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No, she had to stay positive. Inside the fridge, fresh veggies, meat, eggs and fruit, along with a selection of premade salads and meals. The owners or Wiz had thought of everything.
She pulled eggs, shredded cheese, carrots, onions and celery from the crisper. Since Michael wasn’t a fan of carbs, she’d make omelets. Before she finished chopping, the back door opened.
Deb ducked and peered around the end of the counter. Near the entry, Michael unhooked his rifle and vest. She stood, feeling ridiculously jumpy. “I was going to make a veggie and cheese omelet. Do you want some?”
“Thanks. That sounds great.” He sat and reached for his boot laces, grimacing.
Deb frowned. The ATV ride had been much rougher than a car. His back must be hurting. After breakfast, she’d offer a massage with no strings attached. Separating her feelings from her actions might be difficult, but she had to help him. He was sacrificing so much for her; a back rub was nothing. Besides, putting her hands on him wasn’t exactly a hardship.
She returned to chopping and tossed the veggies in a pan, the hot olive oil snapping and crackling, and then beat eggs with a little cream, salt and pepper, pouring them over the veggies and stirring. She put bread into the toaster. Michael might not eat bread, but she couldn’t do without it—her pudgy waist proved that. Once the omelet was set, she added cheese and folded it, sliding a third of it on a plate for her, and setting both plates on the table. “Michael, breakfast is ready.”
He shuffled to the chair, lowering into it slowly. “Thanks, looks great.”
“Coffee or tea?” She filled her cup.
“Coffee, black, please.” He picked up a fork, cut off a bite and chewed. “Perfect.”
Deb poured a second cup of coffee and carried both to the table, placing his near his right hand, so he wouldn’t have to reach. She sat, and they ate in silence. After Michael took his last bite, she steeled her resolve. “It looks like your back is hurting.” She raised her hands. “I have strong fingers from baking. Would a massage help?” She winced, anticipating his refusal. “It’s purely a medicinal and survival offer, nothing more.” Maybe if she said it enough, she’d believe it.
Michael shook his head. “No, thanks. Manipulation doesn’t help.” His brows wrinkled above his nose.
He wasn’t telling her what he needed. “But?”
“There’s a hot tub around the side. Alternating heat and cold helps, but there’s a possibility of making it worse, and that would leave you unguarded.” He shook his head. “I can’t take that chance.”
“But if you don’t do something, it will get worse, right? And that would have the same result, without the possibility of making it better.” She might not be a mom, but she had nieces; she could play a mom when necessary.
He grimaced. “Yes. You deserve to know my limitations. The pain can be intense, but I can work through it.”
“But there’s no need to.” She shrugged, while searching her heart. She could act for others, if not herself. “Can you teach me to use the rifle or a pistol? I don’t want to shoot anyone, but I will if I have to.”
He scowled. “Killing isn’t something to take lightly. It leaves a stain on your soul.”
“I’m sure it does. But these people are after us. They’re going to extremes to get what they want, including deadly violence.” She shuddered. “Maybe I can’t do it. But I need to know how to use those guns, because I’m pretty sure I will shoot to protect you.” She forced a chuckle. “Probably not to protect myself, but someone else? I’m pretty sure.”
Michael shook his head. “Pretty sure isn’t good enough, Deb. If you’re going to pick up a gun, you have to be absolutely certain you will shoot to kill. Trying to scare someone or wound them will not work, especially with contract killers. And that’s what these guys are. People who kill for money.” He captured her gaze and held it, his tone intense and sincere. “The movies portray mobsters in a romantic light. But they’re the farthest thing from that. They use people, enslaving, addicting, and killing them with as little emotion as exterminating rats. People are assets, like cash or drugs. They won’t hesitate to kill.” He reached, putting his hand over hers and squeezing gently. “These are strong, but your heart is soft. You use live traps at your bakery, even for mice.” His grimace twisted. “I can’t let you harden yourself like that.”
“Let me? You’re not my father. I can do whatever I want.” She yanked her hand away.
He sighed. “You can, but I’m not helping you with this. You want to practice with bear spray, a taser, or hand-to-hand self-defense? Fine. But I’m not putting a deadly weapon in your hands. You want a teacher, ask Wiz or Erin, but I’m betting they’ll tell you the same thing I did. This isn’t the right thing for you. Please don’t go there.” He rose. “I’m taking a shower. I’ll bring my weapons with me. If someone’s coming, open the door and yell. I have no problem shooting in the nude.” He hobbled away, picking up the rifle and pistols, and closing the bathroom door with a final snap.
Deb cleaned up, fuming at the overbearing man making decisions for her. As she worked, she considered his unusually passionate declarations. She picked up a spatula, gripping it in both hands and raising it to eye level. Squinting down the length of the handle, she imagined the suited man who’d threatened her pointing a gun at her, then Michael. If she squeezed the trigger, John Scott would fall dead at her feet, bleeding to death.
She dropped the spatula into the sink, her hands shaking. Michael was right. She couldn’t kill, not even for him. She was destined to be a victim.
After she finished the dishes, she paced the living room, but she needed space, a chance to drown her defeatist attitude. Quietly, she put on a dark stocking cap, shoving her ponytail up inside, picked up her backpack and slipped out the back door, locking it behind her. She had the code, so there was no reason to leave Michael more vulnerable than he already was in the shower, whether he was willing to charge ahead stark naked or not.
And that was an image she didn’t need taking up space in her head. Longing for someone who didn’t want her wouldn’t help.
She scanned the backyard. Beyond the firepit surrounded by Adirondack chairs, birds called and flitted in pine trees swaying in a light wind, but nothing else moved. She trod to the corner of the cabin, and peeked around the side. Three deer grazed in the meadow in front of the cabin and no dust rose from the dirt road. Turning back, she noticed a trail leading up the hill from the firepit. She could hike up the hill, burn off energy and nerves, and maybe find an overlook to survey the valley below for danger.
She should leave a message for Michael, but if she went back inside, she’d either plop down in a chair or get in an argument with him, or do something extraordinarily stupid, like try to kiss the man. She had to clear her head; start thinking, not reacting. She’d walked and thought a lot after her ex got arrested; she’d gotten lazy since her bakery turned a profit, relying on her creative abilities rather than analysis. She couldn’t afford to be emotional. But she was also used to moving all day. The hiking they’d done had been more strenuous than baking, but the exercise had kept her from panicking.
Deb walked up the needle-laden trail, the pines whispering secrets in the soft breeze, and the sunshine baking a hint of vanilla from the bark. A few minutes later, the trail ended on a rocky ledge overlooking a narrow valley with a small creek running through the middle. Black cows dotted the emerald green of the meadow far below. A log bench to her left invited Deb to sit, so she did.
She watched the cows graze and tried to simply enjoy the scenery, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her situation. Hiding was a short-term solution. She had a business to run, and so did Michael.
Oh no! She had to return—she had a huge wedding cake to bake! She trotted back down the trail.
