Her face heated.
Wyatt’s hands froze as he stared at the guys, a muscle flinching in his jaw.
Maybe they noticed because Evan shushed them and their chatter grew quieter.
“You shouldn’t eat food from people you don’t know,” Wyatt said.
“Yeah? You ate my food.”
“That’s different.”
She picked up the second brownie and took a big bite, enjoying the rich chocolaty flavor as much as she enjoyed the way Wyatt scowled at her.
“Have you always been defiant?”
She smiled around the brownie. “Little bit.”
“Well, better hope they’re not ‘special brownies.’”
“Special . . .” Midchew, she looked down at the remaining piece, her appetite suddenly gone. She assessed her mental faculties. Was she feeling a little funny? She didn’t think so, but maybe it was too soon to feel the effects. She forced herself to swallow the bite.
Wyatt’s low chuckle carried across the site. His smile—the first she’d seen from him—was a little crooked, and surprisingly, a dimple flashed on the left side. If she’d thought him attractive before . . .
“It’s not funny,” she said, even though the throaty sound of his laughter sent tingles down her spine.
“It’s a little funny.” He chuckled again and went back to whittling. “The look on your face.”
It took everything in her to keep from smiling in return. He looked so different when he laughed. He should do it more often. Then again, maybe it was better if he didn’t. She didn’t need to be attracted to some out-of-towner who carried a gun, sported a gunshot wound, and had a mysterious job in “security.”
She glanced at the time and checked her phone again for a signal. No bars, even when she got up and held the phone in the air.
“There’s a signal up by the creek,” Wyatt said. “Not much of one, but something.”
“I should try to call Molly.” Wouldn’t hurt for him to know someone knew and cared where she was. She fished a flashlight from her bag to save the phone battery. “Be back in a minute.”
He jerked his chin in a nod.
She slipped past him and headed down the trail. She hoped she could reach her sister. If Molly knew exactly where Grace was, it would ease both their minds. It took a little longer to reach the creek in the dark. She checked her phone and found only one bar. Maybe enough.
She placed the call, the sound of the rippling creek mingling with other night sounds—the high-pitched chirp of crickets, the intermittent call of katydids, and the lonely hoot of an owl somewhere in the distance.
“It’s about time,” Molly said by way of greeting. “I was just telling Adam I hadn’t heard from you all day. I was getting worried.”
“You know how reception is out here.”
“Is everything all right? Is Wyatt behaving himself?”
“Of course. Everything’s fine. We set up camp before dark—we’re staying at that old campground by Lone Creek.”
“Okay . . . Is anyone else there?”
“A few guys, hanging out.”
“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“I’m fine. Wyatt’s in security, remember? And he also carries, so we’re well protected.” She wasn’t sure why she added that. Maybe she wanted someone to know just in case.
“What? He has a gun? Grace, I don’t like this at all. You don’t know the man. Is he there now listening to our conversation? I’m coming to get you right now.”
“Jeez, chill out, Molly. Everything’s fine. He’s sitting by the fire whittling something. We’re going to head farther up into the mountains tomorrow, then we’ll return by way of the road. We need to make the most of our time so don’t look for me to come home until dark.”
“No, I don’t like this. Let me come get you. I can be there in less than thirty minutes.”
“And then what? I desert our guest after I agreed to accompany him? And let him think we believe he’s some kind of psycho? This is my job, Molly. Just let me do it.”
“I’m telling Levi.”
“Seriously? I’m not a child anymore. I told you I’m fine, and you’ll just have to trust me.”
Adam murmured something to Molly in the background, probably trying to talk sense into her in his unique Adam-like way. A long silence followed, the night sounds pressing in.
“I still don’t like it,” Molly said finally.
“I know you don’t, but I can take care of myself. It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”
“I’d better see. And you’d better be here before dark, and I want you to check in when you can.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“It’s not funny. I’ll be too worried to sleep tonight.”
Grace rolled her eyes. A twig snapped somewhere nearby, making her head spin. “I have to go,” she said more quietly. “I’ll check in tomorrow when I can.”
“You’d better.”
Grace disconnected, her eyes still glued to the spot up the trail where she’d heard the noise. Another twig snapped and footfalls sounded. She reached for the flashlight, her heart thumping out a tattoo. It wouldn’t turn on. She reached for her phone instead.
“Wyatt?” she called even though he’d probably never walked that noisily in his life.
A moment later a dark shadow emerged from the woods. Her breath stuttered.
“Guess again.” It was the tall, dark-haired guy, the one who’d been grilling.
“What do you want?”
He laughed. “So demanding.”
“Stop right there.”
“Relax, darlin’,” he slurred. “Just came out to keep you company.”
“I’m fine. You can go back to camp now.” She’d already taken one step back, and she added another as he neared. But with the creek at her back she couldn’t go far. Would Wyatt even hear her if she screamed? The night sounds were loud. And a cry for help would also bring this guy’s pals, who’d no doubt defend their friend.
“My boyfriend’ll be here any minute,” she said with confidence. “You don’t want to mess with him.”
