Hurt.
Why did he have to see through her? He didn’t want to. He wished she were as big of a mystery to him as she had been to the other guys they’d hung around. He wished she was an untouchable, wild thing. But instead she was always this clear, complex, beautiful woman to him.
He’d watched her have a gun pointed to her head by her own father, and he’d seen that same look on her face: weary acceptance, and determination to be brave.
He’d seen it for a lie too.
Then he’d beaten the ever loving shit out of a man twice his age and left him in a pool of blood.
He was scared to death this was all he had in him—violence and hurting people, even if it was in the name of protecting someone. Protecting Delia.
She’d never thanked him for it either. She’d said he’d ruined her life.
“Caleb,” Delia snapped. “Stop tripping down memory lane and tell me what the condition is.”
He realized his hands weren’t steady and leaned the gun against the wall. She always did this to him. It was why he shunned any and all connection to her in his attempt to be a decent human being ever since Dad’s accident. Her effect was more potent than any alcohol he’d downed to ease the anger.
Caleb cleared his throat. He knew she’d see through any attempt to pretend he was unmoved, unaffected by all the secrets that swirled between them, around them, but for his own pride, he pretended anyway.
“The condition is you tell me why you’re here.” He studied her now, sitting on the old couch like it was a throne. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and the fringe of her bangs was too long, covering half of her eyes.
She crossed long, slender arms across her chest, the leather of her coat stretching at the shoulders. It was old and just a hair too small for her. Something uncomfortable pinged in his chest. “Tell me,” he said gently.
He hated the way she yanked gentleness and care out of him without even trying. He didn’t trust her with that power.
Her gaze, still half-hidden by fringe, met his. “No.” Her nose was sharp, her mouth lush. Her cheeks were too hollow, her shoulders too sharp. She had to be hungry, and from the looks of it, she had to be running.
The wave of sympathy and a fierce urge to protect welled up inside him, but he wouldn’t be laid flat by that again. He’d fight it with everything he had. “Then get out.”
Her gaze never wavered. “No.”
He had to close his eyes and breathe through his temper, through wanting to run to the house, gather up half the pantry, and shove it at her. She needed someone to take care of her, mess that she was.
Unfortunately, he was no better. He just had a soft place to land time and time again. The ranch. Mel. Hell, even Summer and Dad. He had all these things and people he didn’t deserve, and Delia had nothing.
She unfolded herself from the couch, all languid ease, but he knew it was an act. Delia used her body and her face like weapons.
He couldn’t even blame her for it. It was all she had.
She trailed her fingertip over the back of the couch as she leisurely walked toward him. “I wonder what the statute of limitations on assault is,” she said conversationally.
He slowly lifted his gaze from her fingertip to her eyes, but she wouldn’t meet it. She kept her head cocked in a way that obscured her eyes with hair, every move she made too casual to be real.
He would not be affected. Or, more apt, he would not let the affected part of himself win. Because he truthfully, had no idea about statute of limitations would be. But surely it’d been too long. He wasn’t even sure he cared; all he cared about was that she was willing to try to use it against him. “I wonder what you’re running away from,” he replied just as casually. “Daddy dearest?”
This time her gaze did snap to his, and for the briefest of seconds, the flashes of anger and hurt and years of fear were so evident he almost staggered.
But after a second it was gone, and Delia was smiling the kind of sweet smile that always meant the opposite. “I’d certainly have come to the right place if that were true.” Nothing about her syrupy sweet smile changed. “Wouldn’t I have?”
“What do you want?” he demanded through gritted teeth, hands clenched into fists so he didn’t reach out and grab her by the shoulders. Too bony shoulders. Too fragile. Too everything.
Touching Delia in any way, shape, or form could only lead to disaster.
“I want a place to stay. You can pretend I’m not even here. Just don’t tell anyone I am. It’s simple and easy. Pretend like you never saw me. Tell her,” she said, jerking her chin toward where Summer had gone, “to do the same. That’s it. No biggie.”
“I should know what you’re hiding from.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wished them back. Actually, it would be better if he had no idea what she was hiding from. Better if he pretended she’d never existed.