by Ember Leigh
“Same here. And Emmy?” He nodded toward the baby, who lay sleeping on her belly on the other bed, flanked by bunched blankets.
“She had a rough night, but for a few hours has been out like a rock.”
He cracked a smile, seized by the sudden realization he knew more about the moon than he did about kids. His smile stayed frozen to his face a moment too long until he said, “Well, better finish getting ready for work.”
She nodded, pushing her bangs out of her face. Sitting cross-legged on the bed in a T-shirt made her seem younger somehow, like maybe hanging out at a sleepover. Not at all like the Rose who had nearly gutted him with her sexual confidence the night before. “I’ll see you later. Is there breakfast around?”
“Oh yeah, we’ll be eating in the kitchen in about fifteen minutes. See you there?”
“Definitely.”
He let himself out of the room, furrowing his brow as he shut the door and reflected on the particular brand of mortification Rose could conjure like no other woman he’d met in his life. Maybe he’d been so starved for female attention with his work lifestyle, any sultry glance his way could completely unravel him.
Or maybe Rose was the woman of his dreams.
Inside the bedroom, Wes sounded half-interested, at best. “Did you find it?”
“Yeah, in Rose’s room.”
“She didn’t mind you busting in at this hour?”
“She was up.” Garrett wanted to leave it at that. Wesley had no idea of their late-night accidental rendezvous, and he’d prefer his older brother not catch wind of the nude liaisons with their new visitor. It wasn’t like Wes could exactly object—it hovered around the far edge of acceptable. Furthermore, Garrett himself wanted to push out of his mind how something inside of him, really extremely far deep inside of him, seized up whenever he looked at Rose or talked to her.
It unsettled him. Therefore, he chose to ignore it.
She’s leaving soon. Leaving, forever.
And he’d do well to remember it, too.
****
Rose woke up that morning on the peculiar side of the bed.
As she and Emmy made their way to the breakfast room, she tried to pinpoint the exact cause of her strange start to the day. There were no awful residual crash pains like she’d been expecting; Emmy had slept in large chunks for most of the night, which, as a mother-in-disguise, she should be grateful for; she’d started her day at seven a.m. promptly, as always, with the requisite sit-ups, push-ups, and squats; and her morning shower had been invigorating, leaving her more than ready to plot an escape from the hotel.
Garrett’s unexpected arrival at her bedroom door had thrown her for a loop. Something in her seized up when she looked at him—a mixture between schoolgirl crush and a desire to never speak to him again.
Bizarre, to say the least.
But more than that, she had a sneaking suspicion it had a lot to do with Emmy’s mother, who had gone to bed the night before without her baby girl in her arms. She was probably very, very confused. If not completely irate.
In her six years on the job, this marked the first time she’d missed a deadline. The failure resonating within her made her wake up a few times during the night thinking she was choking.
Rose didn’t take well to failure, and it made her irreplaceable in her work. Sure, there were plenty of people who did her job. Some even on the wrong side of the law. But there was a reason why Rose was regarded as the most dependable bounty hunter. No small wonder why she commanded the highest price, too. Made gig acquisition extremely easy. But failure?
Made her want to retire on the spot and not come out of a cave for a year. Shame washed over her. She nuzzled Emmy as her mind returned to this dark spot, hoping the soft baby skin and joyful eyes might help ease her burden a bit.
Nobody in the world could be harder on Rose than herself.
Once they’d crossed the threshold to the breakfast room, the clatter and clamor of twenty men seeking breakfast overwhelmed her. These guys were on a strict schedule—this was vaguely military, something she appreciated from her own personal history. Four years in the Marines after high school had instilled in her an appreciation and preference for routine, something her adolescence had completely lacked. Which was why she’d been starting her days at seven a.m. with hundreds of squats and push-ups for over a decade.
She eased into a seat near where she’d sat at dinner last night, watching as the men formed a single-file line into the kitchen nearby.
“Hey, Rose. Morning.” Wesley waved his greeting as he walked into the room. “You hungry? I can bring you something.”
“Yeah…” She looked at the table in front of her, down at Emmy, then back at Wes. “What do you suggest?”
“Our menu is pretty complex,” he said. “We have cornflakes, bananas, and Fruit Loops.”
Rose pretended to think. “I’ll take cornflakes, and Emmy will have a banana.”
Wes gave her the thumbs-up sign and disappeared into the throng of men.
She bounced Emmy on her knee as they waited. The girl looked equally as rapt by the spectacle around them, and the thrum of activity settled around her pleasantly. She liked being among the masses but not required to interact with everyone. A wallflower since childhood, she doubted the trait would ever change. If it hadn’t happened by her early thirties, it probably never would.
Rose admired the mess of blonde curls on the girl’s head, wishing there were some way to teleport to Delaware, or otherwise catch a magic carpet out of this place. If Rose could get out of the hotel today, a huge crisis might be averted.
But if not?
She didn’t want to think about what might happen.
You could have checked the fucking weather report, genius. You could have spent the night in Pennsylvania instead of pushing through like the macho star you are. You could have packed heavier for the winter, at least brought a couple changes of diapers.
