by Sandra Owens
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He hoped the restaurant he’d chosen was all it had sounded like online.
* * *
The Grove Park Inn was all and more than he’d hoped for. The sprawling hotel was over a hundred years old and sat on Sunset Mountain. The exterior of the hotel was uncut granite, harvested from the same mountain the hotel sat on, giving it an old-world look. The main lobby was massive, a huge fireplace the focal point.
There were several restaurants in the hotel, and he’d chosen to make reservations at Sunset Terrace. The mountain views were amazing, the evening perfect, warm enough to sit on the terrace.
As incredible as the views were, though, it was the woman sitting across the small table from him that he couldn’t take his eyes off of. The sun hadn’t set yet, but it was low in the sky. A candle burned on the table, casting a soft glow on her face.
She was happy. He could see that in her eyes as she tried to take in everything around them. The ants were quiet, and it occurred to him that they usually were when he was with her. He didn’t know what that meant, and if he tried to analyze it, he was afraid he’d come to the conclusion that she meant more to him than was good for either of them. So, for tonight at least, he wasn’t going to examine this contentment settling over him.
“I’ve never been here for dinner before,” she said, her eyes finding his. “I do come sometimes at Christmas. You should see the place then. It’s amazing. They have a national gingerbread contest that people from all over the country enter. There are hundreds of gingerbread houses. It’s incredible, the details and how intricate they are. I wouldn’t have the patience for it, but I’m in awe of the people who do. They have a kids’ category, and even those are amazing. The finalists are announced on TV, on Good Morning America, I think.”
He smiled as she babbled on. There probably wasn’t another woman on the planet who chattered the way she did that he could tolerate for long. When she did it, though, it turned him on. Maybe it was Pavlov’s dog syndrome. He was now trained to kiss her when she got on a roll.
“I wonder if I could make a holiday gingerbread beer. Does that sound like it might be good? I don’t know. It could be really bad, but then—”
“Come here, princess.” Suddenly glad it was a small table, he leaned across it. When she just blinked at him, he crooked his finger at her. “Bring that mouth here.”
“Oh.” And then she smiled as she met him halfway.
Although he wanted his tongue inside her mouth, they were in a classy restaurant with other diners around them, so he satisfied himself with a closed-mouth kiss. When she made one of those sighing noises he loved, he sat back before he did forget where they were.
“Why are you grinning?” she said.
“Just thinking. You’re probably the only princess in the world who tastes like spicy beer instead of wine.”
“Is that bad?”
“Hell to the no. It makes for a perfect princess.” There was that shy, pleased smile again. It took so little to make her happy. The men in her life had been fools. Her father for not seeing what an amazing daughter he had before it was almost too late, and her ex...he wasn’t going there. Not now while he was with a beautiful woman on a perfect night. The man was a fool, though.
Later, after a delicious dinner—his, a mouthwatering steak, and hers, Chilean sea bass, which she’d declared was the best thing she’d ever tasted—they strolled the grounds of the hotel. Terraces with firepits were scattered about, and fairy lights were strung in the trees and bushes.
“When I’ve come here, I’ve just gone straight inside to see the gingerbread houses. I’ve never seen all this before,” she said, as they admired the manmade waterfall.
Her hand—soft and warm—was in his, and as they stood there, watching the water flow over the rocks, he never wanted to let go. But he would when the time came for him to leave.
A few years ago, one of his SEAL brothers pushed the woman he loved away because he didn’t think he deserved her. At the time, Noah had thought that was stupid. But wasn’t that how he’d been thinking about Peyton? He didn’t see himself as a prize catch, but maybe he did deserve to be happy as much as the next guy. Something to think about.
But before he could even consider a future with Peyton—did she even want more from him than those tingles?—he had to get his head on straight. If that was possible, and just maybe it was if he could learn how to forgive himself. He wanted to. So fucking much.
Or would it be best for both of them, especially her, if they ended things with fond memories of each other? He’d seen too many relationships sour because of long deployments, love replaced by anger and hurt feelings. The kind of hurt that turned to hate. He didn’t think he could bear her hating him.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.
“Not worth half that.” He squeezed her hand. “You ready to go, or do you want to walk around some more?”
“Walk around some more, but not here. Let’s head back downtown. With the street performers, that’s a more fun place to stroll. When we get tired of walking around, we can get a fancy coffee and sit at a sidewalk table and people watch.”
“Your wish is my command, princess.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Peyton poured ginger ale into a glass for her father when they returned to his house. “Here you go.” She set the glass on the end table. He’d felt good after his chemo treatment, but two hours later, his stomach was unsettled.
He’d wanted to go back to the brewery, but she’d put her foot down, and amazingly he’d only argued a little. He’d also tried to talk her into going to work, but he hadn’t won that battle, either. This was his first treatment, and she refused to leave him without knowing how he would be affected.
“You don’t have to babysit me. I’m going to drink this and then go lie down for a while.”
