Protector for Hire

by Tawna Fenske

  Hearing his name, Sherman sat up on the seat and smeared his nose against the glass. Schwartz had put him in there earlier so he wouldn’t get snowed on if the storm came early. He leaned past Janelle to pull open the door, and she buried her fingers in the fur around Sherman’s neck, scratching until the dog moaned.

  Schwartz tried not to feel envious. He moved away from her and leaned into the truck to pop open the glove box. He was all business now, wanting her to understand this was a necessary arrangement and not some fucking romantic night in a cozy B and B. Grabbing a couple toothbrushes from the stash he kept there for this sort of situation, he moved back and handed one to Janelle.

  “Here you go. They should have soap and shampoo and stuff at the B and B.”

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “Can I give Sherman my leftover meat loaf for dinner?”

  “He’ll love you forever.”

  “He already does love me forever.” She planted a kiss on the dog’s furry forehead. Schwartz felt a tightness in his chest, and tried to convince himself it was just the effect of a big dinner.

  “Come on, boy,” he called, and Sherman bounded out. Janelle stepped back as Sherman trotted ahead of them, making his way past the closed storefronts to the little two-story house just a few hundred feet down the street.

  “Looks like he knows where he’s going,” Janelle said.

  “We’ve been here a time or two.”

  Schwartz turned and started after him, grateful when Janelle fell into step beside him. At least she wasn’t walking ten paces ahead of him. That had to be a good sign, right? At least she didn’t hate him.

  Maybe that would be easier.

  Even if the physical distance between them wasn’t huge, the unseen chasm was pretty fucking massive. He wasn’t the only one putting it there, either. Yeah, he’d been a dick since they left the cabin. He damn sure didn’t deserve to bask in some fucking postcoital glow when that’s exactly what could have gotten them both killed.

  But Janelle was keeping her distance, too. They’d sat at the café long enough that the moonshine had mostly worn off, so it wasn’t that. Something was bothering her. He should probably come up with something sensitive and insightful to say, but that was hardly his forte. He decided to wait until they got checked into the room.

  By the time he opened the door to their cozy little fireplace suite, it was after nine o’clock. Janelle sat down on the edge of the bed and looked around the room. She hadn’t taken her coat off yet, and Schwartz wondered if he should start a fire.

  “It’s cute here,” she said. “Very cozy.”

  “Yeah. Not exactly the Ritz-Carlton.”

  She met his gaze. “You think I need the Ritz-Carlton?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you need.” There. That was an entrée to conversation, wasn’t it?

  Janelle pressed her lips together, seeming to consider something. “Tell me something, Schwartz,” she said at last. “When you walked in back at the Elk Horn, I said something to you. Did you hear what it was?”

  He thought about lying. Maybe she was looking for an out. She’d had all that moonshine before the three words came tumbling from those perfect pink lips, so maybe she hadn’t meant to say it. Maybe she wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened.

  But something in her eyes made it impossible for him to lie. To pretend those words weren’t ringing in his ears even now.

  “Yes,” he said. “I heard you.”

  “What did I say, Schwartz?”

  He hesitated, letting his gaze slide to the edge of the rug where Sherman had curled up into a tight doughnut shape. Then he looked back at Janelle, forcing himself to hold her gaze. “You told me you love me.”

  The words floated there between them for a moment, like dust motes he could reach out and grab. “You can take it back if you want,” he added. “Moonshine makes folks say things they don’t mean.”

  She shook her head, hair moving against her cheek. “That’s the thing, though—I meant exactly what I said.”

  “What?”

  “I do mean it, Schwartz. I love you. Despite the fact that you’ve been doing your damnedest to be cold and distant and impersonal from the second we left the cabin, I fucking love you!”

  “You can’t.”

  Her sharp bark of laughter made him jump. Sherman pricked his ears, but didn’t move from the rug.

  “I can’t?” She shook her head, eyeing him in disbelief. “Is that a command, or a declaration of impossibility?”

  Schwartz raked his hands through his hair, wanting desperately to reach for her, but knowing that would only make things worse. “You can’t be in love with me. You don’t know me. You don’t know what kind of man I am.”

  “Are you kidding me?” She leaped up from the edge of the bed, hands balled into fists at her sides. “I know exactly what kind of man you are! You’re the kind of man who rescues a crippled wolf pup. You’re the kind of man who sends flowers for Mother’s Day and gifts to nephews you’ve never met. You’re the kind of man who’ll do anything to protect a woman from drug lords and wildlife and holey condoms. You’re the kind of man any woman in her right fucking mind would fall in love with, even if she does have a track record of making some pretty piss-poor decisions about men.”

  Her eyes were blazing now, fists clenched so tight her knuckles were white. Schwartz’s chest ached with the force of her words, with the realization that she really, truly believed them.

  But most of all, it ached with the knowledge that he wasn’t the man she thought he was. Not by a long shot.

  “I’m also the kind of man who reads a fucking map wrong and leads his entire unit into a death zone,” he said softly. “That’s the kind of man I am.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. It was my mistake. My fault those men died over there in Iraq ten years ago. We were supposed to be on a different road entirely. They should have gone home to their goddamn families instead of being blown to pieces out there in the middle of nowhere.”

