by Freya Barker
Before he has a chance to answer, there is more rustling in the dense brush and a disembodied voice calls out, “Pops!”
“I called him,” Henry says clarifying his son’s sudden appearance. Not that it helps me much, because I still don’t know what he’s doing up here, although he does seem to have rediscovered his equilibrium now that I have Atsa contained.
“There you are,” Nick says, as he steps out onto the trail and almost casually walks up to drop a kiss on my lips. Of course now the dog’s tail starts wagging furiously, as he’s immediately drawn to the other alpha in the pack. The moment I release my hold on him, he’s nudging his big head under Nick’s hand for a rub. Traitor. “What happened, Pops?” Nick turns to his father.
Exactly. I’d love to know what it is we are doing, standing in the woods on the side of a mountain.
Nick folds his hand around the back of my neck, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the ridged scarring that disappears under the neckline of my shirt, as Henry starts talking.
“I was just taking care of the garbage bins like you asked, when I see this guy walk up to the office trailer. I was just emptying the bin down by the boat launch when I noticed him. He was looking around, peeking in the windows. I thought he was looking for a spot, but then he disappeared around the back of the trailer, so I beelined it up there. By the time I got that damn golf cart up the hill, there was no sign of him. I didn’t think too much of it, until I was coming out of the shed where I’d just returned the cart: I spotted him standing on the cliff by the house and that’s when I called you,” he says, looking at his son almost apologetically.
“And I told you to stay put,” Nick says, his fingers flexing against my neck.
“He could’ve been breaking into the house,” the old man protests.
“So what?” Nick fires back.
“You asked me to look after the place, and now you’re being a burr up my ass when I do?”
“I didn’t mean play some kind of vigilante cop and risk your ass traipsing off into the woods,” Nick barks at him.
“So what happened when you got up here?” I interject, biting my lip not to bust out laughing as I try to desensitize the situation. It works, because both men turn their eyes to me simultaneously.
“How did you get up here?” Nick fires the question right on top of mine.
“On foot,” Henry says. “I wanted the element of surprise and the sound of an engine would’ve alerted him.” In my peripheral vision I see Nick rolling his eyes heavenward, and I suppress a snort. Barely. “Anyway...” Henry drawls, a pointed look in his son’s direction. “Something spooked him because by the time I got up here, he was running past the shed and into the woods.”
“Probably my car coming up the drive,” I suggest, before reaching out and putting a hand on Henry’s arm. “And for the record, my brother installed a state of the art security system. It wouldn’t be easy to get in the house, and even if he did, his mug would be on camera; he wouldn’t get away with it.”
“Good to know,” the old man grumbles as he starts walking down the trail, and with Nick’s hand still firmly on the back of my neck, we follow him down.
NICK
“What brought you up here?” I ask her when we get to the cars. Pops doesn’t stop and keeps going down the drive. I can catch up with him later.
“Ginnie died last night,” Stacie explains. “I need to overnight ship some things Isla needs for the funeral.” The words have barely left her mouth when I wrap her in my arms, pressing my cheek to the top of her head.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“I never met Ginnie,” she explains, pushing out of my arms and I reluctantly let her go. “But I’m hurting for Al and Isla. They’ve lost so much already.”
“She was a firecracker,” I tell her. “She’d have to be, to be a match for Al. She loved Isla, like she was her own flesh and blood. And she loved being here in the summer, but as soon as the season would draw to an end, she couldn’t wait to get back to Arizona. She did not like winter.”
“I’m sorry,” Stacie says, her hands covering her mouth. “I didn’t realize you knew her that well, I wouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”
“It’s all good,” I promise her, pulling her hands away from her face. “I’m just going to have to chase Pops down the mountain so I can tell him; they played cards together for years. I don’t want him finding out through the grapevine.”
