Protector for Hire

by Tawna Fenske

  His voice was surprisingly gentle, so she took a breath and kept going. “They said your Humvee was hit by some sort of explosive. That you were the only one who survived. That you were in a coma for over a month and when you woke up, you were never the same again.”

  She saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he recovered quickly. He nodded once, his hands tensing around hers. “Yes. That’s all true. And the date that happened was September twenty-ninth.”

  Janelle swallowed again, nodding. She’d lost track of dates out here, but she didn’t have to consult a calendar to understand what he was telling her. “That’s today.”

  “Yes.”

  “Exactly ten years ago.”

  “Correct.”

  “That’s why you’re upset. It’s been on your mind all week.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s why you haven’t been sleeping and now you have those big dark circles under your eyes.”

  A flicker of amusement changed the color of his eyes from storm gray to dove gray, and he squeezed her hands between his. “Thank you for the astute observation on my subpar beauty regimen.”

  “I can help you,” she said, standing up without letting go of his hands. She used them to pull him up, though he was a whole lot heavier than she expected. She still wasn’t used to the sheer size of him, and it probably helped that he came willingly.

  He stood up, all six feet five inches of him towering over her. She let go of his hands as he gazed down at her with a look somewhere between confusion and humor.

  “You can help me?” he asked.

  “Yes! Come on.”

  “Are we going to watch Oprah and talk about our feelings?”

  “Better! Come on, get your boots on.”

  “Can we at least finish lunch?”

  She frowned. “How long will that take?”

  “Less time than it takes you to get ready to leave the house.”

  “All right. I’ll go get my coat.”

  …

  Thirty minutes later, Janelle was stooped down at the edge of the creek, elbow-deep in grayish-brown goop. Schwartz stood a few feet behind, looking at her like she’d lost her mind and he was deciding whether to help retrieve it.

  “Care to tell me how a bag full of mud is going to turn my day around?” he asked.

  She grinned, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the note of good humor she heard in his voice.

  “Nope. It’s a surprise.”

  Sherman was standing knee-deep in the water, pausing every now and then to paw at a leaf or a stick floating past. He barked once, then trotted around the bend in the creek, his massive tail wagging behind him.

  “Are we going to throw mud at someone?” Schwartz asked.

  She looked back at him to see he was still watching her with a bemused expression. She smiled and scooped up another handful of goop, dropping it into the gallon-sized Ziploc bag she’d brought with her. “No, though that isn’t a bad idea.”

  “Mudslinging makes everyone feel better. Or maybe that only works for politicians.”

  “It isn’t mud, it’s bentonite clay.”

  “What?”

  “I did a little research when you let me get online the other day. Don’t worry, it was all encrypted and protected and all that jazz.”

  “You used an encrypted web connection to research mud?”

  “It’s clay. And it’s for that infographic I was telling you about. The one about natural beauty remedies?”

  She stood up and pinched the top of the bag shut, then clutched it to her chest. The squishy contents felt chilly even through her coat and gloves, and Schwartz was staring at her like she’d gone insane. Or maybe he was just looking at her boobs, though that was probably tough through her thick down jacket.

  “Beauty remedies,” he repeated.

  “Yes. Bentonite clay is very good for your skin. It’s ancient volcanic ash that’s been washed for years and years by running water. It makes an excellent facial mask, and it’s great for pulling out toxins to make your skin beautiful and fresh.”

  “You’re going to make me beautiful?”

  “I don’t know about that,” she said, grinning as she eyed his rugged features. “Beautiful” was not a word that would ever describe Schwartz Patton. Handsome, maybe. Striking, yes. Drop-dead, crawl-on-the-floor-with-your-tongue-dragging-under-your-knees-sexy, perhaps.

  She shoved the bag of clay into the little backpack she’d brought with her, zipping it tight before slinging it over her shoulder again. She pointed to a small plant growing under a fern near his feet.

  “What kind of moss is that?”

