Autumn Skies: 3 (A Bluebell Inn Romance)

by Denise Hunter

  “Eighteen. Starting my junior year. My brother came home from Denver, and my sister dropped out of college to come home and open the inn. That’s the only reason I was able to stay and finish high school.”

  Now that he’d gone and dropped something so private, he was more than happy to shift the focus to her. “You grow up fast when a parent dies.”

  Her eyes sharpened on his. “Yes. You experienced that too? Even though you still had your dad?”

  “He worked a lot, but he did his best. It must’ve helped you, having siblings. You must be close, the three of you.”

  “Sure.” She smirked. “They’re great . . . when they’re not in my business or bossing me around.”

  “Sounds like a pretty typical sibling relationship.”

  She seemed to realize she was still touching him and pulled away. He missed the slight weight of her hand on his arm.

  “Do you have brothers or sisters? Oops. I guess it’s my turn now. I feel like I need to come up with something really profound.”

  He slid his gaze sideways and got stuck in her eyes. They looked dark blue right now, and he could see the flicker of flames in their depths. A tight cord of tension drew between them. The pull was strong and carried the promise of something better.

  Wyatt broke eye contact and grabbed a stick that lay at his feet. He poked at the fire. “You just told me about your folks. So that probably means it’s my turn again.” What was he doing?

  “Fine by me. Go ahead then.”

  He gave the fire another poke, watched sparks shoot up into the sky and fade away into the heavens. He stared at the moon as a cloud moved in, shrouding it. “Sometimes I wonder where God is.”

  The moment of silence betrayed her surprise. “Wow. You’re really good at this game. But I think that’s normal, isn’t it? I mean, sometimes I wonder too. I think everyone does when something’s gone wrong, and He doesn’t fix it right away, or at all. Like when my parents died, I definitely felt that way. I guess that’s where faith comes into play.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “Smart girl.”

  She looked away. Rubbed her lips together. They looked especially full in the firelight, and he wondered what they tasted like.

  Forbidden fruit, that’s what. “Your turn.”

  “Okay, let’s see. All right. I’ve never told anyone this, but . . . I’m a little jealous of my sister. I mean, I love her to pieces, but that’s just it. Everyone loves Molly. She’s so good with people, and she’s positive no matter what happens. Sometimes it’s annoying, but really, I wish I could be more like her. If you tell her I said that, I’ll deny it until my last breath.”

  How could someone so amazing want to be like someone else? Grace was ambitious enough to start her own business. Generous enough to help him, a virtual stranger. She was gutsy enough to hit a full-grown man over the head with a rock. And she wasn’t full of baloney like a lot of people, spouting frivolous words just to flatter or pacify. She was straightforward, and in a world full of people who played head games, that was a quality he appreciated.

  “I don’t know you all that well,” he said, “but so far I think you’re pretty perfect just the way you are.”

  The words seemed to suck the oxygen from the campsite. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It gave away too much. But he couldn’t regret letting Grace know she was special.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, gazing into his eyes with a look of surprise. “That’s kind of you to say.”

  He pulled away from her sweet gaze. He’d known all along what his last secret would be. “Guess it’s my turn. I told you I’m in security, but that’s not the whole truth. I’m a Secret Service agent.”

  Grace laughed in disbelief.

  He turned slowly and just stared at her, watching silently as realization registered. As the humor fell from her face.

  Finally her eyes widened and her mouth slackened. “You’re serious. Well, no wonder you can fight like that. That is so cool. So do you protect the president or whatever?”

  “Agents do a lot more than just that. Some handle federal investigations like fraud or computer hacking. Currently I protect visiting heads of state and other high-profile officials. I’m working my way up to presidential detail.”

  “That’s amazing. The competition for that must be insane, not to mention the training.”

  “It’s fairly rigorous.”

  “Why do I have the feeling you’re understating it?”

  She wasn’t wrong. The year he’d applied there’d been sixteen thousand recruits and two hundred had made the final cut.

  “It’s all making sense now. How serious you are. How you’re always calculating and measuring until it makes you want to squirm—and all the while you’re wearing the straightest poker face ever.”

  He hiked a brow. “I think some of those bad thoughts are starting to come out.”

  “That was the good stuff.”

  He laughed. She was always surprising him in the best of ways. “Yikes.”

  Maybe the firelight was deceiving, but he could swear she was blushing a little.

  “What a job—you risk your life every day. The bullet wound,” she said suddenly. “You did get that in the line of duty.”

  “Like I said.”

  “It looked fairly recent, so you must be off work while you’re recovering.” She jerked toward him. “You’re the one who took a bullet for Senator Edwards.”

  She was a sharp one. “Bingo.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here in Bluebell. At our inn. It was in all the papers. You’re practically famous.”

