Movement in the woods, just on the outskirts of her light. She wanted to scream, but the light gagged her. She took the light out of her mouth.
“Go away! Shoo!”
And then, just to add emphasis to her words, she lifted the gun over her head and pulled the trigger.
The sound cracked the night, resounded through the forest, echoed against the dark vault above.
In its wake, a terrifying yell came from the woods, and the light flickered through the trees. “Yah! Git!”
Gage?
She grabbed the flashlight, shone it into the woods.
The stream of light fell on a figure running on what looked like skis through the woods, his head lamp illuminating his path.
“Gage!”
“Get in the tent!” He cleared the edge of the clearing, just ten feet away, and that’s when she saw the dark form of a wolf dart behind him, into his path, snarling.
She screamed, lifted the gun, and only then realized someone had grabbed it from her.
“Get down!”
Not her voice, but Ollie’s, next to her. Gage dove for the entrance of the tent just as Ollie squeezed off a round.
The night exploded with a flash of light, and a dog howled in pain, whining.
“I think I hit it!” Ollie said. He was holding his side, crouched in the snow.
Gage struggled to get his boards off. “Get in the tent right now!”
But Ollie didn’t move. “Hurry up, man!” Ollie shouted.
Ella wanted to launch herself into Gage’s arms, but really, that was simply adrenaline.
And joy. Because he’d come back for her.
Gage got his boards off and scrambled to his feet. “Get inside!”
Ollie scooted back inside, and Ella felt Gage’s hands on her, guiding her in. She let him push her, turned, and saw him plop down beside her, pull his feet in, and zipper the door shut.
Then he just sat there, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in great thunderous gulps.
She had no words as he unclipped his helmet, dragged it off. Then he turned and looked at Ollie, at Ella, then back to Ollie.
“I thought you were supposed to be dying or something.”
Oliver nodded. “I get that sometimes.” He looked pointedly at Ella.
But Ella’s gaze was on Gage, so much relief coursing through her she could hardly breathe. Ice encrusted his dark beard, the ends of his hair, tendrils around his face, framing his cold-reddened cheeks. He looked like some winter explorer back from the far reaches of the earth.
“You came back,” she whispered.
“I told you I would.” And for a long moment, his eyes held hers, so much warmth in them she felt it through to the core of her body.
In fact, she just might burst into flames.
Then he smiled. “Got any of that chili mac left?”
Brette eased herself back onto the bed and pulled the cotton blanket up as the nurse finished checking her vitals.
“You should be ready to go home in the morning.” A no-nonsense woman with short dark hair and the name Hanson on her badge, she’d come on shift and immediately made Brette get up and walk around. Brette’s protests fell on deaf ears. Now, however, nurse Hanson had turned Florence Nightingale, smiling at Brette. “There’s a handsome man waiting in the hallway for you. Shall I let him in when we’re finished?” She lifted the edge of the blanket to check Brette’s laparoscopic incision.
Brette nodded, feeling a smile curl up from inside. She’d finally found a hero worth writing about. A man without secrets, guile, or an agenda.
A man readers would be inspired by, the kind of guy who simply showed up. Loyal, sweet, compassionate. Trustworthy.
Her own words from yesterday rang in her head. “Actually, it’s harder than you think to find a true hero. Everyone has secrets, and if you look hard enough, we’re all just hiding behind how we hope people view us.”
Not Ty. He seemed like a man without masks. Finally.
Brette pressed her fingers to her mouth, still feeling Ty’s kiss on her lips. So soft she could have imagined it but for the way he looked at her, so much sweet longing on his handsome face.
He hadn’t looked at Jess that way—Brette saw the difference now. “No, Jess and I are just friends.” His words had ended on a funny, almost incredulous laugh.
Her reporter’s brain had simply been working overtime, fetching facts that didn’t exist. Like her belief that Jess Tagg could be wealthy investment princess Selene Taggert.