  He looked down at it and shook his head. “That’s devil’s club. Why?”

  “Just wondering if it would be a good thing to use for exfoliation.”

  “Devil’s club would be a good way to end up writhing on the ground in pain. Stings like hell if you touch it. What part of my body were you planning to rub it on?”

  She grinned and stepped back, looking at the foliage around them. “Okay, fine. How about wild raspberry leaf?”

  “What’s that for?”

  “Tea. It’s supposed to be really good for anxiety.”

  “You want to sip raspberry tea together and give each other mud masks?”

  “Is this not how you imagined your day going?”

  He shook his head, though she couldn’t tell if it was a negative response or a gesture of bemusement. He started walking away from her, headed uphill away from the creek. Janelle fell into step behind him, wondering if he was leading her to a spot where he intended to leave her for dead. She stopped and sneezed, then scrambled to catch up.

  “Bless you,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Thanks.” She sneezed again, glad he couldn’t see her wiping her nose on the sleeve of her jacket.

  “Bless you again.”

  “Thanks. You know, it’s really not necessary to bless me for each sneeze.”

  “Sure it is. Haven’t you heard the soul leaves the body any time someone sneezes?”

  “No.”

  “I’m making sure your soul is in good shape in case it doesn’t find its way back.”

  She grinned, admiring the broadness of his back as he trudged two feet ahead of her. “You’re worried about my soul?”

  “Among other parts.”

  “Well, my soul and I appreciate it.”

  Sherman trotted ahead of them, still dripping water from the creek as he gripped a stick in his jaws and shook it fiercely. He was going to be a filthy mess later, but she already knew he didn’t mind getting a bath.

  Janelle sneezed again.

  “Bless you.”

  She giggled. “You really believe that? The thing about the souls?”

  “No. But there’s no sense in taking an unnecessary risk, is there?”

  “Right.”

  He pointed to a pale greenish-gray tuft sprouting from the bark of a tree. “That’s elk horn lichen. The one you asked about earlier?”

  “It looks like a Muppet having a bad hair day.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re sure that’s the same thing as usnea lichen?”

  “Positive.”

  “Wow, there’s a ton of it.”

  She bent down to pluck a few handfuls near the base of the tree, shoving them into another Ziploc bag. It felt soft and springy, and she brushed some over the back of her hand, enjoying the feel of it.

  “You know, this is supposed to be great for pain relief,” she said.

  “I’ll have to bend over and rub my ass on it where you kicked me this morning.”

  She laughed and grabbed another fistful, shoving it in the bag before sliding her fingertips along the top to seal it shut. She tucked the whole mess into her backpack, wondering if she’d grabbed enough willow bark at their first stop to make a good facial cleanser.

  She sneezed again, then zipped the backpack shut.

  It dawned on her Schwartz hadn’t blessed her t
hat time.

  She looked up to see him staring down at her with narrowed eyes. A chill snaked down her arms, and she clutched her little backpack tighter.

  “What?” she asked, still crouched on the ground. “What’s wrong?”

  His face darkened in a frown. “Are you getting sick?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

  He looked away from her, his eyes scanning the dense clusters of trees that surrounded him. His whole body had gone rigid, his legs coiled as though ready to spring. He turned once, looking east, then pivoted again to survey the north.

  His gaze slid to the tree closest to them. He reached out and plucked something off the bark, holding it between two fingers as he studied it.

  Then he looked at her. “Does this feel like an allergy attack?”

  “What?”

  “An allergy attack. You keep sneezing.” His voice was clipped and urgent, and Janelle tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

  “I—I guess. But why—”

  “Get up!” He barked. “Get to your feet right this minute.”

  He dropped whatever he’d ben holding and grabbed her arm with one hand, yanking her up before she had a chance to ask why. The backpack banged against her ribs as Schwartz gripped her tight around her biceps, his gaze scanning the trees again as he pulled her closer.

  His free hand slid into his jacket.

  When it reemerged, he was holding a pistol.

