Chapter 4: A Stowaway

Chapter 4: A Stowaway

Cole felt a familiar sense of relief settle over him as he locked the gate behind the horse trailer and climbed back into the cab of the truck. Arriving home at the ranch where he'd grown up, locking out the world at large, always gave him a feeling of peace.

It was home. He couldn't have put it more simply than that. It was where he'd spent his entire life, with the exception of the time he'd spent in the Marines. Following a year in Afghanistan, he'd worked out the remainder of his enlistment in Bridgeport, where he'd trained horses and soldiers for combat missions. He'd been thrilled to be back in the saddle, and the fact that home was a short couple of hours away had been the cherry on top.

When his enlistment had ended, he'd returned to the ranch and built his reputation as an in-demand horse trainer. Happy that Cole was back in the fold, his parents had sold some stocks and retired to Santa Fe, leaving him in charge of the ranch. His older sister Beth had been more than happy with that turn of events. As much as she'd loved growing up in the country, she was far happier living in San Francisco and pursuing a career in law enforcement.

Cole pulled up in front of the white barn, put the truck in park, and turned off the ignition. He climbed down and closed the door, heading to the back of the trailer.

"Here we are, Dahlia. We'll get you all brushed, then we'll put you in your new stall. Your supper's already there." As the sun slid lower in the sky, Cole sighed, glad he'd thought ahead to prepare the stall early that morning before heading west to Carmel Valley. He was tired and ready to be home.

He unlocked the tailgate and lowered it, starting to step inside when he froze. Someone was crouched down in the front of the trailer. Instantly, his senses snapped to high alert.

With two determined strides, he covered the distance between himself and the stranger, who was completely covered in his own black hoodie. "What the hell are you doing in my trailer?" he growled, reaching to grasp the front of the jacket and lift the person off the floor, pressing whoever it was hard against the wall of the trailer.

He heard a soft gasp as he used his free hand to whip off the hood, revealing a young woman, her red hair matted down from the hood, her face puffy and bruised. One eye was completely swollen shut, while the other, the most piercing shade of green, stared back at him in stark terror.

"Holy shit," he muttered, gently setting her down on what he realized were bare feet. "Are you okay? How did you get in here?"

The woman just stared at him in silence, her battered mouth gaping in a silent scream.

Frustrated, Cole lifted his hat and ran a hand through his dark brown hair. "I didn't mean to scare you, I was just startled, is all." Glancing down, he saw that his jacket extended to the middle of her thighs, and her legs were as bare as her feet. Fleetingly, he wondered if she was dressed at all.

He reached toward her, and she flinched, gasping again. "Easy now," he murmured, "I'm not going to hurt you." He placed a hand on her shoulder and felt her quaking, whether from the chill of the early March evening or from fear, he couldn't say.

"Are you okay?" He leaned down, searching her good eye for some sign of communication. She just stood shaking.

Cole blew out an exasperated breath. "Okay, I have to get this horse settled. After that, we can try to sort things out. As long as you're okay. Are you hurt anywhere besides your face?"

Her swelled lips were closed now, and she trembled violently, but she made no effort to respond to him.

"Fuck it," he breathed. "We're going to put you in the truck," he told her. "We'll turn on the heat and get you warmed up while I take care of Dahlia, here."

Carefully, with an arm around her waist and his other hand on her shoulder, he guided her out of the trailer and to the passenger door of the truck's cab. He opened the door and lifted her onto the seat. She was so light, like a little bird or something, he mused.

Hurrying around to the driver's side, he started the truck and turned the heat on full blast. Then he looked back to her.

"Are you thirsty? Can I get you some water?" He reached into the small cooler he'd put behind his seat and pulled out a bottled water. When he held it out to her, she snatched at it, using shaky hands to try to open it. She couldn't manage it, so he took it from her, unscrewing the cap and handing it back to her.

Shakily, with both hands she lifted the bottle to her lips and drank greedily, spilling some down the front of herself. She'd drained the bottle in no time, and Cole handed her a second one after he'd loosened the cap for her. She fixed him with her bright green eye and nodded in thanks.

He nodded, too. "Okay, you stay here and get warm. I'll take care of the horses, then we can go to the house and figure things out."

He closed the door and headed back to get Dahlia out of the trailer, but his mind was racing. Who is she? What happened to her? How did she get into the trailer?

He led Dahlia to an empty stall between two other horses. She offered light resistance until she was inside, where she stood still long enough for him to remove the rope halter. He spoke soothingly to the horse as he offered her a bucket of feed.

From inside the barn, Cole could see the young woman in the truck. She'd pulled the hood back up, and she stared straight ahead, sipping the water. From his vantage point, he saw the right, unbattered side of her face. Apparently, she'd been beaten by someone who was right-handed.

Beaten. The idea of someone laying hands on this woman made his blood boil. He took a deep breath and tried to consider the situation logically.

Clearly, she's been assaulted. By? Cole shrugged. Her husband? A boyfriend?

He chewed on that idea for a moment. A domestic abuse situation makes sense. So when did she get into the trailer?

Hanging buckets of feed in the other stalls, he considered the question. I stopped twice after leaving Meredith and Carmel Valley. Once for lunch. The other time, for gas about half an hour before we got back to the ranch.

He shook his head. When I stopped for gas, I paid at the pump. I never left the truck. It had to have been at the truck stop.

He rubbed a hand across his mouth and looked back toward the truck. The woman was resting her head against the passenger window.

He distributed fresh hay into each stall, running the scenario in his mind. She was beaten, and she ran away. He pictured her bare feet. She left so fast, she didn't even bother with shoes. She was in a hurry to get away, so she climbed into the horse trailer, hoping to be taken away from the person hurting her.

Putting away the wheelbarrow, he glanced back at the woman in the truck. So now what?