Brette closed her eyes, her body aching from her walk. Ty had excused himself, and she’d suggested a run for ice cream. She didn’t want him to see her cry again.
And not just because the nurse made her practically trek the entirety of the Kalispell Regional Hospital but because his words had found soft, pliable soil in her heart. “I’m not leaving you.”
She knew what he meant. It wasn’t a declaration of happily ever after or anything, but still, her empty, lonely heart hung on to his words too much.
Oh, she could get into trouble this way. She could almost hear Ella, tiptoeing into the room, sinking down onto the side of her bed. Handing her a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. “No man is worth this kind of pain.”
Of course, the last time Ella did that, Brette had held the ice cream carton up to her face, her cheekbone still swollen. And then Ella had offered to drive her to the police station.
But Ty wasn’t the kind of man who would turn on her, lose control, treat her as if she were worthless.
“How’s your pain?” Nurse Hanson asked.
“Manageable,” Brette said, almost meaning it.
“You’re due for another pain pill in an hour. I’ll be back.” She squeezed Brette’s leg and headed out the door.
Brette sat up and raked her fingers through her tangled hair. She looked disastrous—a glimpse in the bathroom mirror told her that. But Ty hadn’t seemed to mind—
A knock, then the door opened.
She smiled.
Pete poked his head around the corner. “Hey.”
Oh. She kept her smile, feeling just a hint of a frown.
He came into the room, producing a spray of flowers in a vase. White daises, a few yellow roses. “I just wanted to come by and say I’m sorry for being a jerk earlier today.” He set the flowers on a tray near the bed.
Really?
He looked like he meant his apology, the way he turned and shoved his hands into his pockets. He still wore his blond hair back in a bandanna, a grizzle of gold on his chin, and now gave her a wry smile. “I wasn’t myself. Or maybe I was, but I’m trying not to be, so much.”
She hadn’t a clue what he meant, but his self-effacing comment had her warming to him. “That’s okay. I know I shouldn’t pry—it’s the reporter in me.”
“If you want to ask about the stuff that happened last summer, I’ll tell you. It’s just not that exciting. And, frankly, it’s not like any one of us wouldn’t have done the same thing. My brother, Sam, for example, was really the one who rescued the missing kids this summer. Their van went over a cliff, and he and his girlfriend, Willow, hiked them out to safety. He nearly died doing it too. He’d make a great story.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.” But that wasn’t the story she was hoping for, really. “Um . . . can I ask you a question?”
He glanced down at the chair Ty had occupied. Picked it up and turned it around, straddling it. He hung his arms over the back. “Go for it.”
“What about Ty? He mentioned that he used to be the main pilot before Kacey came on the scene. He was a little dodgy about why Kacey took over.”
“She’s a decorated pilot,” Pete said.
“He said that.”
“And we needed someone, especially after the crash,” Pete continued. “Ty was pretty shaken up after the accident, and the ordeal—and he’s still getting used to his new knee, so . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “I think Chet realized that Ty wasn’t going to get back in the
cockpit anytime soon. And Chet certainly couldn’t do it. He can barely walk. And I’m sure there’s some tension there, especially since Chet nearly died. Kacey was coming home anyway to be with her daughter, so I guess Chet saw a chance to get her on the team.”
Brette just stared at him, trying to process the information. Accident. Ordeal. New knee. Chet nearly dying. “Oh, wow, uh . . .” And she was trying to figure out where to start when he held up his hand.
“Wait.” Pete stood up and pulled his phone from his pocket. He answered it. “’Sup?”
He glanced at Brette, nodded. Then, “Roger that. I’ll track him down. But did you call Jess? He might be at her place.” A pause. “Okay, well, I’ll look around, then head back.” He hung up.
When he turned back to Jess, he wore a grim expression. “We got a call from Gage. He found Oliver, but apparently he’s hurt and they need an extraction. They’re waiting for the winds to die down, but we might have to go in on snowmobile. Have you seen Ty?”
She was about to shake her head, but his words suddenly registered. “What did you mean, he might be at Jess’s place?”
