Sam
It is nearly four a.m. by the time they reach their destination for the night. They left the Jeep parked on the grassy path about a half mile from the cabin only because a tree too large to move was in their way. The cabin has been restocked and fortified since their attack that night that seems so long ago. The guys brought a four-wheeler back up to the camp, which the highwaymen, strangely enough, didn’t steal that night. Canned food goods were left. The locks all changed. The windows barred for added safety. New booby traps and triggers were set up in the woods. Basically, this one and the other cabin nearer to Nashville are just as safe as the farm once they are inside.
“Sam, are you sure you don’t want me to carry you?” he asks for the hundredth time.
“No, we’re almost there. It’s only over this hill.”
“I know, but you’re limping a lot harder now,” he says.
She winces as the pain in her ankle feels like it’s now shooting up her calf.
“That’s it,” he says impatiently and stops. Simon rests both of his rifles against a nearby tree and walks over to her.
“What?” she asks, looking up at him.
He doesn’t ask but unclasps her helmet and sets it on the ground. Then he takes her rifle and places it with the others. Next, her pack and his goes over in the pile. He returns a second later and turns around with his back facing her.
“What?” she repeats.
“Come on,” he says and squats. “Hop on. I don’t care if it’s only twenty more feet, which it’s not, I’m not letting you walk another step. You could be doing more damage.”
“Not true.”
“If it’s more than a sprain, then it’s true. Come on. I don’t have all night.”
“I’m not…”
In one smooth move, Simon swoops Sam off her feet and swings her around onto his back. Sam is too stunned even to say anything.
“Hold on.”
“’Kay,” she says breathlessly, although he should be the one who’s breathless since he’s doing all the work.
Another ten minutes, and he has them to the cabin door. The door itself was replaced with a steel one, and the key system is a two-step process with different locks for each. They keep the keys in a box buried at the base of the oak tree on the slight incline beside the cabin, which Simon digs up posthaste and hurries back to her. He opens the door and rushes inside to check it out.
“It’s safe,” he says a moment later. “I’ll be right back.”
Sam just nods and limps inside. Her ankle hurts even worse putting weight on it again. It’s very irritating. She hates being hurt. She hates being helpless. She hates these things even more because she’s stuck relying on Simon.
She only manages to limp to the bed where she plops down and waits for him. Even though Sam knows he’s coming right back with their gear and guns, she still jumps out of her skin when he bursts through the door. She even lets out a squeak of surprise.
“Sorry, did I scare you?”
“No,” she lies indignantly.
He doesn’t reply, but Sam knows he sees the truth. Of course, he does. There isn’t much about her he doesn’t know. And that makes her mad, too.
She just sits there on the bed while he rushes around the room, lighting lanterns, igniting a fire in the wood-burning stove, and unpacking their gear. He also double bolts the door and checks all the windows.
“Good, we’re locked down,” he says, mostly to himself. He looks up at her from his squatted position in front of the fire, which he blows on to increase the heat and potency more quickly. “Do you want a hot bath, Sam?”
“No, I’m just tired,” she admits.
“Well, it’s almost morning. No wonder,” he says and rises, walking right over to her. “Let me get you something for the pain…”
“No, I don’t need anything,” she returns defiantly.
“You should elevate that ankle. And I need to look at it. Why don’t you sit against the headboard so that it’s elevated?”
Simon retrieves a kettle from the cabinet and using the hand pump in the sink fills it about halfway with water. He places a small cheesecloth bag into the pot, then leaves it on the cookstove top. He carries a lantern over and places it on the narrow, worn nightstand between the two beds. Sam removes her boots and gets her feet under her to leverage backward.
“Ow!” she cries out and immediately regrets it.
“Sam!” he exclaims and rushes to her. “Let me help.”
“I’ve got it!”
He doesn’t wait for permission with this, either. He hefts under her arms and drags her backward until she is resting against the pine, log-style headboard. She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.
“You can be mad all you want, Samantha,” he chastises as if he’s talking to Ari back at the farm, “but I’m not going to sit back while you further injure yourself.”
“I wasn’t.”
He ignores her again and pushes up her pants leg.
“I’ve got it!” she blares. “I can do this myself, you know. It’s not like I don’t know how to treat a sprain. Gimme’ a break, Simon.”
“Ever treat yourself?” he asks. “It’s not as easy as you might think. Especially if you’re in pain, which you clearly are.”