He guffawed. “That ain’t your boyfriend. How stupid you think I am?”
An honest answer wouldn’t help her cause. He was blocking the trail, but if she played it cool maybe she could get past him.
She lengthened her spine and lifted her chin. “I’d better get back. He’ll be waiting for me.” She stepped boldly around him, her heart pounding in her ears, drowning out the warbling of the insects, the rippling of the creek.
She thought she might make it past until a viselike grip clamped around her arm.
Chapter Thirteen
One of the goons was missing. The tall one with the mean eyes and dirty mouth. Maybe he’d only gone off to take a whiz, but something in Wyatt’s gut rejected the thought.
He’d only stepped inside his tent for a moment. Wyatt cursed himself for letting his guard slip and rushed down the trail. He hoped the guy’s buddies wouldn’t notice his departure and follow. The portly left-handed one was probably too drunk to care, but Evan was sober. Wyatt could easily take both of them even without his Glock, but Grace’s presence could complicate matters.
He didn’t use his flashlight. The moonlight was adequate, and he wanted the element of surprise. He made quick, quiet work of the path, his ears tuned for human sounds.
A few moments later he heard a voice above the rushing of the creek. Grace. “Stop it. Let go of me!”
Wyatt quickened his steps. Nearing the creek, his eyes homed in on the shadowy forms. The idiot had Grace in his grasp, a hand over her mouth. She strained against his hold.
Wyatt rushed forward, his unexpected appearance distracting the guy.
Grace wriggled free. Wyatt took advantage of the sudden clearance to deliver a cross punch.
The man’s head flew back. He rebounded quickly and attempted a jab.
Wyatt blocked it with one arm, grabbed the guy’s jaw with the oth
er, and twisted his head, leading him to the ground. Wyatt dropped his knee onto the guy’s throat. He checked on Grace, a still shadow. “You all—?”
“Look out!”
The tackle came from out of the blue. A fist slammed into Wyatt’s gut. He hit the ground.
Wyatt pushed the considerable weight off and sprang to his feet. He waited for the drinking buddy to get up, then faced off against him. He could bring the guy to his knees without so much as a bruise, but where was the fun in that?
“Shouldn’t have done that,” Wyatt said.
“Oh yeah?” Idiot Number Two wore a smug grin. “Let’s see whatcha got.”
Number One was coming around, but Wyatt had a minute or two. He threw a cross punch, pivoting at the waist. The guy tried to block it, but he was too slow. The strike landed with a satisfying thwack. His head jerked back and to the side.
Wyatt pulled back his fists, waiting in a defensive position. “Still want to defend a man who was assaulting a woman?”
Instead of answering, Number Two surged forward with a growl, going for a tackle. Wyatt easily dodged him, and the man flew past, barely keeping his footing. He cursed a blue streak. And fool that he was, he barreled forward again, head aimed for Wyatt’s gut this time.
Wyatt braced his feet in a fighting stance and, on impact, pivoted and shoved the man’s shoulder, adding to his momentum. He hit the ground hard and didn’t get back up.
Wyatt shook his head. If the man had a lick of sense he’d stay down.
But Number One was back on his feet, eager for more trouble. Mean eyes glinted in the darkness. He was taller than Wyatt and probably figured that to be an advantage.
“You need to mind your own business,” Number One said with a grunt.
“You need to learn some manners.”
The man jerked his head toward Grace. “This your sister? We’re gonna have some fun with her once I take care of you.”
A surge of disgust coursed through Wyatt, but he kept his expression blank. “Give it your best shot, buddy.”
The guy sprang forward, going for Wyatt’s legs.
Wyatt hooked his arm, elbow bent, around the man’s head, cupping his jaw, and twisted his body, bringing Number One to the ground easily. He lowered his knee to the man’s neck and looked up just in time to see Grace knocking Number Two on the head with something as he was getting to his feet. The man slumped back to the ground.
Grace dropped the object and skittered away, flapping her hands.
Wyatt gave her a nod. “Not bad, Bennett.”
“All right, I give.” Number One tried to squeeze out from under him. “Let me up.”
Another shadow burst out from the woods, and their brownie buddy came to an abrupt halt, surveying the scene in silence.
“Want to join the fun?” Wyatt kept his knee on Number One’s throat in case he had new ideas.
“I’ll take a hard pass,” Evan said.
“Good to see someone has a functioning brain cell. You’d best round up your friends and head out of here. They’ve worn out their welcome. This one manhandled the lady.” Wyatt jerked his head toward Number Two. “And that one came to his defense.”
Evan swore, his eyes sliding to Grace. “Real sorry ’bout that, ma’am. And here I came along to keep them out of trouble.”
“You might think about finding some new friends.” Wyatt cautiously eased his knee away from the guy, who grabbed his own throat and started hacking.
“Come on,” Wyatt said to Evan. “I’ll help you take them to the truck.”
Chapter Fourteen
Grace slumped onto the log as Wyatt shut the truck’s passenger door. She was shivering, but not so much from the chill in the air. She’d never witnessed a real fight, much less been a participant. Her heart was still knocking around her chest like a pinball.