“Oh, they’re dating. Let me know if he turns up.” He turned to leave, was two paces to the door when he stopped. “If you need anything, consider me a friend. I’ll see if I can track down my brother for that interview too.”
She managed a nod, but he vanished out the door before his words could register.
She simply couldn’t get past “Oh, they’re dating.”
Dating.
She felt as if a hand had reached in and run claws along her insides. Dating?
She couldn’t breathe. Closed her eyes.
She rewound her memory to Ty leaning over the map, standing shoulder to shoulder with Jess. Wow, Brette had read that wrong.
Her memory, for a moment, focused on Jess. What else had she read wrong?
Brette slid out of bed, hobbled over to her personal effects in a plastic bag on the bed tray, and fished out her cell phone.
She climbed back into bed and pulled up her Facebook account. Searched for Selene Taggert.
Nothing.
She pulled up Instagram, did the same, then Tumblr, and finally Twitter.
Nothing.
Selene had been thorough in deleting her accounts.
Brette did a Google search and clicked on images.
Sure enough, Google still stored a few tagged photos of Selene, most of them taken during the allegations and arrest of her father. And these showed a woman with shorter hair and makeup; she was thinner, and for the most part her face was hidden by an arm, or a newspaper, or a jacket.
Inconclusive, but scrolling down she found a grainy old picture of an engagement announcement. Selene Taggert to marry Felipe St. Augustine. She clicked on the image, found it attached to a blog post over five years old detailing a lavish engagement party with pictures worthy of a gossip page.
26-year-old Felipe St. Augustine, heir to the 7.2 billion St. Augustine Corporation, celebrated his upcoming nuptials in a style fit for the daughter of American investment tycoon Damien Taggert.
The first shot showed beautiful Selene Taggert wearing a silver sequined dress, waving while standing in the cutout of a stretch limousine, her handsome fiancé beside her with one arm around her neck, the other holding a bottle of frothy champagne.
The second was a Vine that ran over and over of Selene on a dance floor of some New York Club, laughing as she danced with a group of people.
Brette stilled.
Selene stood in the middle of the room, one arm raised. Beside her, her fiancé bobbed, clearly laughing. And behind him, in a shot caught over and over, a man turned and flashed a smile at Selene.
Tall. Dark hair, curly around the ears. A hint of five o’clock shadow.
Brette would recognize that smile anywhere.
Ty Remington.
He wore a printed T-shirt, a suit coat with the collar up, and his sunglasses tucked in the center of his shirt.
Ty knew Selene Taggert.
The realization rushed over her.
Brette’s instincts hadn’t been addled by her appendicitis attack. Jess Tagg was Selene Jessica Taggert. More, Ty knew it.
And was hiding her.
Brette felt suddenly naked and foolish as she recalled telling him her story. He was probably out right now, warning Selene, telling her to run.
Brette leaned her head back and closed her eyes, her heartbeat hammering in her chest. She was a fool. She ached everywhere, and not just because of her surgery.
The door opened. Footsteps. Please let it be Nurse Hanson with my meds.
“I had to go all the way to the Griz, but I scored us ice cream sandwiches.”
She opened her eyes and just stared at him.
Ty stood in the wan light of the room, holding two sandwiches, grinning at her.
“Get out.” The words surprised even her, but she didn’t pull them back.
His smile fell and he frowned, clearly rattled. “What?”
His fake innocence only raked up the hurt. The betrayal. “Get away from me. I can’t believe I trusted you. You knew all this time who Jess was, and you just stood there and lied to me.”
And if she was wondering if it was true, if she was simply misjudging him, the question died with the ashen hue of his face. “Brette,” he said, his voice low, as if trying to calm her.
“No, I don’t want to hear it. Please just leave.” Her throat burned, her eyes glazed, but she refused to cry in front of him.
He set the ice cream on the table. “No.”