Instead of answering, she glares at him as meanly as she can. He doesn’t seem to care but instead pulls her socks off both feet.
“Hm, definitely sprained. Lots of swelling,” he says, mumbling to himself again. “Wish I had some ice.”
“I could stick it outside, sleep with one foot out the door,” she jokes, to which he grins.
He rises and goes to the metal cabinet where they keep medical supplies, clean bedding, food items, and towels. When he returns, he’s carrying a plastic tub full of minor injury treating supplies.
“R.I.C.E.,” he spells out. Sam is beginning to wonder if he even needs her in the same room for a conversation. These rambling thoughts of his are mostly one-sided.
“C.R.A.Z.Y.,” she jokes.
“Why? Why would you say that?”
“You’re talking to yourself,” she points out.
He chuckles this time. “Yeah, I guess I do that sometimes. I read somewhere that people who are highly intelligent talk to themselves.”
She snorts. “And I know that it stands for rest, ice, compression, elevation.”
“Of course, you do,” he says as if he’s proud of her. She doesn’t want his praise and pokes her chin an inch higher. “You’re as smart as anyone I know. I was just reviewing it in my head. Or out loud, I suppose, right?”
She just snorts again. “I can do that.”
He begins rolling out the self-adhesive sports bandaging and wraps it around the back of her foot, working his way forward. Again, he doesn’t bother replying. He’s getting on her nerves. She’s fried. She’s exhausted. And she has no patience for him right now.
When he’s done, he hefts her up into his arms as if she is as light as a feather and places her on the other bed.
“I’ll make your bed. Just give me a second,” he says and drags everything he needs out of the cabinet.
“I can…”
“I know,” he stops her. “You can do it yourself.”
Sam actually gets so angry she rolls her eyes. “Fine.
Not enjoying his show of machismo, she rises tenderly and hop-walks to the fire stove and stokes it again. She’s freezing. She wasn’t when they were hiking to the cabin. She’d actually been hot, probably from the strain of her ankle in pain with every other step. Now that she’s just sitting around, the coldness from the empty cabin is settling in on her.
“Sam!” he calls out when he turns to retrieve her a pillow. “Damn it. Did I tell you to do that? No!”
“I don’t have to listen to you,” she returns and attempts to hobble again.
Simon rushes over to her and hooks an arm around her waist and wraps her own arm around his neck. Then gives up on that plan and just lifts her around the waist with one arm and carries her to the bed that way.
“There. Your bed is ready. Are you sure you don’t want to clean up? I can carry you,” he suggests.
“No, I’m just tired.”
“Good. That’s good,” he praises and returns to the cookstove where he pours the steaming liquid into a cup from the cabinet.
Her ankle is throbbing even worse now that it’s bandaged.
“What is that?”
“It’s nothing major,” he explains as he approaches her again. “Just hot tea with some painkiller mixed in. It should also help with the swelling.”
“I’m fine. No need.”
He chuckles and holds out the mug of hot tea anyway. “You don’t get a medal for putting up with pain, you know.”
She glares up at him and takes the cup. The bitterness of the painkiller is disgusting, causing her to wrinkle her nose.
“See there? Now you know what we’ve been feeding our patients. Pretty nasty stuff, huh?’
“I think I’d rather be in pain.”
“You’re not my first patient to say that,” he says with a soft laugh as he moves about the room doing what needs to be done. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
Sam tries not to follow his suggestion but does remove her jacket, then her hoodie. Her long-sleeved tee is next. When she’s down to just a sky-blue tank top, she feels a lot more comfortable. The cookstove is small, but it heats the equally small cabin very efficiently. Her jeans are dirty from falling down the chute, and she’d like to strip to just her thermal tights beneath but can’t manage with her ankle swelled and covered in bandaging.
“Need help?” he asks from the window where he is staring out at the darkness.
“No!” she retorts.
Simon doesn’t wait for her to ask for help, which she refuses to do anyway. He strides quickly to the bed and orders her to lie back. Sam does, throwing herself dramatically onto her back. He peels her jeans away, inch by inch, going very slowly and carefully around her injured ankle.
“Better?” he asks when he has finished, and she is lying in just her underclothes. She offers a reluctant nod.
