Rough Deal (Coming Home to the Mountain)

“Wake up,” I urge. “I'm right here.”

She must hear my plea because her dark lashes flutter, her brown eyes find mine, and I swear they see something inside of me. The good that's been lost for a whole year.

That heart of mine that's been cold and all closed up? It cracks open after just one look from her. I feel nothing but light.

“You found me,” she whispers. “I was dreaming of you. I've been dreaming of you for so long.”

I smile down at her. This woman. This angel. “You were dreaming of me?” I ask. “I think you might have a concussion.”

She shakes her head. “No.” She sits up on my couch. She presses a hand to her head. “I didn't fall. I just ran straight to you.”

My heart pounds. My cock? It's fucking hard. “Well, I got a lot of questions. What's your name?” I ask her.

“I'm Prairie Jones,” she tells me. “What's yours?”

“I'm Rye Rough.”

“Rye,” she repeats. “I like that.” She looks around the cabin. “Where am I?”

“You're in my cabin in the Rough Forest. About three hours from Home, Washington.”

She nods slowly, taking it in.

“Where are you from, Prairie?” I ask her.

Tears well up in her eyes. “It's kind of a long story. If I start telling you, I feel like you're going to take me away from here and I'm going to have to go to the police or the hospital and…” She swallows and closes her eyes.

I don't want her to close them. I want them wide open. Because when she looks at me, I feel like she sees my soul. And it’s been a long time since I've wanted anyone to see what's inside me.

“Right now, what do you need?” I ask her. “Right this minute?”

“I need you to hold me,” she says. “Just hold me, Rye. Just hold me and don't let go.”

4

PRAIRIE

Rye has his arms wrapped around me, and I breathe him in, the scent of a man. A real man. It's been so long since I've been close to anyone, touched another human's hand, heard their heartbeat.

I run my fingers through his hair, unable to help myself.

I breathe him in, not caring if I'm crossing lines, breaking boundaries. I just want to be in this moment, touching another living person.

His eyes find mine. “Prairie,” he says. “What happened? Why were you running through the woods? You don't have on any shoes. You're not wearing a coat. Your clothes are really rags. You've been in trouble. You need to tell me what happened to you.” His voice is firm, steady, strong.

I know in that instant, as crazy as it might sound, that I can rely on this man.

That I can trust him.

I have no reason to. And maybe that innocence and naivety is what got me into trouble in the first place.

But he is not dangerous. I know that by his touch.

“Tell me, Prairie. You're starting to worry me, and I need to know that you are okay. That we're going to be okay.”

I blink back the tears that fill my eyes as I run my hand down his chest. He's still kneeling before me. As if paying penance, ready to say a prayer, ask forgiveness for something—but he hasn't done anything wrong.

The people who held me captive, they are the ones who should pay.