She pressed her palm to it. She could still feel the place on her arm where that guy had clamped it. When he’d put his meaty hand over her mouth, she’d thought she was done for.
The panic evaporated the second she saw Wyatt coming to her rescue like an avenging angel. She nearly sagged to the ground in relief. He handled the man—both of them—as if, well, he really was in the security business. His swift, compact movements left little doubt that he could’ve put an end to it even quicker. As if he was merely toying with them.
She’d never doubt him again.
The two men hadn’t put up a fight as Wyatt and Evan helped them back to the campsite. Grace was just glad to see them leaving.
The truck started with a roar and began rolling away. There was a flash of movement from the driver’s side as Evan waved. She waved back. He’d obviously felt terrible about what his friends had done.
Grace’s eyes slid to Wyatt as he returned to their site, no more than a stealth shadow moving in the night.
“Are you all right?” She thought he’d only taken the one sucker punch to the gut. But it had been dark, and everything had happened so fast.
“That’s my line. Did he hurt you?”
“No.” Grace absently rubbed her arm. “You showed up just in time.”
Wyatt sank onto the log beside her. “Sorry I let him slip past me. That was sloppy.”
Grace blinked at him. He acted as if her safety was his job. And from where she was sitting it looked like he’d handled the situation like a pro.
“Are you kidding me? You saved my life back there. Or at least my virtue.” She shuddered at the thought.
“You managed pretty well yourself.”
“He was really strong.” She’d felt so trapped against his chest. But then she remembered her contribution at the end and breathed a laugh. “I’m just glad I didn’t kill the other guy. That was a heavy rock.”
“We made a good team.”
He obviously could’ve handled things fine without her, but it was nice of him to give her credit.
“We’ll need to report this when we get back to town.”
She didn’t want those guys victimizing another woman. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
Silence settled around them for a long moment.
Then she voiced the question that had been rolling around her head since the second guy showed up. “Why didn’t you draw your gun back there?”
“They weren’t carrying, and I knew I could handle them.”
“All of them?”
He hitched a shoulder. “If necessary. Come on, two of them were drunk.”
“How’d you know they weren’t carrying?”
“There are tells.”
“Such as?”
“Bulges under the clothing. Security checks—little touches or adjustments to the gun when they move around. A sagging pocket. Lots of things.”
Grace shook her head, staring long and hard at him. “Who are you, Wyatt Jennings?”
* * *
Wyatt put her question on hold long enough to pull his jacket from his backpack and settle it over Grace’s shoulders. She’d been shaking since back at the creek. Probably from shock, but there was also a nip in the air.
He grabbed a few logs and laid them carefully on the fire, then sat back down, still considering her question. For the first time ever he found himself wanting to open up to someone. Wanting to spill all his secrets. Tell her he was damaged and troubled and that his job, while extremely rewarding, had lately stressed him to the breaking point.
He wanted to tell her that while he liked being alone, he was lonely. Hungry for the kind of intimacy he’d never shared with another. That he’d been most loved by his mother, but she was gone and he hadn’t felt quite the same since.
But Grace was young and innocent, and their relationship—strictly business—was only temporary.
“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she said when the silence stretched out too long. “I can tell you like your privacy.”
The fire snapped and popped, the new wood catching the flames. The smell of wood smoke scented the air.
Grace snuggled int
o the jacket. “And I take back all the bad things I said about you.”
He arched a brow. “What bad things?”
“Okay, maybe they were just thoughts.”
“You going to enlighten me?”
She deliberated for a moment, rubbing her lips together, a frown popping out on her forehead. “No. Definitely not.”
“I save your life and virtue and don’t get to know a thought or two?”
“Some things are best left unsaid. Besides,” she said saucily, “if you get your privacy, I get mine too.”
He considered that. “Disappointing, but fair.”
“Unless . . .”
The fire bathed her in a soft golden light. Man, she was a pretty woman. He wished, just for a moment, that he lived in Bluebell. That he wasn’t so far past her in age and experience. That he was toting a little less baggage.
“Unless,” she continued, “we could take turns. You share something, I share something, and so on and so forth.”
He was more tempted than could be considered smart. He didn’t need to develop any kind of intimacy here. Although he surely wouldn’t be around long enough for that to happen. Besides, after all the excitement, he was keyed up. Neither of them would be able to sleep for a while. “Three things.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Okay, three things. You go first.”
He gave her a mock scowl even as he considered what to say. There were many things he could tell her. Inconsequential tidbits about his life, experiences, and various foibles. His coffee addiction. His boundless curiosity. His weird habit of ironing every stitch of clothing.
“My mom passed away.”
Grace’s face fell.
He instantly regretted dumping something serious onto the moment.
She settled a hand on his forearm. “I’m so sorry. How long ago?”
“Long time. I was just a kid. I’m way past the grief stage.”
“Still, it’s hard. My mom died too. Four years ago, in a car accident. My dad died at the same time.”
His heart squeezed tight. “That’s really tough, Grace. You were seventeen?”
Autumn Skies: 3 (A Bluebell Inn Romance) Page 7