Simon sits on the edge of her bed and pulls her covers back so she can climb under them. Then he tucks her in the same as he would for one of the children back at the farm. He goes to the cabinet again and brings back a pillow, which he stuffs under her ankle.
“Elevation. Get some rest, sweetie,” he says in a tender tone.
Sam scowls up at him. “Don’t say that.”
He just smirks and takes the lantern from the stand to the table where he extinguishes it.
“Aren’t you going to bed?” she asks, the only light now from the fire and slivers of moonlight coming through the windows.
“Soon,” he tells her. “I’ll sleep soon. I just want to make sure we weren’t followed.”
She watches as he stands rigidly at the window again as if he is ready to defend their tiny cabin to the death, and that’s the last thing she remembers before waking up startled from a bad dream.
Sam sits upright and glances around confusedly.
“You’re awake,” Simon says from across the room.
She doesn’t answer but blinks a few times. She’d been dreaming about her parents again, about that day. Her surroundings come into focus, and she remembers she isn’t still fifteen and hiding in her parents’ closet. Right, the cabin. They had to stay in the cabin.
“What time is it?” she asks, her voice sounding dry and gravelly.
“Almost one,” Simon answers.
“One? Wait, one in the afternoon?”
He smiles and approaches her bed. “Yes.”
Simon sits beside her on the bed and smiles down at her.
She rubs her face and says, “Why’d you let me sleep so late?”
He chuckles, exposing his white teeth. Another question she’d like to know the answer to is, why does he look so well-rested and energetic and chipper?
“You needed to sleep.”
“What about you?” she asks. “Did you sleep?”
“Yes, here and there. A little at a time.”
She nods. Then she looks at him with suspicion. Did he lace her tea with more than just a pain reliever? Sleep potion or something? She doesn’t usually sleep that hard. Of course, yesterday was stressful.
“Can I take a look at your ankle?”
Sam shakes her head. “No, I need to use the bathroom. Like right now.”
He smirks. “Let me help you.”
Sam swings her legs over and stands. “I think it’s better. It feels better. I can do it by myself, thank you.”
He backs away and holds his hands up in front of him giving her space. “You sure?”
She sends him a look, and he steps back further. Sam walks to the bathroom without limping even once. Her ankle does feel a lot better. There is a tiny twitch in it, residue of the sprain, but she thinks it’ll be fine today.
After using the facilities, she takes the bucket of water Simon must’ve pumped and left in the bathroom for her and cannonballs it down the commode. She uses the other bucket of water to wash her hands with the bar of soap on the sink. He obviously did a lot while she was asleep for so long. He even placed her pack in here, so she’s able to brush her teeth and make some sense of her tangled, messy hair. It really doesn’t look much better after brushing it.
She is able to walk back to the living space without even wincing. The rest must’ve been enough to heal her sprain. He clearly doesn’t believe her and is waiting near the table, indicating she should sit in the chair next to it.
“It’s fine.”
“You aren’t going to be able to walk around on that today with it wrapped so thick,” he points out with his annoying flair for logic and practicality. “You’ll never fit your foot into your boot.”
She hates it when he’s right. But, reluctantly, Sam sits in the chair, and Simon kneels on one knee in front of her. He lifts her foot gingerly and places it on his knee to begin unwrapping the bandaging. She jerks back.
“Ticklish?” he asks with a smile.
“Yes, of course,” she answers irritably. For some reason, everything Simon does lately just angers her. He broke her heart. He doesn’t deserve a second chance. He’s stupid. He’s an idiot. He’s blind, even if his touch does send tingles up her calf. Sam tells herself it’s just from the circulation being cut off from the bandage.
“Have you been playing your violin lately?” he asks out of the blue, startling her.
“Um, no, not really.”
“You should. I love it when you play. You’re so good at it,” he praises.
Outside, a clap of thunder causes her to jump.
“Looks like we’re going to be waiting a while to head out,” he announces as the wind and rain come, hitting the metal roof like someone plucking the string of a harp. It sounds more like ice.
Simon gently places her foot back on the floor. His hand rests on the back of her calf. His eyes slowly slide from her foot to her face and, more accurately, her mouth and stay there as if he’s in deep thought. When his hand rises to the back of her knee and then higher onto the back of her thigh, her breath catches in her chest. She can’t do anything but sit there and stare at the top of his head, which is downturned now. Whatever he’s thinking, Sam doesn’t know. He doesn’t seem to be thinking at all, but at least he is breathing, unlike her. She can tell by the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders as if he is drawing in faster breaths than usual.