  He’d never spoken the words aloud before, but now that he’d said them, there was no holding them back. No chance of unseeing the look of horror on Janelle’s face.

  “Don’t you see?” He raked his hands through his hair again, feeling a zap of static electricity coursing through his fingers. “I didn’t just devastate the lives of those nine men. I devastated their families. I devastated my family—a legacy of Patton honor and pride and valor. My one stupid screwup ruined all of that for everyone.”

  Tears were slipping silently down Janelle’s cheeks now, and Schwartz realized he wasn’t so far from losing it, too. He turned away, not wanting her to see him. He took a deep breath, then another, trying to regain control.

  When he felt her hand on his back, he didn’t turn to face her.

  “You are a good man, Schwartz Patton.”

  He didn’t say anything, but the words sounded hollow and foreign. Her hand was warm and solid on his back, but he didn’t turn.

  “Your character isn’t defined by the mistakes you may or may not have made a decade ago,” she said. “What happened is terrible and sad and tragic, but it’s not the defining moment of your life.”

  “It is.”

  “What about what Gordy said at the restaurant?” she murmured. “That everyone over there knew what they were getting into and just did the best they could. That some soldiers came home and some didn’t, but all of them were strong and courageous and honorable just for going in the first place.”

  “It’s not enough,” Schwartz said, squeezing his eyes closed tight and fighting with every ounce of strength he had not to turn around and take her in his arms.

  Her words were so soft he almost missed them. “Or I’m not enough?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what you’re saying. That the possibility of finding love and happiness isn’t worth the pain of finding a way to forgive yourself. And that’s what this comes down to, Schwartz. You need to forgiv
e yourself.”

  “No.”

  “It’s true. Isn’t ten years long enough to punish yourself?”

  He shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Ten million years wouldn’t be long enough. Couldn’t she see that?

  “You don’t understand. I screwed up again today. When we were in the kitchen?” He swallowed the lump in his throat, willing her to understand. “I’m supposed to be protecting you, and I left my goddamn phone in the bedroom so I could nail you in the kitchen.”

  He felt her flinch, but she didn’t take her hand off his back. “We weren’t in any danger,” she whispered.

  “We could have been!” Schwartz snapped. “Grant could have been trying to reach me with bad news. To tell me Jacques had figured out our location and was coming after you. My mistake could have gotten us killed.”

  “But we were fine.”

  “That’s not the point! I let my guard down and put us in danger. Don’t you see?”

  “No!” she snapped. “You’re the one who doesn’t see.” She took her hand off his back, and he felt an instant chill as she stepped away from him. “There will always be missed calls and wrong turns and bad mistakes,” she said. “We all make them, Schwartz. All of us. But you still deserve love. A helluva lot of it. And I hope you figure that out someday. I just wish—” Her voice broke a little there, and he felt himself stiffen, waiting for the rest of her sentence.

  Dreading the wish he knew he could never grant her.

  “I wish you could figure it out with me,” she said at last. “That you’d realize you deserve happiness. The kind of happiness I know we could have together.”

  He shook his head, but he honestly couldn’t tell if he was disagreeing or just trying to find a way to make the pain stop. Make the words stop coming so he’d stop realizing he might be making the biggest mistake of his life.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  The words thudded like cold bricks into the space between them. He could still sense her standing there behind him, the heat of her body reaching him through the fibers of his flannel shirt. But she was a million miles away from him now. He’d done that. On purpose.

  He heard her footsteps crossing the floor, moving away from him. He turned to look at her, to watch her back retreating as she made her way toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Back to the restaurant,” she said. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  She turned to face him, giving him the saddest smile he’d ever seen. “Right now, I am.”

  She hesitated, and for a moment, he thought she might change her mind and cross the room again to fall into his arms. Instead, she shook her head. “Here’s one thing I’m sure of, Schwartz—the only person who doesn’t know what kind of man you are is you. I hope you figure it out someday.”

  She turned away again, pushing the door open before he could come up with anything to say. He watched her move through it, the dark wig a silken halo around her head, her shoulders rigid. She pushed the door closed behind her, and Schwartz turned to the window to watch her walk past it. He touched a hand to the glass, but she didn’t look back. The moonlight cast a chilly glow on her skin, and he could see tear tracks streaming down her face. She moved beyond the window, her gait stiff and even as she made her way across the street.

  He dropped his hand and clenched it into a fist, wanting to scream, to run after her, to tell her he loved her, too.

  But he couldn’t do any of that.

  He didn’t deserve that kind of reward.

  He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. He knew he should go after her, but he also knew she needed space right now. Gordy and Laverne and Bill were there, and they were all just a few hundred feet away. She was safe for now, probably safer than she’d be with him.

  He wasn’t sure how long he sat there like that, his shoulders slumped, his breathing ragged and raw, his heart aching like someone had ripped it out of his chest and smacked it with a sledgehammer.

  He might have sat there all night if his phone hadn’t buzzed with an incoming call. Pulling it out of his pocket, he glanced at the readout. Grant.

  He hit the button to answer. “Yeah.”

