Splinters (3 page)

urns out I’m supposed to be in Houston doing a Friday morning talk show today. I’d actually forgotten about that. Part of me doesn’t care, obviously. I’m not the star of the movie, but model-turned-actor makes everyone gawp for a moment.
Look, he’s got a brain too!
Or something.

My head still hurts. Duke’s downstairs getting me some medicine.

I’m in the guest bedroom of a big, white farmhouse now. I’m wearing soft, old jeans and a greenish-blue T-shirt, neither of which fit—but they’re Duke’s, and they smell like they were dried with nothing but sunshine. I’m supposed to be “resting” until the sheriff arrives, but I’m feeling just slightly less like a wilted flower now.

After considerable hysterics of both the professional and personal variety, Elsie asked me about what I remembered of the night before. Sitting here now, I think back over my answer because… Well, there just has to be more there. I shouldn’t be so completely blank.

I know I was bored up in my hotel room. I know I went down to the hotel lounge. I went to get a drink. I’m almost certain that’s what I did. I just can’t remember doing it. Or I can, but in little pieces. The intention, some primping, the top of the bar being a bluish sort of glass… I
probably
had a drink.

My damn head aches. I keep rubbing my forehead and realizing all over again that my hair’s gone, too, despite having had a pity party in the bathroom earlier. Hardly need any shampoo at all to wash less than a half-inch of hair. Don’t need a hairdryer either. I look like a new recruit.

Elsie pointed out the most important part about my clean-shaven head: I didn’t have any bumps or gashes that would’ve said I’d been knocked out, so I must have been drugged. Like that drink maybe had a roofie in it.

But why? I’m not that hard to get.

I mean, I’m not a complete slut, but I’ve been known to go for what’s on offer. If he’s handsome, charming, and confident, I’m willing. And Jesus, I’m in
Texas
and surrounded by rough-looking, dust-covered
cowboys
. If I hadn’t been drugged and abducted, I’d have been out looking for a rodeo anyway.

I’m not stupid, though. I know the offers are because they’ve seen my photo in a magazine or on a billboard and want a semi-celebrity notch on their headboard. I’m openly gay and it honestly just makes hooking up that much easier because, if somebody knows who I am, they know what I want.

I would’ve taken a trick up to my room, though, and there are cameras everywhere in hotels nowadays. Elsie has some security guy who’s supposed to get the footage and send it up here so the sheriff can see if it’s anyone local. Like a crazy guy hauling me back to his home turf. That’s one scary-ass theory. Makes me wonder about Duke happening along in the right direction at damn near dawn to find me like that. How convenient… It’s the type of thing a stalker might do, actually. Set me up to save me and be my hero.

Except Duke let me call Elsie, and she’s definitely on her way here. Duke called the sheriff, too. If he was enacting his stalker fantasy, he wouldn’t want to share me even if it made the setup more realistic.

So it doesn’t make sense for him to be behind any of this. I mean, I suppose it doesn’t have to make sense if you’re a crazy person, but Duke seems sane and…trustworthy. He’s got nothing to do with all this except for the right-time/right-place rescuing.

I groan aloud. I don’t want to think anymore.

Flopping back on the bed, I see a few little spots of water damage on the ceiling. How old is this ranch house? It’s pretty huge, with white clapboards and a wide front porch. Has an Old West feel to it. Could probably house a good-sized family. I’d heard some people downstairs when we arrived—a woman laughing, the rumble of male voices—but Duke hustled me upstairs to this bedroom. I’m just fine with that since I didn’t need people seeing me wearing his shirt for a skirt and wondering what the hell we’d gotten up to in the back forty. And maybe he isn’t out of the closet. I don’t know anything about being gay in Texas except stereotypes and the vague fear it might be a hanging offense.

I hear heavy feet on the stairs and sit up. I sigh a moment later when Duke tromps into the room with a medicine bottle and a small glass of water. He might have left the hat downstairs and put on a heather gray T-shirt, but he’s still all kinds of sexy cowboy-just-in-from-the-range. I have a weird sense of déjà vu when he walks up to me. Something about looking at him standing while I’m seated.
Huh
.

“Here you go.” He hands me the bottle, maybe thinking it’ll be reassuring to select my own pills after whatever I had last night. I shake out two red-white-and-blue capsules. I guess I am a little reassured.

“Do you think it’s okay to take these, though?” I ask him. “I mean, I don’t know what they gave me.”

“Prolly… What’s it called? GHB.”

“What’s that?”

“The date-rape drug. Or roofies. Unless they’re the same thing.”

He gets out his cell phone and starts tapping around with his thumb. I avoid thinking about his words by staring at his hands. For a hard-working rancher, he’s surprisingly comfortable with the latest technology. And he actually has very nice fingernails. Great hands, too. Veins on the back, square palms, and big, knobby knuckles. Hard-working, manly-man hands.

I have the hands of a pianist or a painter. Really, all of me is this man’s foil. Where he’s hard masculinity, I’m sleek androgyny. He’s a few inches taller than me, but must outweigh me by close to a hundred pounds of solid muscle. And I love the contrast between us. I’m a sucker for men like him.

