Page 17 of Sparrow

Then I realize that I’m standing here thinking all of these ridiculous things while he stands on the other side of the window looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I jump back to life. I dart toward the window, unlock the latch, and jerk it upward, then take a step backwards to stare at the man.

Marshall Hawke. Helen’s brother, and my step-uncle. Huge and blond and handsome the way only a man from the mountain can be handsome. He’s tall and broad and weathered, but exudes a sunshine I’ve never experienced in any other person. His voice is loud, his laugh even louder, and when he smiles...

Well.

The man lights up a room, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s noticed that. His bright blue eyes and chiseled face make him the stuff of any girl’s dreams, but it’s the feel of him that has always made him truly special. Warm. Strong.

Safe.

“Arden,” he snaps.

His tone tells me he’s said it multiple times, and I realize again that I’m standing here like some sort of idiot while we’re in the middle of what must be a rescue attempt.

I jump for the window, putting my thoughts away, and let him pull me through. Seconds later I’m in his arms, cradled like a baby, and he’s running toward the forest, the smell of pine and crushed grass coloring the darkness around us. An owl hoots in the distance, and another answers, and then we’re in the shades of the trees, the giants stretching up around us as if they’re giving us cover from prying eyes.

And though I don’t know where we are or who owned that cabin behind us, I know there must be prying eyes somewhere.

They’ve been prying into my life for months, now, and the sudden freedom from them is oxygen to body that hasn’t breathed easily since Christmas.

“But I’ve never ridden a bike,” I protest, staring at the enormous piece of machinery in front of me.

“And I don’t care,” Marshall answers sharply. “No time like the present, as they say.”

He doesn’t ask again. He picks me up, cradles me against his body for one long, warm second that has my holding my breath in anticipation, and then sets me roughly on the back of the bike. I didn’t think about it when he hauled me out of the window, but now that I’m not in immediate danger, my brain is alert again.

And the press of his fingers into my skin has left echoes.

When he climbs onto the bike himself and settles between my legs, I nearly yelp.

Marshall, of course, notices none of this. He looks back and asks if I’m settled, then turns and starts the bike with a roar. He does something complicated with the handlebars, settles his feet in the stirrups on the sides, then turns again.

“Wrap your arms around me and don’t let go. Lean when I lean. If you get scared, keep it to yourself.”

Right.

I do as I’m told and turn my face into his broad, warm back, trying to remember the rules he’s given me.

And as we tear of into the night, the engine loud in the darkness of the night around us, I try once again to understand how he’s here, where here is, and what the fuck I’m supposed to do now. I’m free, that much is obvious, and as long as Marshall has me I trust that I’m safe.

At least for the moment.

This man has never been anything but kind, and Helen speaks of him glowingly, as if he’s the sun, the moon, and the stars, plus all the other planets combined. I search through my memories, trying to build the picture of him, and remember that he’s her older brother, though they also have a baby brother I’ve never met. Marshall comes into the city on business and stays with us on occasion, and Helen always treats it like a state holiday. She rolls out all the best china and makes sure her schedule is clear for her brother.

My father hates it.

In fact, I’ve always had the idea that my father hated Marshall himself, though I’ve never known why. He’s warned me time and again not to trust Marshall Hawke, not to talk to him.

Which made me like Marshall even more.

And now he’s literally rescuing me from men who’ve kept me prisoner for months.

While my father has, I assumed, refused to pay whatever ransom they’ve demanded.

I leave that thought alone. It’s too painful to dwell on for long, although it will always take me to the same spot: My father deserted me.

Mars Hawke showed up in the middle of nowhere, knocked out my kidnapper, and then rescued me.

It’s not exaggerating things to say that right now, I’m on Mars’ side rather than my father’s.