She knows she shouldn’t, but Sam can’t resist running her hand and fingers through his deep, thick red hair. So she does. Then, like her, he seems to lose the ability to breathe, as well. His fingers dig into the back of her thigh, and she jumps when she feels his other hand go straight to her other knee. Then it, too, slides around to the back of her thigh and squeezes tight.
“Sam,” he whispers. “Samantha.”
She can’t answer. Words, as well as breathing, have escaped her abilities. His thumbs begin stroking back and forth against her thighs. Then he squeezes more tightly and yanks her more forward.
“Simon,” she cries softly. Her hand slides down to the side of his neck. His earlobe is too difficult to resist touching, so she rubs the back of her thumb under it. This must be something he considers pleasant because Simon groans quietly.
In a sudden flash, Simon has tugged her right into his arms, and his mouth has found hers. He doesn’t kiss her like anyone else ever has. Not at all. He kisses her as if he is possessing her soul. His tongue plunges into her mouth, and although she wants to shove him away, push him, kick him when he’s down, hurt him as he has hurt her so badly, Sam doesn’t. Instead, her traitorous body disobeys her mind’s commands, and she readily returns his kiss. When she touches her tongue against his for a fleeting second before retreating, he pulls her completely off the chair and down into his lap where she is straddling him. Sam is vaguely aware that he is kneeling on both knees now. He’s fully supporting them both because her knees can’t touch the ground since his thighs are too thick for her to reach the floor.
His right hand moves from the back of her thigh to cup her bottom and pull her against his middle more tightly. Sam sucks in a deep breath. Not from holding it for so long but for what she feels pressing against her. His fingers clench into a tight grip before loosening up again and pulling her close. The friction of rubbing so intimately against him causes Sam to cry out softly against his mouth. Then she moves her hands, which were immobile and curled into fists against his chest, to his shoulders. They don’t rest there long before sliding up into his hair again. Simon’s hair is so soft. She hasn’t touched him for so long, and she feels like a drug addict indulging after a long dry spell. He must also feel the same way because he moans against her mouth.
It just doesn’t seem like enough. Sam wants more. She wants him, even though every fiber of her being says to get away from him solely for the purpose of self-preservation. Her brain screams to stop this insanity, but her body pulls him tighter. Her hips press into his. It’s enough to make him nearly growl, and Simon shifts both hands to her bottom. He tugs hard at her, putting her in even more direct contact with the firmness between them.
Simon slides one hand up her back. His other slips between them to her stomach. Then he travels higher until his hand is resting between her breasts. He pushes her back until their lips pry apart. Sam is left feeling disappointed until his fingers go farther north and he slides them up her neck until he has tipped her chin back. What he does next makes her cry out, this time rather loudly for the stillness of the small, empty cabin. He lavishes her neck with kisses and licks and sensual nips. Then he places his hand behind her neck and pulls her back up to him. He rests his forehead against hers. Both of them are breathing hard. This should cool them off. It should, but it doesn’t.
Instead of moving back from her, Simon teases her by leaning forward to kiss her. Sam closes her eyes and leans up for another kiss. He doesn’t kiss her, though. Sam’s eyes pop open. He grins lasciviously, teasing and toying with her, and runs his hand from the back of her neck up through her hair and tugs her mouth to his. And again, the fire is ignited, even brighter if it is possible.
Somehow- she has no idea how he does it- but somehow Simon stands, taking her with him. He makes sure she keeps her legs around his middle. He carries her without his mouth leaving hers. Carefully, Simon lays her back on the bed. Then he comes down over her in a predatory manner. His eyes are open. Hers feel heavy as if she is drugged and in some sort of euphoric state.
Simon’s mouth meets hers with a slower, more patient but no less intense passion. His leg wedges between hers, and he rests against her where she can feel him even more directly than she could when she was sitting on him. Sam is growing impatient. She tugs his torso down onto hers, too. She can feel him smiling against her mouth as he continues to kiss her. Instead of being insulted, Sam tugs at his thermal tee until it comes loose of his waistband. Then she slides her hands under to his bare stomach, causing the muscles to flex under her fingertips. He sucks in a breath. This time she grins against his lips. She likes feeling this power over him.