“Take the pills.”

“Huh?” I look up from his hands.

He smirks at me. “Stop starin’ at my hands with your mouth open and take your medicine so you can feel better. Then I’ll show you a little somethin’ from Wikipedia.” He waggles his phone at me.

I smirk back. Maybe he’ll be receptive to some security-blanket duty since I feel better when he’s around. I take the pills and drink the whole glass of water. My stomach rumbles.

“Mia's makin’ you up some breakfast. My sister, that is.” He takes the glass and sets it on the nightstand before giving me his phone. “She and a couple of the hands were here, but the guys’ve gone off to work.”

I don’t really hear him as I start reading about Rohypnol and how much more effective it is when administered with alcohol. Something called anterograde amnesia, victims under the influence for hours, victims acting drunk, the potential for victims to die if administered too much of the drug.
I’m a victim
. Scrolling down, reading the reference links and… “Oh, Christ.”

“What?”

“There are…” Half—more than half—of the links are to rape crisis resources. The seriousness of this slams into me like a fist to my chest. I mean, I’d thought about it for a second earlier, but now I
really
think about it and… “God, it’s just…”

“What is it, Al?”

I can’t quite take a deep breath. I’m shaking. “Links.”

He takes his phone, looks. “Goddamn.” His eyes go wide. “Do you think— That is, can you tell if you were—” He swallows, grimacing. “If someone—”

I shake my head because I’d definitely know, and I don’t feel like I was fucked last night.
Raped
. I wasn’t
raped
last night. “I wasn’t, but…”

He squats down in front of me. “Tell me,” he whispers and rests a hand on my knee.

I catch a stuttering breath and have to just take a moment to get a grip while I look into his dark amber eyes and all the concern in them.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember
anything
.” I am so not going to cry again. I manage to whisper, “I know I wasn’t…raped, but I don’t have any idea what
was
done to me besides what you saw. They could’ve done
anything
to me. Was I unconscious the whole time? Was I a little bit there? Could I talk? Did I try to stop them? I don’t
know!
” My voice cracks, and I cover my mouth.

He nods and gets up to sit on the bed beside me. A second later, he’s tugged me around and into his chest. He holds me and cups my head like he wants to protect me. I cling. I have to. The comfort, the solidness of him, the warmth and sense of safety… I have to hold on to all of it.

“We’ll find out what happened,” he says into the stubble of my hair. “We’ll figure it out and I’ll make sure nothin’ happens to you while you’re here. Nothin’ bad while you’re here with me, Al.
Nothin’
.”

I nod into his shoulder and add leaning to my clinging. He can save me, protect me, mother and smother me. I hope he’s one of those armed-to-the-teeth, don’t-you-worry-’bout-a-thing-little-darlin’ Texans who’s a light sleeper, prays to the NRA, and has a hair-trigger. That’s what I need right now.

uke’s younger sister, Mia, takes my hand as I get to the bottom of the stairs. “Thank God Duke found you out there. Are you all right?”

She’s about six feet tall, like me, and built like a dancer. There’s strength in her curves. Her eyes are a couple shades darker than Duke’s golden brown color. Big, blonde, country hair, though. Poor thing.

“I’m feeling a little better, yes.”

After my tiny meltdown, Duke got me on my feet and led me downstairs for breakfast and to wait for the sheriff’s arrival. I am pretty hungry, so I concentrate on that to avoid any further emotional outbursts.

“Well, come on into the kitchen here and have some breakfast.” She leads me like I might topple over. “I’ve made some scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and there’s flapjacks and a couple muffins left, too. Blueberry ones.”

Ordinarily, I’d have a small scoop of eggs and some toast with my coffee, but I’ve earned a real human breakfast, goddamn it, and I’m gonna eat it. Mia puts a variety of condiments on the table and— Oh, sweet Jesus, that’s one of those little tins with
real
maple syrup inside. My stomach rumbles as I drop into my chair.

“Coffee?” she asks while holding up the carafe like she’s about to do a commercial. She’s a perky one. I nod at her offer even as her overcompensating smile bothers me.

She pours while I load my plate, and I’m digging into my flapjacks and syrup when she finally sits down across the table from me. She’s about to say something, but Duke looks at his phone and declares that the sheriff’s on his way. Mia flinches, looks worried, and then sticks me with that smile again. Why is
she
uncomfortable?

Delicately, she clears her throat. “So, Al, Duke said you were havin’ trouble rememberin’ what happened?”

“That’s right.”

My God, this food is
good
. My tongue is having an orgasm, it’s that happy to taste all this. I put another bite in my mouth, all buttery and sticky sweet, and just hold it there. I close my eyes and sigh, managing not to moan, but just barely. It’s like that commercial where taste buds are microscopic people. I think mine are fucking each other senseless.

Duke grunts, and I open my eyes to see him grinning at me. “That good, huh?”

My face goes up in flames. All I can do is nod. Well, nod and chew like a normal person now. Eyelids fluttering, I swallow and lick my lips.