“I’m not babysitting you. I’m spending time with you. Besides, I’m not allowed to traipse around by myself.” The last time she’d done that, Noah hadn’t been happy. If she did it again, he’d probably never speak to her again.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have forgotten about that. Have you had any more trouble from Dalton?”
“No.” Other than his hanging around, which definitely made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to worry her father. Not with what he was going through.
“Good. Where’s your bodyguard?”
“At Operation K-9 Brothers. His friend’s teaching him how to train therapy dogs.” Maybe he would like it so much that he’d rather do that than go get shot at. But she couldn’t see him being satisfied with spending his days with dogs forever, so that was wishful thinking. He wasn’t even gone yet, and she was missing him.
After her father went to his bedroom, she got out her laptop. They were planning to increase production, and she had some questions, so she called Eddie. They talked for a good twenty minutes about inventory, distribution, and staffing. When they finished their conversation, she stood and stretched.
Thirsty, she went to the kitchen to get some water, and came to an abrupt halt. Her father’s house wasn’t an open floor plan like her loft, and she hadn’t been able to see Dalton before she came into the room.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Language, Peyton.”
“If me saying hell bothers you, you’re not going to like this. Get the fuck out of my dad’s house.” As far as she could recall, that was the first time she’d dropped the F-bomb, but if ever it was appropriate, it was now.
“I don’t think so. I worked too hard to get what I want to give it all up now.”
“You were paid to do a job and paid well I might add.” She needed to keep him talking while she tried to think of a way to get him out of the house. If her father heard them talking, would he stay in his room and call the police, or would
he come out?
Dalton smirked. “Do you know how much ass kissing to your father I had to do, how I had to pretend you were wonderful and swear that I’d take care of you after he was gone? He promised the brewery would be mine after he died.”
“The promise was that it would belong to us if we married.” She pointed between them. “Us. Guess you’re out of luck, because I’m not marrying you. Not ever.” She’d never hated anyone in her life until now.
“Me. Us. Semantics.”
“He’ll never sign any papers giving you the brewery.”
“Oh, I think he will.”
“You’re crazy.” She took another step back, intending to go to the living room and get her phone. “I’m calling the police. You don’t want to be here when they arrive.”
“I don’t think so.” He showed her the hand he’d been hiding behind his back.
“Seriously, Dalton. A gun? What are you going to do, shoot me?” She wasn’t exactly scared. There was no way he’d shoot her, but then she looked into his eyes. Now she was scared.
“Yes, if you don’t do exactly as I say.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He laughed, and it wasn’t a good one. “Do you really want to try me? Move another inch, and I’ll make your father watch me put a bullet in your brain.”
“You won’t get away with this. Walk out right now, and I won’t tell a soul you were here.” For as long as it took her to call the police and then Noah. “How did you get in, anyway?”
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a key. “Your father gave me a key when I was staying here, taking care of him the first time he had cancer. Like I said, kissing his ass. You think I enjoyed listening to him retch after his treatments? Cooking dinner for him, pretending I gave a shit?”
“You’re a bastard.”
He tsked. “Not a nice thing to call your future husband. I’m tired of talking to you. You’re going to do exactly what I say if you want to see tomorrow.”
“You don’t have it in you to kill anyone.” She prayed that was true.
“No? You might want to ask my late wife about that.” He chuckled. “But you’ll have to go to the bitch’s gravesite to do it.”
God help her. He wasn’t lying. The truth was in his eyes. How had she not noticed before how cold and dead they were?
“Thought that would shut you up.” He pointed the gun at her. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Write a note to your father. Tell him that your bodyguard picked you up and you’ll see him tomorrow. I’ll read it, of course, so don’t try anything stupid.”
“And then what?”
“Then we get married.”
“No. You’ve lost your mind if you think I’m leaving with you.”
“So be it.” He walked past her.
“Where are you going?”
“To get your father.”
* * *
“That’s your fifth yawn this morning,” Jack said.
Noah yawned again.
“Late night with a princess?”
“Shut it. And wipe that stupid smirk off your face.” It had been a late night spent in Peyton’s bed and then an early morning when she had woken him with her mouth wrapped around him. Best way in the world to wake up.
Jack laughed as he slapped Noah on the back. “You’re a happier man these days. I had my doubts about you getting involved with Peyton, but I was wrong. She’s been good for you. Don’t screw it up, brother.”
“There’s nothing to screw up.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. Peyton had been...was good for him. After she’d fallen asleep last night, he’d actually tried to think of how they could maintain a relationship. He just couldn’t see it. Her home was here, the job that meant everything to her was here, her father was here. She couldn’t move even if he asked her to, which he wouldn’t.
He’d tried to imagine making his home in Asheville, and he couldn’t see that, either. The mountain town was charming, and he’d be happy living here except for the simple fact that there was no work for him.
