Free Time to Run by Marliss Melton

yard apart, their breath coming in and out at the same time. She could have asked him then, Why exactly did you bring me here? It wasn't just to give her the truck so she could drive herself to Texas, was it?
    There were memories in this house that haunted him. He didn't want to be alone.
    "Will you tell me something?" she asked him.
    "What?" His regard turned wary.
    "Will you tell me how your mother died?"
    He just looked at her, pulse throbbing at the base of his neck. "You want to talk about the past?" he challenged quietly.
    She got the feeling that she would have to be just as candid about her own history, which she'd rather forget. "Maybe it would help," she conceded.
    "Hanta virus, probably," he said, keeping his answer short. "It swept through the Midwest in the late eighties but it wasn't identified until the nineties, after several people died. Comes from contact with rat droppings. She used to sweep the barn."
    "Did the baby have it, too?" Sara asked, horrified.
    "No, but she was born too early 'cause my mama was so sick."
    Sara searched for the bottomless grief Chase must have felt at the time. His face was a mask. "How old were you when they died?" she asked, shaking her head.
    "Fourteen when the baby went. Fifteen when Mama died."
    She thought of Kendal, who'd looked at her in terror yesterday. I don't want you to die. Surely Chase had felt the same way about being abandoned, left with a stepfather who'd been less than fatherly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, feeling tremendous compassion for Chase the boy.
    "Your turn," he countered almost angrily but not threateningly. "What did Garret do to make you leave?"
    Sara swallowed, willing the past to stay where she'd left it. She let out a huff of air. "He controlled everything—all of my free time. He cut me off from my friends and family. Made me use his credit cards instead of cash, so that he could keep tabs on my spending. He took away my driver's license when I got in an accident. Nothing I did ever met his expectations. When he strangled Kendal's rabbit, that was the last straw."
    Chase's expression reflected disgust and sympathy. "Did he hit you?" he asked her bluntly.
    "No." Garret's blows were always mental and emotional, which in some ways was worse than physical because they left no trace; left her wondering whether what had happened was possibly her fault; made her think that she could try harder the next time and he wouldn't react the same way.
    She'd wasted eleven years of her life wondering if the invisible scars were really there. But now that she was far away, and her perspective was clearer, the abuse was so blatant that she could never go back into that environment again.
    Chase raised his hand, and Sara barely caught herself from flinching. He hesitated just a second then lightly cupped her jaw and stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
    He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. It was a gesture of comfort. Sara's nerve endings tingled with disproportionate pleasure.
    It would be a mistake to lean on Chase any more than she already had. Garret had taught her not to trust what seemed to be. How could any man be as solid and considerate as Chase seemed to be?
    "I thought I'd cook the sausages tonight with stewed tomatoes and zucchini," she volunteered, testing him.
    He glanced in puzzlement at his watch. It was early afternoon. "You hungry already?" he asked her.
    "No," she answered, succumbing to a smile. "It's just ... never mind."
    He crossed his arms and frowned at her. "I didn't bring you here to cook for me either," he added, chastising her again. "But I ain't gonna turn down a home-cooked meal if you're offerin' one up," he added wryly.
    "I'm offering," she reassured him. She even looked forward to it.
    "Okay then. What time?"
    "Six o'clock?"
    "I'd best get crackin', then." With a grimace for his thumbnail, he left the kitchen, taking the bag of ice with him.
    At six-twenty, the setting sun put a golden patina on the scarred surface