These thoughts had echoed like a jackhammer inside her head the night before, driving her to any form of distraction. Namely her late-night swim. While she’d found a distraction there she hadn’t even counted on—Garrett’s impressively sculpted body, his sleek dives, and a stirring inside her body she thought had been formally laid to rest in her late twenties—it couldn’t convince her things might turn out okay.
Emmy bounced on Rose’s nervous knee as she worked through the Plan B once more. Weather check this morning, another try at the landline—it had been dead last night—and then a final search for seven layers of clothing and she would walk out. She’d sled down the mountain if she had to, baby inside her jacket. She had to get out.
Garrett breezed in, looking construction-worker-casual and gorgeous. His eyes landed on her and he seemed surprised. She tried to ignore the flutter inside her chest.
“Morning, again,” he said, smiling.
“Good morning. How are the pits smelling?”
He paused mid-stride, mouth slack, and turned to her. She’d gotten him—score one for Rose, and it was still before nine a.m. She grinned back at him. How could he not expect her to ruffle his feathers? Less than a day together and she tried her damnedest to make this point clear.
“They’re fresh,” he said finally, “and reek of pine tree. Thank you for asking.”
Wesley emerged from the kitchen, holding bananas and several boxes of cornflakes. He placed the bounty in front of her, looking pleased. “Bon appetit.”
The rest of the workers settled into place at the table. The morning was far more boisterous and talkative than dinner the previous night—these guys were a bunch of early birds, another thing she liked about the place. What a relief to be surrounded by people who liked to wake up early and start the day working.
Like what she would be doing, if it weren’t for all the damn snow.
“So, brothers, tell me.” She peeled a banana and cut it into very thin slices, which Emmy shoved eagerly into her mouth. “What’s the weather looking like today? I l
ooked outside earlier, but it turns out my bedroom has a window into a brick wall, so I didn’t get much of an idea.”
The brothers exchanged a glance. “That’s right,” Garrett said. “Do you think we should put in a fake backdrop there? So people think they’re actually looking outside?”
Wes shrugged. “That could be interesting. Let’s talk to the designer.” Turning to Rose, he added, “We did have a chance to look outside, and not much has changed. It’s about as perilous as it gets out there.”
The air left her body. Emmy giggled and shoved part of a banana in her nose.
“Mouth is for food,” she murmured into Emmy’s ear, seeing but unable to focus on the baby in her lap. The wheels were turning again, now that her worst fears were confirmed.
“So what would happen if you had a medical emergency up here while you guys are working?” She wiped bits of banana out of Emmy’s nostril. “Like a heart attack or something. What would you do?”
Wesley sighed, looking off into the distance. “Well, God willing that never happens…” The brothers shared a long glance. “During whiteouts like these, we’d be screwed. But outside of freak snowstorms, we have plenty of access to the medical services in town.”
Rose shook her head. “Insane. You weren’t kidding about the Backwoods, Pennsylvania part.”
“But this place is designed to be a standalone, a place to weather all those random inclement spells,” Garrett added. “Once it’s up and running, with customers and all, there will be a fully functional first aid center, emergency response station, and enough supplies and generators to carry this place on its own two feet for up to a month.”
“But for right now?”
Garrett looked a little deflated. “But for right now, we’ve got the emergency food, the generators…and, well, Hank.”
One of the workers raised his hand as he slurped cereal into his mouth. “That’s me. Hank, R.N.”
As Garrett and Wesley grinned at Hank, a bad mood crept in. She dedicated her life to avoiding feeling trapped and helpless, and that proved the main theme of this whole damn trip to Delaware. Like being stuck in a sinking car, she didn’t know what to do first—scream, bust out the window, or swallow a bunch of water.
“Within a week, you’ll be on the road, safe and sound.” Wesley added a comforting nod.
“And nobody will have a heart attack,” Garrett added, pointing threateningly at his crew.
“Well, shit.” Rose pushed around soggy cornflakes in her bowl, unable to eat any more. Within a week. How long could Emmy’s mother wait without word about her daughter? Rose gave her forty-eight hours. A week was unacceptable.
A few moments of quiet passed between her and the brothers. Anger burbled hot and sharp in her chest, and she worked to calm it before she spoke again. “So…you guys need any help fixing this place up? While I’m here, I might as well lend a hand.”
The general buzz of the workers quieted a bit after she’d said this. She looked around, finding a lot of new sets of eyes on her. This had to do with her gender; her back stiffened. Give her half a day working with them—they’d see she was no chump. Besides, she’d work with the brothers whether they liked it or not. She had a lot of things she wanted to keep off her mind. Last night’s failed delivery had consequences collecting faster than the falling snow. Physical labor was the only way.
“Hey, if you’re up to the task, why not?” Garrett jerked his head toward the far end of the table. “We’ll get one of these guys to babysit.”
A ripple of laughter traveled through the group. Hank the R.N. even volunteered.
Rose took Emmy’s hands in her own, waving them through the air. Emmy’s gaze darted around, confused but loving the attention.
As the workers returned to their own boisterous conversations and the brothers resumed talking details about the fake window looking into a tropical scene— “Garrett, that makes no sense; we’re in Pennsylvania, not Acapulco” —Rose allowed her mind to drift.