He moves from her mouth back to her neck and then pulls her own shirt up and settles lower between her legs. His lips press feather like kisses against her bare stomach. Sam shoves both hands into his hair. One of his hands slips south and cups her through her thin leggings. It makes her cry out. Then he easily pushes both hands under her to cup her bottom and lift her off the bed.
Simon freezes and buries his head against her hip bone while still holding her up. “We need to stop.”
“Wha…what?” she whispers breathlessly.
He shakes his head against her and quickly and comes back to her mouth. “Before I can’t.”
“You can?”
He chuckles slightly and grins crookedly. There is something rotten and carnal in that grin, his eyes wild. “Barely.”
Sam frowns as she begins to float back to the ground. He pushes his hips into hers again, and she’s right back in the clouds. She closes her eyes and arches up to meet him. Simon kisses her neck again. This time it ends too soon.
“We have to stop,” he repeats stupidly.
Why is he being so dumb all of a sudden? He’s always been such a smart person.
“I don’t want this,” he reveals.
Sam instantly stiffens. Her eyes fill with tears. “You…you don’t want me? Why did…”
“What?” he asks, his head jerking up from pressing another kiss to her chin. “No, that’s not what I meant. Sorry. My brain’s not working very well right now.”
She offers a weak grin as he wipes at the corners of her eyes, obviously seeing the tears that were threatening to fall.
“I’ve never wanted anything more, Sam,” he explains. “Just…just not like this.”
She furrows her brow at him with confusion.
“Not here. Not right now. Not like this. I don’t want sex with you outside of marriage. You deserve more.”
Sam barely hears him. He’s still pressing against her, against the center of her, and it’s making her crazy. No sex. She heard that part. Then her brain registers the word ‘marriage’.
“Wait, what?” she whispers and presses herself deeper into the bed.
“I don’t want our first time to be a sin. It’s a sin to have sex outside of marriage.”
“Simon, nobody thinks like that anymore.”
He nods, and his eyebrows do a quick jump as if he realizes the truth of this. “I know, but that’s not what I want for us. And I do think like that.”
“What? I don’t want to get married.”
He grins as if he finds her funny.
“I don’t,” she states more clearly.
“You will,” he says.
This angers her a little, and Sam feels the headiness of their intimacy leaving her. “No, I won’t. You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“I know, and that’s always been a big problem for me,” he says. Then he chuckles once, “You, my dear, I’d never presume to understand what’s going on in that mind of yours.”
She offers a glare, feeling insulted.
Simon isn’t put off. He kisses the tip of her nose and says, “You will.”
“I will what?”
“Want to marry me.”
He shoves up from her and is standing on the floor beside the bed in an instant before she even has time to gather her thoughts.
“I need to call Derek back,” he states and turns toward the table.
“Why?” Suddenly without him, she feels a draft of cold air.
“He called twice in the last…well, twenty or so minutes,” he says with a smile in his voice.
“He did? I didn’t hear…” she starts but stops because she realizes why she didn’t pick up on the radio call. It makes her feel a tad stupid, too. Apparently, Simon wasn’t as moved by their kissing. He heard the radio. She hadn’t. The more she thinks about it as she rises and goes to the bathroom and slams the door, the more Sam gets angry. He still holds all this power over her, especially over her emotions. Sam splashes water on her face and pulls her hair into a ponytail. She takes much longer than she needs for taking care of her business because she needs to cool down, calm down, get a damn grip on her emotions.
“He wants us to wait till after dark now,” he says as soon as she emerges.
“Why?” Sam asks, surprised that he is so much calmer than her. She clears her voice and takes a few deep breaths before approaching the cookstove where he is heating food in a pan.
“Cory and John ran into some trouble last night,” he explains. “They don’t want us to have the same problems. I told them about last night. They were concerned. I assured them we’ll be careful tonight. Besides, we need to wait out this rain anyway.”
“Right,” she agrees distractedly. She turns to walk away from him when she feels Simon’s hand on her upper arm.
“Sam, I’m sorry I almost lost control,” he apologizes.
He steps closer, slips his hand around her waist, and pulls her against him. Sam finds a tiny bit of resistance still left in her store of free will and pushes away.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “It won’t happen again.”
He looks surprised at first. Then he just grins and goes back to his work at the stove. She knows she can resist him. She just needs to avoid Simon. Only one more day with him until she can go home to her uncle.