15
“JUST LET ME EXPLAIN.” Ty stood at the foot of Brette’s bed, her wrecked expression like a fist inside him, punching through the layer of hope he’d constructed around himself.
He’d only known her for a few days, and it wasn’t like he was asking her to marry him, but she somehow made him feel like he might be the only hero in the room.
“You, Ty, are a man worth stealing.”
He might have grabbed ahold of those words, hung on to them too tightly, because he could feel them unravel in his grip as he stared at Brette. Her eyes filled and his chest tightened.
“Please, Brette—”
“I said get out.” Her voice shook, though, and she seemed to have lost her previous venom.
He held up his hand. “Okay—yes, I will. But first, let me explain.”
She flicked away the moisture on her face. “I don’t know where you’re going to start. Maybe with the truth about why you’re not flying anymore? Some sort of crash?”
“How—”
“Pete told me. When he brought me flowers.” She folded her hands over her chest, then tilted her head. Glanced at the bouquet of flowers on the table.
Pete had brought her flowers.
Ty could kill the man with his bare hands. “Pete was here.”
“Yeah. He apologized for being a jerk. Which is a lot easier to forgive than lying.”
“Brette, listen, the crash story. I—” He closed his mouth. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Apparently that’s epidemic with you. There I sat, pouring out my history with the Taggerts to you, how they’d destroyed my family, practically killed my parents, and you just . . . you protected her. You sat there as if you didn’t even know who she was. But you do—you were at her engagement party!”
“How did you . . . how do you know that?”
“Seriously? Google.”
He came over to the chair. Sank down. “Listen, I grew up with her. Jess and I used to ski together. And yeah, I am—was—friends with her brother Barron. And her fiancé and I were roommates at Wharton. Jess’s entire life fell apart when she discovered her father’s fraud.”
“Don’t you mean Selene?”
Ty closed his mouth. Blew out a breath. “She’s Jess now. Just Jess. Trying to start her life over.”
“I don’t think she has a right to do that after her father destroyed so many lives.”
&
nbsp; “She wasn’t responsible for her father’s actions. She testified against him. Betrayed her entire family. Her mother disowned her, and her brother ripped her apart in the press. Her life was destroyed, and when she left New York, she had nowhere else to go. So she texted me, and I told her to come here. That I’d help her start over.”
“Hide.”
“Rewrite her life. She lost everything—her family, her home, her fiancé—she just needed to be safe.”
“So she came to you.” Brette ground her jaw so tight, it looked like she might break a few molars.
“Yes. She came to me. And I told her I’d protect her.”
“And now you’re dating her. Some protection, Ty.”
“No!” He closed his eyes. Blew out another breath. When he opened his eyes, he put as much truth into them as he could. “We’re not dating. I told you the truth about that. But Jess needs me to . . . well, she has her reasons.”
“Do her reasons have to do with me?”
Ty groaned as he turned and spotted Pete standing in the doorway.
Pete’s expression was so dark that Ty found his feet. Not out of fear, but frankly, he was just a little tired of all of Pete’s posturing.
“Yeah, it does, Pete,” Ty said, pulling no punches. “She doesn’t want to date you—or at least—oh man, this is not my story to tell.” He glanced at Brette, back at Pete. “I do not want to be in the middle of this.”
“Clearly you are,” Pete said. “What do you mean, Jess wanted to rewrite her life? That she lost everything, including”—and now he swallowed, as if trying to get the words down—“her fiancé?”
Ty could see how wounded Pete was and wanted to have some compassion for the guy. But Pete made it hard for anyone to feel sorry for him.
“Jess Tagg is really Selene Jessica Taggert,” Brette said quietly. “The daughter of Damien B. Taggert.”
Pete stared at Brette. “Who?”
“She’s the daughter of a billionaire who bilked thousands out of their investments,” Ty said.
Pete frowned.
Really? All this trouble, and the guy didn’t even know what Ty was talking about. “Pete, she testified against her own father. He was sentenced to 150 years in prison.”
A Matter of Trust Page 22
