The Way Home (17 page)

“I didn’t think you remembered.” She was so tired that her lashes seemed weighted, dragging her eyelids down.

“I remember.” Meg felt his hand on her forehead, his fingers brushing her cheek.

She could have stayed just where she was for a lifetime. The steady beat of Ty’s heart under her cheek, the warmth of his arms around her — -as long as he was holding her like this, it was almost possible to believe that the scene with her stepfather had been no more than a nightmare. Only it had been real and terrible and nothing could make it go away, not even Ty.

Feeling the shiver that ran over her and mistaking its cause, Ty’s arms tightened around her for a moment. “You’re chilled to the bone. How long had you been standing outside?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should have knocked,” he told her. A kind of anger laced his deep voice, and Meg heard herself apologizing even though she knew that his anger wasn’t really directed at her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be any trouble.” Still holding her in his arms, Ty stood up. “Let’s get you into a hot bath and some dry clothes.”

The thought of being clean was enough to still Meg’s instinctive urge to protest. She was suddenly aware of a need to wash that had less to do with getting rid of the traces of mud that still clung to her skin than it did with scrubbing away the memory of her stepfather’s touch.

The hot water washed away the mud and warmed her body, but it wasn’t so easy to wash away the feel of her stepfather’s hands on her skin or to warm the chill that seemed to have crept into her bones. When the water started to cool, Meg climbed out of the big claw-footed tub and reached for the towels Ty had left for her. They were larger and softer than any she’d ever used before, but she was oblivious to the luxury.

She felt numb and her movements were lethargic as she toweled herself dry. Too much had happened in too short a time. She’d thought she was completely drained after watching Ty drive away, knowing he was taking her heart with him. She’d believed that there was nothing Harlan Davis could do to her that would even come close to the pain she already felt. But she’d been wrong.

Meg shivered and dropped the towel to reach for the flannel pajamas Ty had given her. They were his, he’d said, outgrown before he left home. The blue-and-white striped fabric was soft against her skin and the knowledge that the garments were Ty’s made them seem warmer, almost as if he were holding her.

She left the bathroom and padded down the hall, shuffling slightly as she tried to keep her feet in the thick socks he’d given her. She halted at the top of the stairs, wondering uncertainly whether she should go back downstairs. The simple decision seemed suddenly overwhelming.

Before she could make up her mind, Ty came into the downstairs hall. As if sensing her presence, he looked up, his somber expression disappearing in a smile when he saw her. Meg backed away from the staircase as he started up the stairs, his long strides taking them two at a time.

“Wanner?” he asked as he reached the upper hall and stopped in front of her.

“Yes.” It was a partial truth. The chill she felt was deep inside, and it would take more than hot water to drive it away.

“Good. Let me put something on those scratches and then we’ll get you into bed.”

Meg started to protest — she didn’t want anything on the scratches. Just thinking about them made her stomach chum with shame. But before she could tell him not to worry about her injuries, he’d taken her arm and was herding her gently but firmly back down the hall and into the bathroom.

And somehow, Meg found herself sitting on a low-backed brass stool with Ty crouched in front of her dabbing Mercuro-chrome on the scratch across her cheekbone. She kept her eyes lowered as he undid the top two buttons on the pajama top and brushed it aside so that he could dab the antiseptic on the scratches across her chest.

She suddenly remembered the way her stepfather had grabbed the front of her dress, ripping it open, so eager to strip it from her that he hadn’t cared that he was hurting her. It was too easy to remember the terrifying hunger in his small eyes, the soft wetness of his mouth on her skin.

The memory washed over her and she shuddered, unaware of the soft moan of fear that escaped. And then Ty’s arms were around her, hard and strong, holding back the terror.

“He can’t hurt you anymore, Meg,” he told her, his voice fierce and angry — anger
for
her, she realized as she pressed her face against the soft warmth of his sweater. Ty was angry
for
her, not
at
her. She couldn’t ever remember anyone being angry on her behalf.

She told herself she was going to sit up, straighten her spine, and stop acting like a frightened child. But that was just what she felt like, a frightened little girl. And the solid strength of Ty’s arms was all that kept the fear from swallowing her completely.

So she clung to him, too weary to pull away, wishing she could simply close her eyes and go to sleep and wake up to find that this had all been a terrible nightmare.

“Thing will look better tomorrow,” Ty said, almost as if he’d read her thoughts. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I don’t think I could go to sleep.”

“Sure you can.” He stood up and then bent to lift her in his arms.

“I can walk,” she mumbled.

“Of course you can.” But he didn’t put her down and Meg didn’t offer another protest.

Ty carried her into his bedroom, and when he set her on the bed, Meg had to force herself to release him. It was bad enough that she’d thrust herself on him like this. Clinging to him like a child could only add to the disgust he must surely feel toward her.

“I want you to try to get some sleep,” he told her, pulling the covers up to her chin.

“I didn’t mean to be so much trouble,” she whispered, feeling exhaustion wash over her in relentless waves. She let her head sink back against the soft pillow.

“You’re no trouble,” he said gruffly.

She stared up at him, seeing the frown that creased his forehead, the concern in his dark eyes. He reached out to brush her damp hair back from her forehead and she closed her eyes, absorbing the warmth of his touch.

“Go to sleep,” he told her again. “Things’ll look better in the morning.”