“Of course,” she says, a little flustered. “I’ll just pack up the stuff for Isla and run it into Cortez to send it off. I’ve got to hustle anyway so I’m back in time for Mak to get off the bus. And given the circumstance, I think I’ll just call for a shuttle into Durango tomorrow.”
“Like hell,” I bark, grabbing her by the shoulders when she turns toward the house. “I’m going to talk to Pops while you box the stuff up. I’ll meet you back here; I’ll take the box back to Cortez with me, and get it sent off. I’ll be back at your place at five, like we agreed, and you’d better have your bags packed.”
“You’re bossing me around,” she says, her eyes sparking fire. “Just so you know, I don’t do well with bossy men.”
“Then don’t say stupid shit,” I fire back, watching her jaw go slack in shock. “I keep my word; if I say I’m taking you, then that’s what is going to happen.”
I get a particularly dirty look, but rather than argue with me, Stacie presses her lips into an angry line, before stomping off. I don’t even make an effort to hide my grin as I watch her disappear inside.
POPS TAKES IT BETTER than I expected. I guess when you get to be a certain age; death no longer has the power to shock.
“Get going,” he mutters when I ask a second time if he’s okay. “I’m fine. I’m heading home, I’ll do a drive around tonight, and I’ll be back here tomorrow. You go take care of that girl, I get the impression you’ll have your hands full with that one.”
CHAPTER 9
Nick
“Are you nervous?”
I look over at her profile, her jaw is tight and the scars on her face seem more pronounced than before. I reach for the clenched hand in her lap and fold it open, twining my fingers with hers. Her palm feels a bit clammy.
She throws a quick glance my way before focusing back on the road in front of us, with just a sharp little nod in acknowledgement.
With instruction for Pops to call the sheriff next time he thinks he sees something suspicious, instead of chasing after them, I tossed my overnight bag in the car and drove into town. Stacie had been pacing the porch of her house. She’d already been in her own zone and barely said hello. We loaded Mak and the dog up and dropped them off at the coffee shop with Jen.
Aside from a quick hug for Makenna, Stacie had been staring through the windshield, her hands silently wringing in her lap. I tried to leave her in peace, hoping maybe the drive would settle her down, but by the time I leave Mancos in the rearview mirror, I realize that’s not likely to happen.
“Stacie? Will you talk to me?” I rub my thumb over the top of her hand encouragingly. “I’m not sure if I can help, but let me try?”
“I don’t even know why I’m this anxious,” she finally says, still staring straight ahead. “It’s not like this is the first surgery I’ve had. I can’t remember being this nervous before.”
“Maybe it’s because it’s the last?” I suggest carefully. Still she swings her head around and looks at me sharply.
“What do you mean?”
“My guess is with previous surgeries there perhaps was less pressure? This supposedly being the last one, I’d think your—your hopes—would be higher.”
“What if it doesn’t change anything?” she whispers, and I can hear the emotion thick on her voice.
There’s an outlook point up ahead and without a word, I pull the truck right up to the railing. I kill the engine, unbuckle my seatbelt, and turn sideways in my seat so I can look at her.
“What if it doesn’t? What if it’s a
ll perception anyway?” I ask her gently. “Will it change the way people see you? Or perhaps the way you see yourself? For me, even now I can’t see how they could possibly improve on what I see as beautiful already.”
Her eyes lift, from our entwined fingers on her lap she’s been staring at, to meet mine.
“Flatterer,” she accuses, but with a hint of a smile.
“Simply telling you what I see,” I offer with a shrug. “We all have a different perspective on what is, and I can guarantee that your surgery tomorrow will not change that.” I lean in to kiss the frown forming on her forehead. “But what it could do, is change how you perceive yourself, and perhaps that’s the important transformation you should be looking for.”
“How’d you get to be so wise?” she says, brushing at the moisture gathering in the corner of her eye, as she unbuckles her own seatbelt, and scoots closer. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and tuck her closer to my side.
“Not wise,” I confess, staring at the beautiful landscape. “I just know that the way the world sees you is directly related to the way you see yourself.”
