Cherished: The Mountain Man's Babies(3)

Before the church became so fundamental, we were all living in town, in our own places, but once Luke came back with a vision of the future, everyone moved to this plot of land that he owned. My father was an associate pastor, so he got set up pretty nice—thank God too because I have a bunch of younger siblings.

Cherish's dad, though, wasn't as lucky—though the truth is, he's always been down on his luck. There has never been enough money to go around for Cherish's family... and without a mother to help, the weight of the family has been on her shoulders.

When I get to their trailer, I see her younger brother Abe out front.

"What do you want?" he asks. He's only eight but already looks like he's seen better days.

"Is Cherish around?" I ask.

"Who wants to know?"

I pull back, not expecting this. Then again, I haven't been out here in a long time. Cherish turned me away so many times, I decided to wait her out for a while, not wanting to push her.

Now I wish I'd pushed her harder, faster. Stolen a van, taken all her siblings with me, got the hell out of this place.

"Just tell me where she is. Is she inside?"

He scowls, crossing his arms. A tougher sell than I expected.

I look down at my hands. "I'll give you a cookie."

He twists his lips. "Both of 'em," he barters.

I grin, liking his go-get-‘em attitude. "Sure." I hand them over.

"She's at the creek. She's always at the creek when she's not here.

I nod in thanks, my chest constricting at the memories that well to the surface.

The creek.

Our creek.

Of course, she would be there.

I haven't been there in years.

"Thanks, little man," I tell him, already backing away from the trailer, snapping twigs as I run.

Needing to find her.

Needing to keep her.

Needing her to know she’s always been mine.





Chapter Three





On the edge of the stream, I sit with my guitar propped under my arm, strumming the most familiar song I know. The one that I made my personal anthem a long time ago.

Before the church became so conservative, my family used to listen to music on an old record player my mom had from when she was a little girl. And she loved the Beach Boys.

I loved If God Only Knows... and I would sing that song, playing it on my guitar until my fingers were raw.

Now I sing it, my words barely audible because my face is streaked with tears.

I've been sitting out here for an hour, not wanting to be around anyone else right now. I don't think I could bear it.

So, I’m here alone, there’s nothing here but the creek that has always run with crystal clear water. Even before Pastor Luke brought us to this land, this was the spot I would come to with James. We've always lived within a mile of these woods.

I hear a branch snap, leaves rustle. Someone is here. I close my eyes, not wanting this moment to end.

"Abigail?"

I don't want James to see me here; to ask me why I didn't come find him first. I don't want him to see how fragile I feel, how undeserving I am. I didn't choose him because I was scared and I know how much I have hurt him.

He is here for me now.

Again.

Always.

I press my palm against the guitar strings, stopping them. I look over my shoulder and see him standing under an oak tree. Our oak tree.

His dark hair is pushed back from his forehead and he looks larger than ever, looming several feet above me. He looks like a real man, a man who could swoop in and protect me, a man I have denied. The only man I have ever wanted.

"James." My eyes sting with tears, and he rushes down to the river bank where I'm sitting on a fallen log.

"Abigail," he says again, now sitting beside me, lifting the guitar strap over my shoulder, setting the guitar behind us. He opens my palms and takes the guitar pick with a music note on the smooth surface, and he places it in his pocket. For safe keeping, he tells me.

"You're the only person who calls me that anymore," I tell him, missing the way my birth name sounds, but it also seems so foreign now, so removed. Not who I am, or at least who I have allowed myself to become.

He wraps his arm around me, knowing the cost of being caught. He doesn't care. For so long he has been careful, not doing anything that could compromise me. Avoiding long conversations with me—and recently any conversation at all. But now, under the shelter of the oak tree, with clear water running in the creek before us, it's like he is untethered from the compound rules a mile away. Out here in the woods, there are no rules, only us, and I remember what it was always like when we were young.

I wish it could always be this way.

"You can't get married tomorrow, Abigail. That can't be the way our story ends. We are supposed to be a love song."

I shake my head. "I don't even want you to look at me."