Chapter 5: Jenny

Chapter 5: Jenny

In the kitchen of the white two-story farmhouse, Cole watched as the woman silently scanned the room.

When he'd parked the truck in front of the house, she'd made no attempt to get out. He'd come around and opened her door, but still, she'd hesitated, her good eye darting all around the area. Finally, she'd slid down and followed him up the steps and across the covered porch to the door, which he'd opened, letting her into the house.

Blue, his three-year-old blue tick coonhound greeting them excitedly at the door, whining and wagging his tail. Cole watched the woman stiffen and the dog sniffed her curiously.

"He's a love," he said quickly. "Aren't you, Blue?"

The woman tentatively offered the back of her hand which the dog immediately licked. Her expression lightened a bit, and she squatted down to pet Blue.

In the quiet of the house, he took a deep breath. "Can you tell me who hurt you?"

Startled, she turned to him, her battered face at odds with the bright green eye so filled with fear. She didn't answer.

"Was it your husband?"

She shook her head.

Okay, now we're getting somewhere.

"Your boyfriend?" he tried. Again, she shook her head.

Cole frowned, trying to frame the next question. "Did you know the person? Were you running away from him?"

This time she hesitated slightly, then nodded.

"We need to call the police," he said, reaching for his phone.

With surprising swiftness, she launched herself toward him, gripping his arm and shaking her head violently.

"Why don't you want to call the police? They can help you." He had a new thought. "Unless you're in trouble with the law?"

She squeezed his arm and shook her head again.

"How about family? Is there somebody I can call?"

The bright green eye blinked hard and she shook her head, no.

Cole blew out a frustrated breath. "This would be so much easier if you'd just talk to me."

The woman took a step back and motioned to her lips and neck, shaking her head.

Frowning, Cole scrubbed at his chin. "Are you telling me you can't talk?"

She gazed at him solemnly, nodding her head.

"Holy shit," he breathed. He stalked around the kitchen, trying to decide what to do next. Blue had taken up a protective position at the woman's feet. Cole looked out the window, where the sun had just disappeared into the western horizon.

If she didn't want to call the police, she had to have a good reason. She was clearly afraid of the person who'd beaten her.

Hell, she might even need medical attention. He'd taken a beating or two in his time. "Can I at least take you to the urgent care in Visalia?"

Predictably, she shook her head.

Understanding dawned on him. "He'll be looking for you, won't he?"

Her battered lip trembled, and a lone tear escaped from her emerald-colored eye. Cole felt his soul tear apart. By God, nobody would be laying a hand on this girl as long as he had anything to say about it.

"It's okay, darlin', we'll figure this out, I promise." Gently resting a hand on her back, he guided her to a stool at the kitchen counter. Blue followed, curling up at her feet.

"I'm Cole, by the way. Cole Caldwell." He held out his right hand. Tentatively, she reached to shake it. With her other hand, she swiped at the tear on her cheek.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, moving toward the refrigerator. "I have leftover beef stew. I made it last night. It's not fancy, but it's stick-to-your-ribs."

He looked her way, and she nodded shyly. He smiled kindly. "I have an idea. Maybe you can write what you want to say." He slid a yellow Post-It pad and a black pen towards her.

Eyeing the paper and pad, she shook her head in a definite 'no'.

Disappointed and feeling like he'd lost some of her confidence, he sighed deeply. "I'd at least like to know what to call you."

Chewing her lip, she watched him for a moment, then swept the paper and pen out of the way. With a shaky finger, she drew a letter on the counter.

"J," Cole said aloud.

She continued, with Cole reading each one. "E. N. N."

With a final look at him, she drew a y.

He beamed at her. "Jenny. Your name is Jenny."

She nodded, wringing her hands together in her lap.

"It's nice to meet you, Jenny." He gazed at her proudly. "I'm Cole. Cole Caldwell."

She looked so pathetic, wrapped in his black hoodie, her long red hair all wild around her battered face. He had another thought.

"Maybe while I heat up the stew, you might want to take a nice hot shower? I don't have any women's clothes, but I imagine I can rustle up something better than that old jacket of mine."

She appeared to consider his idea before slowly nodding.

Cole motioned to her, and she followed him upstairs, Blue trailing along behind. "This is the bathroom," he said, stopping outside the door. "Wait right here, and I'll go find something for you to wear."

He left her in the hallway, traveling further down to his bedroom. It had once been his parents' room, but when they moved out, he'd taken over the master.

He was not at all convinced that leaving the police out of the situation was the best plan, but for now, he wanted to appease her, to make her comfortable.

Jenny. Telling him her name took a great deal of trust. And she didn't speak? What sort of trauma produced that kind of effect? He wasn't sure he wanted to know. He'd known combat veterans with all sorts of issues, but they'd all been verbal.

He'd just have to take it a moment at a time and trust his instincts. Like with his horses. The thought occurred to him that Jenny was, in many ways, like the horses he trained. Working with them took great amounts of patience and hard work. But they always came around.

In his bottom drawer, he found an old pair of sweatpants. Meant for his six-foot-six frame, they'd be huge on her, but the waist had a drawstring, so at least they wouldn't fall off. He also grabbed a pair of grey wool socks. From the closet, he took the oldest flannel shirt he owned. The red and black shirt would swallow her whole, but it was soft.

Returning to the hallway, he found her petting Blue, the dog looking up at her adoringly. She'd removed the jacket, and in answer to his earlier question, she was indeed dressed. If you called it that. She was wearing a skimpy club dress in some kind of metallic material. He'd seen more fabric on a stripper.

As he approached, she clutched her arms in front of herself. He didn't miss the bruises in the shape of thumb-prints on her upper arms. Angered by the abuse she'd clearly suffered, he forced a friendly smile.

"Here you go. I imagine they'll be way too big, but at least they'll be warm."

She handed him the jacket and accepted the clothes, touching her fingers to her chin in thanks.

"You're welcome, Jenny," he returned.

Her swollen lips curved slightly in a smile, and she turned to head into the bathroom. As she closed the door behind her, he noticed a mark on the back of her right shoulder. Raised, it was round, about the size of a silver dollar.

Cole blinked as realization dawned, followed by a surge of rage. It's a brand. Someone branded her. "I may have to kill a motherfucker before this is over with."