“Tell that to the gawking parents picking up their children at Mak’s school,” she scoffs. “Or the cashier at the Food Market, who flinches whenever I get into her checkout line.”
“Do they matter?” I ask, and she turns her head to look at me, confused.
“I don’t understand what you mean?”
“Those parents, that cashier, and any of the other people who gawk at your scars; do they matter in your life? Are you having this surgery for them?” I know I’m pushing, but this is an area I’m at least a little familiar with.
“Of course not,” she bristles.
“The people who do matter in your life, do you think it would make any difference to them whether you have this surgery?” I smile at the sudden fire in her eyes.
“That’s a stupid question,” she spits.
“It is,” I agree. “We both know it wouldn’t make a lick of difference.”
We sit in silence for a while, each lost in our own thoughts while looking out the window, when Stacie suddenly turns to face me.
“You know a large portion of my left side is burned, right?”
“I guessed. I’ve noticed you dress to cover up. I also saw your arm the other day, and assumed the scarring would go beyond that. Why do you ask?”
A deep blush crawls up her face at my question, giving me a bit of a hint.
“I’d convinced myself I was going to be daring,” she confesses, her voice barely audible. “I was going to throw caution to the wind tonight.”
“I booked a suite,” I blurt out with a confession of my own. “Two bedrooms. I’m not gonna lie and say I’d complain if we ended up sharing one, but that wasn’t the objective here,” I try to reassure her, cluing in that her surgery may not have been the only thing causing anxiety. “A relaxed dinner and a good night’s sleep is as far as plans go for tonight, and we’d better hustle to make our reservation.”
“HOW IS IT?” STACIE shouts over the music in the Derailed Pour House.
A great spot with good music, but not exactly conducive to any kind of conversation. All through dinner we tried, but quickly gave up, eating what was a nice meal, but barely speaking. That was not how I imaged tonight would go.
“Not really my thing,” I admit, looking at the signature Dickel Pickle that I just had to try, to Stacie’s great hilarity. It’s actually fucking disgusting. “I’m pretty sure it took the enamel right off my teeth.”
Stacie throws her head back and laughs. Completely uninhibited and utterly beautiful. Exactly the way I remember her.
“What are you thinking?” she wants to know when she catches me observing her.
“That we should pick up dessert, head back to the hotel, and watch a movie.” I can see the wheels turning as she eyes me sharply, before she finally nods.
Twenty minutes later, we’re walking back to the Strater, a container with two slices of cheesecake in one hand, and the fingers of the other tangled with Stacie’s.
“Gorgeous!” A deep voice calls out from across the street.
I watch a tall, silver-haired, and rather distinguished-looking man step off the sidewalk, crossing over to us. A big smile, focused on Stacie, splits his face and immediately the hackles on my neck stand up. Abandoning the loose hold on her fingers, I quickly lift my arm and wrap it around her shoulders, tucking her tight to my body as I watch him approach. He looks familiar but I can’t quite place him
As if I’m not even here, the guy steps squarely in Stacie’s, and therefore my, space and leans in to kiss her on the cheek.
“How are you, lovely? What are you doing roaming the streets of Durango?”
“Good! We’re just on our way back from dinner. Ryan, surely you remember Nicholas Flynn? You must have been introduced at the fundraising gala?”
“Of course, the lawyer,” he says, wearing an all-knowing smile as he offers me his hand.
“And you’re the gallery owner,” I return, finally able to place him. “Nice to see you again.”
“Absolutely,” he directs at me before turning his full attention on Stacie. “So I haven’t seen too much of you in Durango. What’s the occasion?”
I listen as Stacie explains she has some medical appointments early in the morning, observing how easy she seems to be around Ryan.