  “I prefer to remain in the background.”

  “Of course, your job. I completely get that. You must’ve hated being all over the news.”

  “It’s settled down now, thankfully.”

  “What does your tattoo mean? The one on your bicep.”

  “It’s a Celtic symbol for ‘guardian.’” He gave her a wry look. “And now I think I’m all out of revelations. It’s your turn.”

  “If there’s a winner in this game, it’s definitely not me. I feel downright boring now.”

  “Don’t knock boring.” Besides, she seemed pretty adventurous to him.

  There was a long pause while she gave the last revelation some thought. He understood. Each piece of information was like giving someone a glimpse into the window of your life. What piece of yourself was safe to give away? That depended on how much you trusted the other person.

  “I, um . . . I have a lot of guilt,” Grace said finally.

  She was staring at the fire now, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. He waited her out.

  “Something happened when I was little. Something I never really talk about. Someone died and I didn’t, and deep down I feel like it should’ve been me. Sometimes I feel guilty for just . . . being alive.”

  “Survivor’s guilt,” he said softly.

  She looked at him. “Yes.”

  “Big load to carry.”

  “It weighs a million pounds.”

  He knew. After all, wasn’t he carrying the same weight? The guilt from doing nothing while some monster took his mom’s life. He deserved to feel guilty. But Grace didn’t. He was certain her circumstances didn’t warrant the punishment she’d imposed upon herself.

  He was equally sure nothing he could say would make her feel better. It was something she needed to process on her own.

  “That’s hard. I’m really sorry you’re dealing with that.”

  She gave him a befuddled look. “That’s not the response I expected—kind of dreaded, actually.”

  “What’d you expect?”

  “That you’d try to fix it.”

  “I would if I could. Sometimes it’s best to work things out on your own.”

  Her eyes searched his. “I completely agree.”

  He wondered what she hoped to find. What she was thinking. Feeling. The attraction went both ways, that much was obvious. He knew, for instance, th
at if he leaned toward her and placed a kiss on those sweet lips, she’d respond in kind. But he shouldn’t lead her on.

  He turned away, gave the fire one last stir. Then he rose to his feet. “I’m going to turn in. We need to get an early start tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I think I will too.” Grace stood, removed the jacket, and handed it back to him. “Good night.”

  “Night, Grace.”

  As Wyatt zipped his tent closed and settled in his sleeping bag, his heart was still beating out a wild rhythm.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grace snapped awake at the sound of thunder. It was pitch black, and rain pattered the roof of her tent. She’d paid a mint for these waterproof tents, and it looked like they were going to be tested tonight.

  She used her phone’s flashlight to check the seams. So far so good. There was no dampness on the floor either. She turned off the light and lay back in her bag.

  She’d checked the weather before they left. The storm on the radar had been a substantial one, but it was supposed to have passed north of here. Obviously it hadn’t, and if the weather had otherwise stayed the same, they were in for a lot of rain tonight and tomorrow.

  But if Wyatt decided to continue up into the mountains, they both had waterproof gear. It would be uncomfortable but doable.

  Now that she was wide awake, her thoughts turned to earlier, by the campfire. To Wyatt’s revelations. She’d thought he might tell her what he was searching for out here in the mountains. But he had other interesting disclosures. She hardly knew which one to focus on first. They’d all surprised her. As had his responses to her own confessions.

  Wyatt was an interesting man, and the more she learned about him, the more intriguing he became. Just remembering the way he’d looked at her made her heart rate speed and her palms go sweaty—like she was a heroine from one of Molly’s romance novels or something. Honestly, Grace had always dismissed the writings as fantasy. She’d dated plenty of boys, kissed a handful of them, and she never felt like that.

  Like this.

  The way Wyatt had stared at her in the firelight made her think he felt the same way. At one point she thought he might even kiss her. But he only turned away and poked at the fire. The letdown had been visceral. He probably thought she was too young for him. Or maybe he had a girlfriend back home. She felt a pinch in her chest at the thought.

  She rolled over in her bag. If she wanted to have the energy to get through tomorrow, she needed some shut-eye.

  Thunder sounded and lightning flashed, momentarily brightening her tent, and the rain picked up. Now if the tents could just make it through the night . . .

  When Grace ducked outside the next day, Wyatt was already sitting by the fire, sipping a cup of coffee. It was just drizzling now, the leafy shelter overhead catching most of it.

  “Good morning,” she said, her throat rusty.

  “Morning.”

  She cleared her throat. “Did your tent hold out?”

  “Dry as a desert inside. Nice job picking the equipment. I woke up at one thirty to a downpour and never dreamed I’d make it to morning dry.”

