Her pace slowed so that her family went into their bunkhouses before she reached him. She tilted her headquestioningly at him. “What are you doing outside the women’s bunkhouse? Were you visiting someone?”
Did he detect a note of jealousy? Maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. He’d done nothing to encourage any of the women who’d talked and flirted with him, which had offended more than one. “I was about to knock and ask for you. Where did you go with your family?”
“We drove around the farm to look at the crops and talk about how to divide the upcoming jobs. Sometimes my dad likes to get our opinion.”
Not likely. A man with Ben’s experience didn’t need his kids’ opinions on labor division.
Her blue eyes were guarded, curious. “What did you need to talk to me about?”
“I wanted to see how you’re holding up.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the other cabins. “I think the worst of the shock has worn off. Now I just get to look forward to the day’s events replaying in my nightmares, but, you know, I was getting tired of seeing the slavers, so this will give me some variety.” She said the words casually, but there was some truth behind them. He knew about those sorts of nightmares.
“It takes time to process these things. It’s normal to feel frightened for a while. Or angry or exhausted. Talking to someone about it can help.”
A measure of suspicion flashed across her expression. “You know a lot about shock for a data entry clerk.”
“And unfortunately, you know a lot about shock for a harvester. Sometimes trauma finds you no matter your profession.”
She nodded, allowing his point.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked.
She checked her watch. “You’re sweet to be concerned about me, but it’s late, and you’ve already had a long day.”
“I’m willing to make time for you.”
She hesitated, and her eyes studied him so intently that he had to fight the urge to gulp. What were those blue eyes of hers deciding?
“All right,” she finally said. “Perhaps we both need someone to talk to.”
“I…” That wasn’t the conclusion he’d expected her to draw, but okay. He could pretend he needed a listening ear. “Right.”
They left the bunkhouse, flipped on their phones’ flashlights, and strolled toward the cornfields. Their two beams of light converged, illuminating the path. Once, when he’d been little, his mother had taken him to a church for a candlelight peace vigil. A choir of young women sang a hauntingly beautiful song, their faces lit by the flames they held. He hadn’t quite been sure what it all meant, but he’d been entranced by the singers and thought they were angels. After all, they were in a church.
Charity looked like that, now illuminated by her flashlight: somber and angelic.
“So how are you holding up?” she asked.
“All things considered, pretty well.”
“I have a few sleeping pills,” she offered. “I needed them after the Sedalia market. I can give you a couple, if you want.”
“Thanks, but you should keep them. I usually don’t have trouble sleeping.” Typical of her. She needed them and had offered them to him anyway.
She cocked her head like she didn’t quite believe him. “You’ve been so calm through everything. Back on the road, didn’t you worry we were going to die?”
No. He’d automatically gone into police mode—evaluating the situation and enacting a solution. His only fear had been that she would be killed in the process. And that had been a fairly consuming fear. He frowned at this realization. He really was too attached to her.
“It’s okay to feel things,” she said gently. “It’s a normal reaction.”
Being attached to Charity probably was a normal reaction for any man who spent time with her. Normal and dangerous. He absolutely couldn’t fall for her. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to think clearly. He wanted to build trust with her, so telling her the truth was fine. “I mostly worried about keeping you safe. I couldn’t imagine coming back here and telling your family something horrible had happened to you.”
“You were right to worry. Milo wouldn’t have taken the news well.”
Enzo raised an eyebrow. “You think Milo would’ve been the most upset?”
“No. But my parents wouldn’t have blamed you for my death or wanted to hurt you because of it.” She sent him a smile. “Milo doesn’t always act rationally when he’s upset.”