“Our cheesecake is melting,” I finally throw into their casual chatter, earning an amused smirk from him and an irritated glare from her. Both clearly on to my distractive tactics.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” Ryan says, running a hand through his thick gray hair, before extending it to me. “Good to see you again, Nicholas. And you, my sweet,” he addresses Stacie. “I wish you the best of luck tomorrow and you must come by soon.”
I grind my teeth loudly when he leans in and kisses her again, breathing a sigh of relief when he crosses the street. I turn back to Stacie, only to find her already halfway down the block, marching at a stiff clip back to the hotel.
Son of a bitch.
STACIE
“You’re an asshole.”
Nick’s head snaps up when he walks into the suite.
I had totally left him standing on the sidewalk after that little display of male posturing. I’m not some kind of fire hydrant he can mark. Men can be such babies.
Instead of the elevator, I take the stairs, two at a time, to burn off some of my frustration. I let myself in with my room key and fully plan to hide in my bedroom, when the sound of another key in the lock has me swing around.
“I think I fucked up.”
“Ya think?” The sarcasm is oozing as I work hard not to melt at the contrite look on his face. “What the fuck was that?”
“He had his hands all over you,” he protests, visibly realizing it’s the wrong thing to say the moment the words leave his mouth.
“First of all, he’s a friend, and a good one at that, so if he wants to touch my arm or kiss my cheek, he absolutely can.” I take a deep breath, walk a step closer, and rise on my toes so my nose is just inches from his. I’m only just getting started. “Secondly, who the hell are you to say anything? You kissed me in front of my kid, in the middle of a restaurant. And need I remind you that was nowhere near my cheek? For your information, not that you deserve any clarification, but Ryan is like a brother to me.”
“He’s into you,” the idiot persists.
“Not that it’s any of your business at this point, because whatever this may have been—” I wave my hand between him and me, “—is no longer anything, but Ryan is only interested in Jen. We are done,” I hit him with my parting shot before marching into my bedroom and slamming the door shut.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but I find myself surprised when I step out of the bathroom thirty minutes later, after a nice long shower, and there’s no sign of him or a sound to be heard from the living room. It’s tempting to peek, but instead I get ready for bed, setting my a
larm for the butt crack of morning.
The soft click of a door wakes me, and a glance at my alarm tells me it’s barely midnight. A bump, followed by a mumbled curse, and then silence again. I guess he must’ve gone out while I was in the shower, and only now returns. I try not to wonder where he’s been, any right to an answer for that went out the door when I ripped into him earlier.
I’d fallen asleep, still self-righteously angry, but now, lying awake in the middle of the night, I’m starting to slide down from that moral high ground. Here is a guy, who has rearranged his schedule, and gone out of his way to make sure I can go into surgery tomorrow, relaxed and rested, and I totally blew him off. Sure, he was behaving like an ass, but that’s no reason for me to behave like one, too.
Thinking about it, I wonder if my overreaction wasn’t at least partly motivated by the prospect of spending time alone in a hotel room with him. Not so much my lack of trust in him, as my lack of trust in my own response to him.
I drive myself nuts with this emotional teeter-totter I’m on. One moment, I want to let go of inhibitions and grab hold of whatever comes my way, and the next I’m tied up like a frigid little schoolgirl who’s never been touched. My problem is: I don’t know what I want, and I’m taking it out on him.
I slip my legs over the side of the bed and get up. I quickly pee, pull on a pair of lounge pants, and carefully open the door to the living room.
Only the glare of the muted TV screen outlines the still form of Nick slouched in a corner of the couch. His head turns when I approach.
“Hey,” he whispers softly, but he doesn’t move. He seems to wait cautiously for my cue.
“I was a bitch,” I tell him, as I sit down in the opposite corner from him, tucking my feet under me. “I’m sorry.”
“Shhh,” he hushes me, as he reaches out and tags one of my feet, pulling it into his lap.
I find myself almost purring at the firm pressure of his thumbs on my instep as he massages my foot. I drop my head back on the armrest and close my eyes as he works the last bit of tension from my body, with only the touch of his hands.
