving.
Looks like if we are going to get warm, we are going to come to the oven instead of the other way around. I grab the handle and open the mouth of it to see if anything is inside. It’s too dark to tell.
I grab some hay and stuff it in there, then take the closest nightstand and break it into pieces.
“What are you doing! Those are antiques.”
“Are you cold?” I ask, but don’t bother looking at her. I keep two pieces of wood out and stuff the rest in the oven.
“I’m freezing,” she shivers.
“Then hush your mouth and let me get a fire going.”
“You’re so—”
“Amazing? Handsome? Brilliant? Strong? Smart? I’m all ears.” Do I think I’m all of those things? No, but I know when I sound cocky, it pisses her off.
“You wish,” she says, then yelps when lightning flashes between the wooden slats of the barn. The loud crack makes her jump, and the howling of the wind gets stronger. I’m sure we are safe here, but I’m not sure for how long. All I can do is hope.
I place hay between the sticks of wood and start to rub. I learned how to make a fire when I was thirteen. I spent plenty of time in the streets, cold, and the only thing I had was survival skills.
“Holy shit,” Mary says as the kindling starts to smoke.
“It’s okay to be impressed by me.” I roll my lips together to keep my smile hidden.
“I actually am impressed. I’ve never seen someone make a fire like that before.”
I’m glad it’s dark, because I can feel her watching me, and for some damn reason, the blood rushes to my face, and I blush. “Well, when you’re on your own like I’ve been, you learn some things.” I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t usually talk about my past, but luckily, she doesn’t ask about it.
I carefully lift the kindling and place it in the oven, then blow, giving the fire the oxygen it needs to thrive. After a few seconds, I open the chute, and the smoke billows out the top.