Free Big Sky by Kitty Thomas Page A

care if you’re not Trish. You’re close enough. You want the things she wanted. You’re not going to run from me. You will do everything I ask of you. You will be her.”
    His words seemed to fall over her, hypnotizing her, taking her will.
    “Do you understand?”
    She wanted to scream No! She wanted to dig his eyes out of his head so he couldn’t look at her the way he did, making dark things come alive inside her. She didn’t want to be so twisted that she didn’t care that he saw another woman when he looked at her, that some part of her wanted him to touch her anyway.
    “Do you understand? You will be her.”
    “Y-yes, Sir.”
    He pressed her against the door with one hand while the other hand fumbled with his pants. For one terrifying moment she thought he was going to rape her, but then she heard the belt ripping through the loops. Suddenly that was more terrifying—especially in the frenzied state he was in.
    “Please, I’m sorry.”
    “You’re sorry ,” he mocked. “If you were sorry, you would have said, ‘Please, I’m sorry, Sir’. I’m going to beat that fucking title into you.”
    “P-please, Sir, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.” He’s fucking crazy. “Why didn’t you just leave me to die in a ditch?” She was sobbing so hard she wasn’t sure if any of her words sounded like words any more. Out loud, they sounded like a string of hysterical shrieks.
    She flinched when the belt hit the floor, buckle first. Luke scooped her up and carried her over to the bed, sitting against the headboard with her still wrapped in his arms. He held her cradled against him, his large, rough hand stroking through her hair.
    “Shhhh, it’s all right, Trish. It’s okay, baby. I won’t hurt you. Would never hurt you. I love you.”
    Veronica knew he wasn’t playing a role. Something in her terror had penetrated the haze he’d been in. Now he seemed stuck in a flashback, convinced she was Trish. She couldn’t stop crying, and he didn’t stop reassuring her that everything was okay.
    After a few minutes he slid out from under her, covered her with the blankets, and turned the light off. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he moved back to the rocking chair.
    “Go to sleep, Ronnie.”
    She wondered if he realized he’d called her Trish. The look in his eyes told her he knew exactly what he’d said. Though he may have had the best intentions with regards to her welfare, Veronica couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t kill her to exorcise the specter of the woman he’d lost.
     
    ***
     
    The roosters jolted Veronica out of a dead sleep. Her eyes went straight for the rocking chair, half afraid she’d find Luke sitting there with a big knife and a crazy gleam in his eyes.
    Against all odds, she’d fallen asleep before he’d left the room. She’d been afraid that if she closed her eyes, she’d never open them again. Even considering the kidnapping and everything that had led up to that moment, it was the most unhinged she’d seen him. Before he’d called her Trish—even while he was ranting that he wanted Veronica to be her—she’d been able to lie to herself. Rationalize.
    There was a bathroom between their bedrooms with a toilet and a standing shower. She took a quick shower, thankful Luke had already gone out to work, and slipped some jeans and a T-shirt on.
    When she got to the kitchen, there was a list of instructions for the day and a menu. Breakfast was going to be butterfly pork chops and homemade blueberry muffins. She hated pork, but the last thing she wanted to do was upset Luke further by debating the menu. With her luck, Trish had loved pork.
    There was a knock on the kitchen door; it swung open before she could answer. It was Will.
    He held up a thermos. “It’s startin’ to get a little chilly out in the mornin’. Luke said he made some coffee.”
    On the opposite counter, an industrial Bunn coffeemaker kept three fresh pots of coffee hot. He filled the thermos and