  Chapter Ten

  Janelle heard herself gasp as Schwartz gripped her arm and pulled her behind him, pivoting in a slow circle. His eyes scanned the trees as he held the pistol out in front of him. His hand was steady and sure, and he looked like a man who’d been handling a gun his whole life.

  He probably had.

  “Schwartz, what the—”

  “Stay behind me,” he commanded, letting go of her arm, but keeping her snug against him. “Put your arms up over your head and wave them around.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, but did as he asked, feeling a little silly and a lot terrified. She glanced down at the ground and saw the thing he’d plucked off the bark. It looked like fur of some sort, and it was stuck to the toe of her boot.

  “Sherman, come!” Schwartz yelled. “Come, now!”

  The wolf-dog bounded toward them, ears pricked and eyes wide. He looked at his master, then sniffed the air. The fur on the back of his neck rose slowly, and he let out a low growl.

  “Stay!” Schwartz ordered, then turned back to Janelle. “Hold up your backpack. Keep waving your arms.”

  “What’s happening?” she asked, waving the bright blue backpack overhead like a flag of surrender.

  “You’re allergic to cats.”

  “Yes. That’s right.” She didn’t ask how he knew. The man had clearly done his homework, though she had no idea what a cat allergy had to do with waving her arms in the air like some sort of deranged sports fan.

  Sherman growled low, but stayed rooted in one place, his shoulder bumping Janelle’s knee as his fur bristled in warning. Schwartz pivoted again, keeping her close, keeping his eyes on the trees.

  “Mountain lions are cats,” he said softly. “They’re also deadly.”

  “Oh. Oh shit.” Realization dawned, and Janelle gripped the back of his coat, fear slicing through her.

  “It must have passed close by,” he muttered. “Maybe stalking us. Stay, Sherman!” Schwartz commanded again as the dog sniffed the air and snarled. “Janelle, keep your arms up. Cougars aren’t afraid of anything, but they’ll back down from a fight if they decide the prey is bigger than they are. Make yourself as big as you possibly can.”

  “I can grab a stick—”

  “No! Whatever you do, don’t bend down. You’ll look smaller. You’ll look like prey.”

  Janelle swallowed hard and nodded, her breath catching in her throat as she let go of Schwartz’s back and lifted her arms again. It was hard for her to imagine anything bigger than Schwartz, but she’d never seen a mountain lion before.

  She’d prefer to keep it that way.

  “Sherman didn’t spot him first, so he’s gotta be downwind,” Schwartz muttered. “He’s gotta be—there!” He stopped turning and froze. He aimed the pistol, pointing at a spot in the distance.

  Sherman barked and started to move, but Schwartz grabbed his scruff and ordered him to stay. The dog snarled again, but didn’t move. He glanced up at Janelle, then leaned into her with his massive, furry shoulder shielding her leg.

  She glanced down at her toes and saw the fur still stuck there. She kicked it loose, her whole body throbbing with fear.

  Schwartz took a step forward. Then another.

  Janelle stuck close, with Sherman glued to her thigh. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light filtered through the forest canopy. Then she saw it, too.

  The big cat stood staring at them from atop a rotted log about two hundred feet away. She could make out the tawny hue of its fur, the softly rounded tips of its ears, the long, ropelike tail. The animal stared back, not moving toward them, not moving away.

  Janelle lowered one hand and touched Schwartz’s shoulder. “Please don’t shoot it.”

  “What?”

  “It’s an animal, doing what animals do. We’re the ones intruding on its home.”

  “Janelle—”

  “Don’t kill it, Schwartz,” she pleaded, tears pricking the backs of her eyelids.

  “This isn’t a housecat. He’s probably been stalking us. It’s him or us.”

  She felt her eyes filling with tears. She knew he was right, knew she was being silly. Her limbs were numb with terror, and she knew the creature could kill them all with a few swipes of its razor-sharp claws.