  “Bad news.”

  A bolt of ice shot down his spine, and Schwartz gripped the phone harder. “What?”

  “The son of a bitch walked free.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. His lawyers got him out on some sort of technicality. I didn’t catch all the details, but Mac wanted me to call you right away.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Still in L.A. the last we knew. The cops said he’s not allowed to leave the state, but it’s not like this guy has a long track record of respecting the law.”

  “Is Mac on him?”

  “That’s the thing—he slipped the surveillance. Some sort of decoy trick.”

  “Decoy trick?”

  “I don’t have details. It must have been one helluva trick if he got past Mac.”

  Schwartz nodded, which was dumb. Grant couldn’t see him.

  “Anyway,” Grant said, “keep lying low. Tell Janelle to be patient just a little longer. We’ll nail the bastard eventually, I swear.”

  “Got it.”

  He disconnected the call but kept the phone gripped in his palm a few beats longer, holding that connection to his brother. Was it wrong to feel relieved? Was it wrong that a tiny part of him wanted Janelle to be stuck with him a little while longer?

  He could still talk with her. Hold her. Make love to her.

  Fat chance.

  Okay, so he’d blown it. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could convince her to forget all about the love thing and just enjoy spending time together. Wasn’t that enough?

  It’s not enough for you, and it sure as hell won’t be enough for her.

  He grabbed his coat off the peg by the door, shrugging it on as he turned the doorknob. “Stay here, boy,” he told Sherman. “I’ll get your favorite belly scratcher and bring her back here.”

  The dog lifted his head and whimpered, then laid his head back down on the rug. Schwartz pushed his way out the door, practically jogging by the time he reached the front of the Elk Horn. He shoved open the door, cringing as the bell chimed with a jubilance that seemed obnoxiously out of place. Scanning the room, he recognized a few familiar faces. Some drunk guy who always ordered three pieces of pie. A lady rancher who came in sometimes to play the jukebox.

  No Laverne. No Gordy.

  But most importantly, no Janelle.

  Bill ambled out of the kitchen, and Schwartz practically rushed over and tackled him. “Where is she? Where’s Janelle?”

  “Janelle?”

  “Rebecca,” he said. “My friend. My—my fiancée.”

  His heart twisted at the sound of those words. Adrenaline was pulsing through his veins as he scanned the room, thinking he might have missed her. Had she run to the restroom?

  “She’s gone,” Bill said.

  “Gone?”

  “Gone. Came in crying and carryin’ on over there with Laverne and Gordy. Then the three of ’em up and left.”

  “Together? Where?”

  Bill shrugged. “Didn’t say where they were headed.”

  Schwartz felt his blood turn to ice. This couldn’t be happening.

  “How long ago?”

  Bill glanced at his watch. “Hour, maybe? There’s a storm coming in, so you might have a tough time catching them. Bill and Laverne had their motor home and had been talking about some anniversary getaway, but they didn’t say where.”

  Schwartz squeezed his eyes shut, willing this to be a bad dream. All of it. The argument, Jacques’s release, Janelle’s departure, her declaration of love.

  His chest squeezed at that, and he realized it wasn’t true. That part, anyway. He didn’t want her not to love him.

  He wanted to be worthy of her love.

  His hands were s
haking now as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He stared at the screen, knowing what he needed to do. Knowing ten years was way too long to have waited to do it.

  He punched in the numbers he knew by heart, making the one phone call he swore he’d never make. The second the call connected, Schwartz said the three words he should have said a long time ago.

  “I need you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Janelle snuggled back into her down jacket as the motor home sailed along the interstate. She stifled a yawn, not wanting to fall asleep despite the fact that Gordy and Laverne had insisted it would be okay.

  “Just lie down in back and rest,” Laverne had told her. “It’s a long drive to Washington. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

  But sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. All she could think about was that she might have just made the dumbest move of her life.

  It wasn’t Jacques that worried her. The bastard was behind bars, and she felt secure with Gordy and Laverne and their promise to deliver her safely to Fort Lewis. They could surprise their son, and Janelle could have Grant watching over her and a safe bit of distance between herself and Schwartz. This was better for everyone, wasn’t it?

  Okay, so maybe fleeing hadn’t been the smartest decision. It had been impulsive, and probably a little reckless.

  But how could she possibly stay after what she’d said to Schwartz?

  Or more importantly, what he hadn’t said to her.

  God, why did she have to tell him she loved him? She’d known Schwartz only two weeks. A regular guy would freak out at having a woman drop the L-bomb after that amount of time.

  Schwartz was no regular guy.

  Wasn’t that what she loved about him?

  Okay, fine, she did love him. So what? She didn’t need to go broadcasting it to him like some sort of twit. She’d known from the start he wasn’t the sort of man to want love and marriage and commitment and happily ever after. Why had she gone and pushed it?

  Because she loved him. Because she honestly adored him so much she couldn’t keep it to herself. If that was enough to drive him away, then so be it.

  The thought depressed her, so she gazed out the window at the passing cars, at dark lumps on the horizon that were probably cars or cows or those big round bales of hay that seemed to be everywhere in the vast farmland they passed through.