Chapter 162: Recovery

Chapter 162: Recovery
Del woke to the sound of birds. It was not unpleasant — just unfamiliar, the particular calls of things that lived out here in the dry open country. She lay still for a moment, orienting.
Oliver was in the chair, and he was not asleep. She could tell by his posture. He had his forearms on his knees and his eyes on the door.
"You didn't sleep," Del said.
"I slept a little."
"That's what people say when they didn't sleep."
He looked at her. "How's your side?"
Del pushed herself up carefully. The dressing had held. The ache was duller this morning. She pressed it lightly with two fingers. "Better than last night."
"Let me look at it."
"It's fine."
"Del."
She lifted the hem of her shirt and let him crouch beside the cot and look at it. He checked the edges of the dressing, pressed carefully around it, and sat back.
"It's okay," he said. "Staying closed."
"I told you."
Outside, the property had started making the sounds of early morning—something mechanical briefly, somewhere distant, then quiet again.
Del pulled her shirt down and swung her legs to the floor. Her feet found the cool concrete, and she stood carefully. The ache flared once and then settled. She moved to the basin and the jug of water beside it and washed her face and hands. Oliver watched her the way he always watched her.
"How long do you think we'll need to stay?" she asked.
"Two days. Three maybe. Until you can move properly." Oliver paused. "I'd like to fix the car."
Del dried her hands on the small towel folded beside the basin. She thought about Carl at the window last night, hands in his pockets, looking out at nothing.
Ruth arrived at seven-thirty with a tray. Eggs, toast, and two cups of coffee in heavy ceramic mugs. She knocked once and opened the door without waiting.
"Morning," Ruth said, setting the tray on the wooden chair since that was the only surface available. She looked at Del's side immediately. "How is it?"
"Better," Del said.
"Good. Keep the dressing dry another day. You can change it tonight." She straightened and looked between them with the warm, assessing quality Del had noticed last night. "Carl's looking at the car this morning. He thinks he knows what happened to the spare."
"Thank you," Oliver said.
Ruth smiled and picked up the empty tray. "Eat while it's hot. I'll come back for the mugs."
She left. The door stayed open two inches behind her.
Del looked at the eggs. She picked up the fork and ate because the eggs were good, her body needed fuel, and there was no useful reason not to. Oliver drank the coffee and watched the open door.
Oliver was quiet for a moment.
"What are you thinking?" Del said.
"Nothing," he said.
She finished the eggs. The coffee was strong and good, and she drank it while looking out the shed's open door at the property in the morning light. The barn sat at the far end, doors still closed. The low building with the metal roof was visible from this angle—she could see a padlocked door and one small window covered from the inside.
"What do you think is in the small building?" she said.
Oliver had already looked. She knew that. "I don't know yet."
The morning went slowly. Oliver left twice. Each time he came back, he said nothing specific, and she didn’t ask. The silence between them had started to feel almost comfortable.
He returned for lunch, and Ruth appeared shortly after with a tray of thick sandwiches, fresh fruit, and two glasses of iced tea. She set everything on the small table, offered a quick smile, and left again.
Del and Oliver ate in companionable quiet at first. Then Oliver took a slow sip of his tea and glanced toward the door.
“Ruth runs this place, doesn’t she?” he said, almost idly. “Carl just nods along. I’ve barely heard the man speak two full sentences since we got here.”
Del swallowed a bite of the sandwich and nodded. “She does seem to be the one in charge. Carl just does what she tells him.”
Oliver’s mouth curved, a lazy half-smile. “Yeah. She’s got that quiet steel. You can tell she’s used to calling the shots.” He set his glass down and leaned back a little, eyes drifting over Del’s face, then lower. “Makes you wonder, though… who’s really the boss when the lights go out?”
Del paused mid-chew. She knew that tone.
He continued, “You think Ruth climbs on top and tells Carl exactly how she wants it? Or does she like being told what to do for once?” A soft chuckle escaped him.
His gaze had turned darker. He pushed his plate aside and reached for her without warning, strong hands closing around her waist. In one smooth motion, he pulled her onto his lap, so she straddled him on the edge of the cot, her knees bracketing his hips.
“Oliver—” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss, his mouth claiming hers while his hands settled on her hips, urging her to move.
“C’mon, baby,” he murmured against her lips. “Move on top of me.”
Del’s body responded, and she rocked slowly against the growing hardness beneath her. Oliver groaned softly and slid both hands under the hem of her shirt, palms gliding up her ribs until he cupped her breasts.
But then the sharp, unexpected stab of pain flared through her side where the wound still pulled tight. Del gasped, flinching hard, her whole body going rigid.
Oliver froze instantly. “Shit—Del?" His hands withdrew at once, careful now. “You okay?”
She nodded quickly, breathing through the sting. “It’s just… the wound. It’s still tender.”
He exhaled, jaw tight, clearly fighting the frustration of being pulled up short. For a moment, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. Then he gently lifted her off his lap and set her back on the bed.
“Sorry,” he muttered, already standing. “I got carried away.” He ran a hand through his hair, the earlier heat banked but not gone. “I’ll give you some space. Let you rest.”
Before she could say anything else, he turned and left the room, the door closing quietly behind him.
Del sat there on the edge of the bed, heart still racing.
Oliver came back twenty minutes later. He closed the shed door and looked at her seriously.
"There's someone in that building," he said and sat in the chair.  
Del looked at him. “Someone?”
"A woman," Oliver said. "I couldn't see her clearly. Ruth went in for maybe two minutes. The padlock's a good one—not something you'd pick easily." He leaned back. "She brought something in with her. Food, maybe."
"How long do you think she's been in there?"
"No way to know yet."
"Oliver," she said.
"I know," he said.
She looked up at him. "We have to know who she is."
"I know."
"Before anything else."
He held her gaze. "I know, Del."