  But her heart twisted with pity. In the back of her mind, she saw flashes of the scene in San Francisco. Her husband drawing his hand back to strike a man who was already on the ground. The sounds of the man’s anguished screams, and the hollowness that came after the screams stopped.

  Janelle swallowed hard and looked at the cat. The animal stood motionless. So did Schwartz.

  “He’s not advancing,” Schwartz said, reading her thoughts. “The range on a 9mm Beretta is fifty meters.”

  Janelle nodded, her arms still in the air, her brain doing mental calculations. If she’d guessed right and the cat was two hundred feet away, it was out of the range of fire. Schwartz would have to give chase, or the animal would have to advance. How quickly could it close the distance between them?

  “I’m going to fire a shot, okay?” Schwartz said. “I’ll fire into the trees over there, but it’s gonna fall short.”

  Janelle nodded, but didn’t speak, her eyes still on the cougar. Beside her, Sherman whined his impatience.

  “If the warning shot doesn’t scare him off and the cougar comes at us, I’ll shoot to kill. Understood?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. She didn’t know if he was doing it to appease her or because the bullet couldn’t reach that far. It didn’t matter. Either way, she trusted him to keep her safe. To inflict the minimum amount of harm, if he could.

  The gun barked in Schwartz’s hand, his arm jerking as he fired. She heard a soft whimper as he fired again, and she closed her eyes, wondering if the sound came from her or Sherman or the cat. The scent of gunpowder was sharp in the air, and she buried her nose in Schwartz’s coat, breathing in the smell of wool and wood and man.

  “He’s gone.”

  Janelle opened her eyes. “You killed him?”

  Schwartz turned and looked at her. “No. He ran off. The opposite direction.” He grabbed her arm again, his gaze scanning her. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I—”

  “Come on,” he said, pulling her forward. “We’re going back to the cabin. Stay close and stay in front of me. If we see the cat again and I’m in range, I’ll take the shot. Got it?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, moving ahead of him as fast as her legs would carry her. Sherman fell into step beside her, sti
cking close. His ears were pricked, and his ruff was still raised like a lion’s mane around his neck.

  Janelle ran, her heart slamming in her chest. She scrambled through the dense trees, pretty sure she was headed the right way, totally sure Schwartz would tell her if she wasn’t. She could feel him close behind her, his breath fast and ragged, his body a shield between her and the danger.

  She’d never felt so scared.

  She’d never felt so protected.

  Fear still coursed through her and she gave a terrified yelp when her feet tangled in a fallen tree branch. But Schwartz caught her elbow and lifted her up, pushing her ahead of him.

  “Just a few hundred feet,” he coaxed. “We’re almost there. Turn right at that tree.”

  “The dead one?”

  “It’s not dead, it’s a tamarack.”

  She kept running, trying to focus on the tree so she wouldn’t focus on the danger. “Its needles are falling off.”

  “It happens in the fall. The needles turn gold and drop off, but they always come back.”

  She knew there was probably a metaphor in there somewhere, but she didn’t have the bandwidth to process it now. She lunged past the tree, breaking left into a clearing.

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “See the woodshed up there?”

  “Yes,” she panted, daring a glance over her shoulder. She saw no sign of the cougar, but Schwartz was right on her heels. His eyes still scanned the trees around them, his mind and his body and his pistol all poised to protect her.

  She could see the cabin now and picked up her pace, pretty sure she’d never felt such a hot surge of relief in her entire life. She gave a strangled cry and kept running, tears threatening to choke her now.

  “You’ve just about made it, baby,” he urged, and the softness of the endearment left her whole body tingling with something besides the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

  Her hands found the doorknob and she fumbled with it, her fingers too shaky to grip it.

  “Here, I’ve got it.” He nudged her aside and shoved a key into the lock, pushing the door open with his shoulder.

  “In you go.” He pushed her ahead of him, Sherman following close behind and Schwartz bringing up the rear. He slammed the door behind him, then turned and pressed his back to it, his body still shielding her even now.