This was Jack’s home, where he’d grown up, and he’d found a way to create an organization doing what he loved. Noah couldn’t see himself training dogs for the rest of his life, and he wasn’t about to mooch off Peyton. No matter how agreeable she might be to that.
So, no. There was nothing to screw up. He would leave. They would both miss each other. She would eventually forget him. He would never forget her.
“We gonna do something besides stand here and not talk about my love life?”
“Yeah, so pay attention.” Jack crouched in front of Lucky. “Who’s a good boy?”
The silly dog tried to climb up him. “What kind of training is that?”
Jack laughed. “You’re a happy dog, aren’t you, Lucky?” He glanced up at Noah. “He’s got a great temperament for a therapy dog. He just needs to understand what his job is. It’s much easier to train a therapy dog than it is a service dog. Basically, he has to learn all his commands. Heel, Sit, Stay, et cetera.
“Then we have to get him used to noises so he doesn’t try to run away if he hears a car backfire or thunder or whatever. He’ll have to learn to ignore distractions, strangers wanting to pet him, a cat running past him, and other dogs. We’ll take him places like the mall where there are people. Right now, he wants attention from everyone, and we have to teach him to ignore other people. His purpose in life will be to give comfort to his owner, especially when he or she is suffering from a PTSD episode. He’ll learn to recognize the signs.”
Noah wasn’t sure how he felt about someone else getting his dog. “How will he learn that?”
“To recognize signs of depression?”
“Yeah.”
“Dogs are sensitive to their owner’s emotions, and many pick up on that on their own, but the owner can also help that learning along by cuddling with the dog when they are experiencing symptoms of depression. That helps the dog learn the tell signs of that particular owner. Another way is to give the dog a treat when you feel an episode coming on. That teaches the dog to respond to the tells. Since people experience PTSD in different ways, responding to the signs part of a therapy dog’s training will be done by the owner with guidance from us.”
Noah almost let all that pass without comment because that would be admitting that he was one of those people Jack was talking about, but wouldn’t that be avoiding? Don’t be a coward, Doc Meadows said in his head.
“He knows when I’m having a...um, a black moment, I guess you could say. He’ll do something like put his chin on my leg and look at me with worried eyes.”
“Not surprised. He’s an intelligent dog. He’ll make someone a good therapy dog once he learns his manners.”
Yeah, he would, and Noah was going to miss the silly dog when he returned to his team.
A woman emerged from the office, running toward them. “Who’s that?” He’d not seen her here before.
“My new office manager. Just started today.” He frowned. “Does she look like she’s freaking out?”
“Yeah, she does.”
“Trudy, where’s the fire?” Jack said when the woman skidded to a stop in front of them.
“The man on the phone said it’s a life or death emergency.” Her gaze darted between him and Jack. “Are you Noah?” she said when her eyes landed back on him.
“Yes.” The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up. Trudy hadn’t gotten to what the man on the phone had said, but he knew, just knew that Dalton had somehow gotten to Peyton.
“He wants to talk to you.”
Noah didn’t know who he was, but that didn’t matter. Whoever it was had intel, even if it was Dalton. “You have him on the phone?”
“Yes, in the office.”
Noah raced past her. Jack’s boots pounded the ground behind him. When he
reached the office, he skidded to a halt, looking for the phone.
“Here,” Jack said, picking up the receiver of a desk phone.
“This is Noah Alba.”
“Noah, this is Gerald Sutton, Peyton’s father. Is she with you?”
“No, she isn’t. Talk to me, sir.”
“Damn it, I’m going to kill him.”
“I assume you mean her ex?” And Gerald Sutton wasn’t going to kill the man, because he was.
“Yes. She left a note saying you picked her up, but it’s all wrong.”
“Wrong how?”
“Well, first, she addressed me as Father. Peyton’s never been that formal with me. But the other thing was the reason I knew she’d been forced to write the note. She said Robbie picked her up. Robbie was my son. That’s not a mistake she would have made unless she was sending me a message.”
Clever girl. “But you didn’t see Dalton take her?”
“No. I was taking a nap. When I woke up, she was gone, and I found the note.”
“Mr. Sutton, how long do you think she’s been gone?” It was hell standing here, asking his questions. He needed to be out there, doing something.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t feeling good after my treatment, and she insisted I rest. I’ve been asleep for about two hours. You have to find her, Noah.”
“Oh, I will, sir. You can be assured of that. Give me your phone number.” He grabbed a pen and wrote down the number. “Is that your cell?”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to message you so you’ll have my number. If you hear from her, you call me immediately.”
“I will. Please, just find my daughter.”
“You can count on it. That’s a promise.” He dropped the receiver on the desk.
Jack picked it up and put it in the cradle. “Details.”
“Lacking.” He keyed Sutton’s number into his phone, then sent a brief message. He glanced at Jack. “All he knows is that she wasn’t there when he woke up from a nap. She left him a note that Robbie picked her up.”
