“Of those two options, I chose a different time over maybe never.” Now he had me nervous. I followed him into the family room, glancing at the food on the table and deciding it could keep.
He stopped in front of the fireplace and added another log, his big body restless.
“So then, what’s this confession that you don’t know whether is serious or not?” I decided to stay standing. He stood. I should stand.
“There’s no pretty way of telling you this.” Jason turned and faced me, and a full-on eye-collision followed.
My heart squeezed and my mind jumped to the worst-case scenario. “Is it about Isaac?”
“No. No, not really. Not at all, actually.”
I exhaled my relief. “Then out with it, even if it’s ugly.”
“Okay.” He nodded, his thumbs hooking into his jean pockets. “That night I spun out—”
“Christmas?”
“Was it Christmas?”
“Yes.”
“Well then. On Christmas, when I crashed my bike, the reason I was there in the first place was to check on you.”
I stared at him, thinking about that for a second. But it made no sense. “Pardon?”
“Two of my recruits were . . . well, they happened to be on Donner Lodge property the week before and they saw your ex-husband’s old lady sneaking around, like she didn’t want to be seen.”
I flinched. “I have so many questions. First, old lady—that means his woman? Elena? His mistress.”
“That’s right.”
“And what were your recruits doing—what were any of your fellas doing—on Donner Lodge property?”
“It’s not unusual.”
I flinched again. “That’s not what I asked.”
“We’re getting off topic.”
“Are we?”
“We are. What they were doing there isn’t important.”
“Were they dealing drugs? Are they planning to steal cars? Or thieve the cabins? Please tell me my patrons are safe.”
“Your patrons are safe. The Lodge isn’t a target, it’s a neutral spot. No one uses it. We’re not a threat to you or your business.”
I searched my brain, trying to figure out why on earth the Iron Wraiths would want to loiter on Lodge property. “Then why do they—”
“Diane, focus. Your ex’s old lady was there, sneaking around.”
“So you said.” My arms felt suddenly useless at my sides. I crossed them.
“Why would she be there?” He put the question to me like I would have any idea why that crazy lady did anything.
“I don’t honestly know. I haven’t seen her since her sister was convicted last year and they got off with barely nothing at all after what they did to my Jennifer. Were there any justice in the world, they’d both be six feet closer to hell.”
He stared at me, as though considering how—or whether—to continue.
I uncrossed my arms and scratched my shoulder. “Well, so, you stopped by on Christmas to check on me? When one of your young gentlemen spotted Elena at the Lodge sneaking? That’s your confession?”
“Not quite. I . . .” He turned, glanced at the brick hearth, and lowered himself to it, catching his head in his hands and covering his face. “Last year, after you were attacked—”
“When?”
His head shot up. “You were attacked more than once?”
“Uh—no. No. Just that once. When I got hit on the head and dragged over to burning bee boxes on Old Man Blount’s farm.” I’d woken up in the hospital and had been treated for smoke inhalation.
“I worried about your safety.” He stood again, pacing to the couch but not sitting.
“When?”
“When I found out what happened. So, last year, I got in the habit of checking in on you.” He seemed bracing, watchful.
And I was so confused by what he’d said, I didn’t know how to react to it. “Let me get this straight. Last year, when that nut job put me in the hospital, you found out about it and then started checking on me? Last year you did this?”
“I did. And I might’ve gotten carried away with it.”
Carried away? “What does that mean?”
“I used to follow you, in the morning, to make sure you got to work okay. And then in the evenings, I’d make sure you got home,” he said. Just like that. Just like . . . that.
We stared at each other while I processed this information. But I couldn’t process because it sounded so farfetched.
“Are you . . . are you saying you followed me around?”
“I did.” He nodded firmly. “And before I left at night, I’d walk your property a few times, making sure all looked well.”
I took a step back, unsure if—No, no. This is weird, Diane. This is stalking. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t have a good reason.”
My mouth fell open and I took another step back. “You were spying on me for no reason?”
“I wasn’t—that wasn’t my goal.”
“Then what was your goal?”
“Your safety.”
“I—I was perfectly safe.”
“You were hit over the head, left for dead, and almost did die due to the smoke. The person who’d done it wasn’t apprehended for weeks after. And who was checking up on you?”
Goodness. He seemed to know a lot about it. “Well, Jennifer came over and stayed. And Cletus—”
“Cletus Winston was only there for your daughter. When she stopped nursing you, he left too. He wasn’t looking in.”
And Jason would know, because he’d just admitted to spying on me.
But, perhaps irrationally, that question he asked struck a chord. “I don’t need anyone checking in on me. I have an excellent security system.” Who was checking on me? No one. No one was checking on me. I was responsible for myself.
“Oh? Really? Then why didn’t it catch me, from March until September, walking your property?”
I had no answer to that.
“No one was checking in on you.” He said this slowly, emphatically, like I didn’t understand the implications of being alone.
But I knew. This last year, coming home to an empty house each night, I’d covered my loneliness with bravado and my fear with distraction. I’d never lived alone before. I’d gone from my father’s house to my husband’s house.
“No one had eyes on you—on your house, on your land,” he went on, the look in his eyes begging me to understand. “Your ex and his old lady, they’re not good people. They are bad people, and I would know. I needed to see you were safe.”
“But why? I wasn’t—we barely knew each other then.” I rubbed my forehead with agitated fingers, not knowing how to feel.
“I can’t explain it other than you . . . meant something to me.” Jason lifted his hands out to his sides, like he surrendered. “After our night together, as I’ve told you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I needed to know you were looked after.”
None of this made a lick of sense. “Why didn’t you tell me? If I meant something to you, then why not talk to me? Or—or contact me? Why not—”