Spending so much time with one of the gig babies forced her to come up against the wall of why she did this. This unexpected window of time spent bonding with Emmy, despite the original plan of a simple catch-and-release, reminded her of her own ancient history.
Emmy was far younger than Rose had been when she’d been forcibly separated from her mother. Rose’s own parents had separated after her fifth birthday and her father had taken her against the court order, determined to see his own version of justice through. Her mother didn’t have the money or resources to pursue her father, who’d spent close to two years on the road evading authorities and living out of motel rooms.
When the chase came to an end, Rose was eight years old and behind almost a full grade in school. The return to regular life had been both a relief and a strange burden, like somehow she didn’t belong in the stability. She remembered aching for the open road, while condemning her father for having taken her there. As she came to understand much later in life, with the help of multiple psychologists who tended to severely arch an eyebrow when they found out she’d been kidnapped by her own father, that period of her life had laid the foundation for her to expect instability and impermanence.
Something that had never quite found its way out of her life, either.
Had a lot to do with her own lifestyle, several therapists had pointed out to her over the years, help she’d sought after periods of extreme mental duress and a well-padded bank account. “This is why you live the way you do. Taking gigs all over the country. Why you joined the Marines, why you signed up for constant movement.” And, they’d said, plenty to do with her preference for being a loner.
In her early thirties, these facts about herself didn’t bother her as much as they used to. It made sense. This was Rose. In choosing to be alone, she didn’t have to know someone and then be hurt when forced to leave months later. Didn’t have to make a friend in a strange new city only to be whisked away weeks later, with no way of keeping in touch or even saying good-bye. Being alone meant she didn’t have to wait for the inevitable sting of disappointment or loss.
She figured her profession was one way she tried to actively resolve the past. If she could help children return to the stable parent, maybe they’d have a chance to grow up knowing only love and family. The younger the better, too. Emmy gurgled as if she’d heard her thoughts. Rose cracked a smile.
That boat had sailed for her long ago. She had carried the hope with her for years—all throughout her childhood, into her twenties, until even recently. Hope that maybe love and family might be a part of her life someday. Not necessarily child-rearing and domestic goddess magazines…but something more than a lukewarm relationship with an emotionally absent father with a record and a mother she loved dearly but who refused to leave her hometown. Something to complement a very lovely but very busy younger half-sister with a family of her own, whose only real outreach occurred on calendar holidays.
The hope that maybe there might be someone in her life. A partner, a romance, a confidante. Someone to lean against, to weather any storm. The tale she’d been told since birth, the dream of grown men and women to find a love that both made her knees weak and made her stand taller.
One day that hope finally died out, like a candle flame from a breeze.
Though the more she watched Emmy bouncing, oblivious and happy on her knee, Rose realized something. It hadn’t been a sudden breeze, but rather herself who had extinguished the flame.
Why had she given up?
Sitting among twenty strangers who only saw her as a woman, and maybe even a pretty woman, but knew nothing about the content of her heart or past, she had a good guess. Hanging on to a fallacy, no matter how elegant and widely-believed, was not a sign of sanity. In her life, love had not found her.
Waiting around for it didn’t seem wise, either.
Chapter Six
Garrett hummed happily as he and Rose snapped in the laminate floor of the conference room. They’d been at it the whole morn
ing, starting first with the construction of an impromptu playpen for Emmy, followed by clearing the space of all debris and errant lumber, and preparing the flooring.
For only a few hours’ work, they’d done quite an impressive job. Rose could whip construction materials around like a ninja.
She’d rolled the sleeves of her borrowed shirt up into the armpits, tucking it on all sides into the skinny jeans she’d shown up in. She looked half-construction worker, half-lumberyard model. Emmy, for her part, had been doing a good job keeping quiet, entertaining herself with the least dangerous objects in the entire hotel: key chains and rubber funnels, all splayed out on top of several blankets. The shrieks and wails could be considered intermittent, at best, somehow fortunate given his expectation of including a child in a work environment.
“You could probably get a side job as a construction worker,” Garrett commented as they began their fourth row of laminate flooring. “You know your way around a worksite, it seems.”
“Already did that.” She laid a stack of laminate panels at his side and wiped her arm across her forehead. “That’s why I went into the medical industry.”
He should have known—this woman was a beast. His eyes drifted toward her again as they had the entire morning. Her very presence called to him like iron to a magnet, everything from the tight swell of her biceps to the soft curiosity as she checked on Emmy. Each time his eyes slid toward her and she noticed, he brushed it off by feigning intense concentration on something else—on anything else other than the fact he was dying to get her body pressed against his.
“You have quite the work resume.” He slid across the flooring toward the area needing a new panel. “Why are you so…” He paused, trying to pluck the best word from the garden of his vocabulary…something to impress her. “…multifactorial?”
She laughed, slapping her hands against her knees as she knelt across from him. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” He paused in his panel-clicking to look up at her. “You’re pretty fucking cool, okay? Can’t a guy ask some questions?” With a grunt, he reached for the next piece of flooring, determined not to talk until she answered.