She doubted that he believed that any more than she did, but she nodded. She kept her eyes closed as she heard him move away, curling her fingers into her palms against the urge to reach for him, biting her tongue to hold back the need to beg him not to leave her. He hesitated in the doorway and Meg felt him looking at her, but she didn’t open her eyes, afraid of what they might reveal.

“If you need me, just call,” he said.

And then he was gone and she was alone. And she wanted nothing more in the world than to call him back, to beg him to hold her until the fear went away.

CHAPTER 8

Somewhere around two in the morning, the rain began to taper off. Ty tilted his head toward the window as the sound of it changed. The steady pounding became a gentle patter. He lifted his coffee cup and took a swallow of the lukewarm contents, grimacing at the bitter taste. He’d reheated it for Meg and then never even poured her a cup. Once he’d seen that she was hurt, he’d forgotten all about the coffee.

His jaw tightened until the muscles ached. There was a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with lack of sleep or the fact that he was guzzling bad coffee at an hour when most sane people were asleep. If sleep had been elusive before Meg’s appearance, it had vanished completely since then.

If only he had Harlan Davis in front of him.
He’d like to see the other man’s eyes bulge, his face turn purple as Ty’s fingers tightened around his throat. But before he strangled him, he wanted to pound his fists into his pasty complexion, give him a sample of the abuse he’d doled out to Meg. And that wasn’t even the worst of his crimes.

Unable to sit still, Ty shot to his feet, reaching out to catch the chair as it teetered on the brink of falling backward. He paced restlessly back and forth across the kitchen, needing to release the nervous energy that filled his body. He still couldn’t absorb what had happened — what had
almost
happened. God, what if she hadn’t managed to get away? She’d said that her mother stopped Harlan. What if her mother hadn’t been there? His hands clenched into fists and he swallowed against the choking sensation that rose in his throat.

He had to stop thinking about what might have happened. It hadn’t and Meg was here now and safe. And she was going to stay that way. If he had anything to do with it, nothing would ever hurt her again.

The fierceness of that thought might have given him pause if he hadn’t heard a sound that drove everything else out of his mind. He was out the door and taking the stairs two at a time before the echoes of Meg’s cry had faded. She cried out again as he reached the upper hall, a frantic sound that was not quite a scream nor yet a word.

Ty’s heart was pounding as he pushed open his bedroom door and crossed the room in two long strides. The light that spilled in from the hallway provided enough illumination for him to see that she was tangled in the bedcovers, her face twisted with fear.

She whimpered softly as he reached the bed, a sound so full of quiet despair that it tore at his heart. He bent down and took hold of her shoulder, intending to shake her awake. The moment he touched her, her eyes jerked open and she screamed, the sound seeming ripped from the very depths of her being.

“Meg. It’s all right. It’s me.” Ty caught her hands as they flew up as if to defend herself. “You’re safe.”

“Ty?” Her voice was ragged and uncertain.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you safe.” Seeing awareness in her eyes, he released her hands and sank down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to brush her hair back from her forehead. He wasn’t surprised to see that his fingers were not quite steady. “You had a bad dream, that’s all.”

“It was him,” she murmured, her eyes staring past him at an image only she could see. “It was happening all over again.”

“It was a dream, Meg.”

“He was so angry,” she said, seeming not to hear him. “I knew he’d be mad but I thought it would be like the last time.”

“The last time?” Ty’s hand stilled against her hair. It hadn’t occurred to him that this might have happened before.

“When I went to the fair with you. Mama told me he wouldn’t like it.”

“Wouldn’t like you going to the fair? Or wouldn’t like you going out with me?” Ty probed quietly.

She blinked and seemed to suddenly become aware of him, as if the last traces of sleep had finally disappeared and she remembered where she was and whom she was talking to. Ty could almost see the walls go up as she shook her head.

“It’s not important. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Please.”

Who was she protecting? Herself? Or him?

“Tell me, Meg. Tell me why your stepfather was angry.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said, her eyes shifting away from his.

“It matters to me.” The more she tried to avoid the question, the more he was convinced that it wasn’t her own feelings she was trying to spare.

Meg felt tears spring to her eyes as Ty brushed his fingers over the bruises on her face, his touch soft as a butterfly’s wing.

“Was he angry because you were seeing me?” he asked.

She’d never realized it was possible for someone to sound at once infinitely gentle and completely implacable. She shook her head, knowing that he’d be upset if she told him the truth, that he’d blame himself for what her stepfather had done.

“Please,” she whispered.

“You can tell me, Meg. Did he hit you when I brought you home from the fair?” She shook her head wordlessly but he sucked in a quick breath, a look of realization flooding his face. “Your mouth. You told me you’d hit it on the table. Did he do that to you?”

She said nothing but he must have read the answer in her face, because a sudden, terrible rage burned in his eyes, making them black as coal.

“Did he do anything besides hit you?” he asked fiercely. “No,” she said quietly, closing her eyes as she realized that she’d just admitted that his suspicions were right, that it had been her relationship with him that had sent her stepfather into a rage.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why should I have?” she asked, hearing the weariness in her own voice. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “There wasn’t anything you could have done. Besides, I thought I could handle it on my own. Just like I did with my father. It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“He
hit
you!” Ty said furiously.

“I’ve been hit before. The only thing you could have done was to stop seeing me, and I didn’t want that.”

Ty opened his mouth and then closed it again without speaking, a silent admission that what she’d said was nothing more than the truth.

“You still should have told me,” he said finally.

Meg lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, wincing as the movement pulled her bruised flesh. “I chose not to.”