  “I wasn’t sure. They’re supposed to be waterproof, but they’ve never been put to the test.”

  She felt a little self-conscious in broad daylight. Both from the revelations of the night before and from the state of her hair and face. She probably looked about fifteen.

  She pulled up the hood of her jacket and took a seat across the fire. Wyatt brought her a mug of coffee, which, even though it was instant, smelled like liquid heaven.

  “Thank you.” She took a sip.

  Wyatt looked up at the gray abyss. “In light of the inclement weather, I guess we should head back.”

  “Not necessarily. We have the proper gear. Our legs will get wet, but it’s just water. I’m game if you are.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “You’re not like any woman I’ve met before.”

  It was the first time he’d called her a “woman” and not a “girl.” “Sounds like you’ve been hanging around the wrong women.”

  He cocked a brow. “I’m not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.”

  It rained all day, a slow, steady drizzle that seeped into Grace’s jeans and dripped down her face. They had to cut their way through some of the trail, making for slow going. They stopped only for lunch and bathroom breaks.

  As they climbed higher and walked farther, Wyatt’s face took on a disheartened look. She’d so hoped he’d find what he was searching for—whatever it was—and as the day wore on, she started to realize that they might very well end the trek unsuccessfully.

  Conversation had gotten sparse as the day wore on. Grace intuited his disappointment and didn’t force it. She checked cell coverage periodically but struck out. Molly knew it was spotty out here. There was nothing Grace could do, though she did regret worrying her sister with the mention of Wyatt’s gun.

  By 4:30 Grace realized they needed to call it a day. It would take an hour to work their way over to the road through the thick woods, and even with the downhill shortcut, it would take at least two hours to walk home. The sun would set around 7:40, nightfall at 8:15, so that only left about forty-five minutes of cushion.

  Wyatt stopped and took a swig from his water bottle. His hood covered his face to his dark brows, and his jaw sported a five o’clock shadow. Even sweaty and half drowned he was a sight.

  “We should probably call it quits,” he said.

  Grace capped her water bottle. “I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed, but there’s still Pine Creek and Lost Creek. And some high flat areas along both creeks that seem like what you’re looking for.”

  “I’ll find it eventually, one way or another.”

  “That’s the spirit.” She was out of days off this week, but he could use her equipment and move forward by himself. That thought left her a little sullen. She’d wanted to be the one to help him find what he was looking for. It was that nagging desire to be helpful. To prove—to herself, if nobody else—that she was here for a reason.

  They began the cut over to the road. The going was rougher than she realized, the deer path overgrown with thorny brush and tree saplings.

  She was relieved when they finally reached the road and no longer sure whether it was sweat or water running down her temples.

  “It should be easy going from here.” She led the way, walking along the side of the road to benefit from the shelter of trees. “If we keep a quick pace we’ll make it in about two hours.”

  “That’s about all the daylight we have left.”

  Realizing he was right, Grace stepped up the pace. It was tempting to walk on the road. Even though the asphalt was cracked and neglected, it was a better surface than the uneven ground with overgrown weeds. But the rain was coming down hard. They’d make it before dark. Just barely, maybe, but they’d make it.

  New muscles made themselves known as Grace descended the steep, twisty road. Not surprisingly, there was no traffic. The road only led into the mountains, and no one wanted to be up here in the middle of a rainstorm.

  They rounded another bend that offered a breathtaking view of the lake, even with the low-hanging clouds. The road dipped as it turned, then began leveling out before dipping again for a one-lane bridge.

  At the sight of the bridge, Grace halted so abruptly Wyatt plowed into her back, bumping her a step.

  He quickly steadied her. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

  Grace couldn’t take her eyes off the bridge. The road going across was submerged under the rushing creek.

  Wyatt’s hands fell from her waist. “You have a plan B?”

  She thought through the surrounding landscape, searching for any areas nearby where a crossing would be possible. But there was nothing.

  “The creek’s too swollen to cross anywhere. If we backtrack there’s a road that cuts into this one. But it’s an indirect route back to town. It would probably take a whole day to walk back that way—and that�
��s if the bridge spanning the creek hasn’t also flooded.”

  She pulled out her phone, hoping for a signal. The screen was black. Her stomach bottomed out. “Mine’s dead.”

  Wyatt checked his. “I have a little power left, but there’s no signal.”

  Grace glanced around them as if a phone booth or helicopter might materialize. But no matter how long she searched and deliberated, they really had only one option.

  “Looks like we’re spending another night out here.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sunset had become a daily tradition for Molly and Adam when they were both home for the event. They loved sharing the wildly beautiful swashes of pinks and purples, and the quiet moment when the sun dropped behind the hills.

  When she’d come home from the inn tonight, Adam had already put the chicken in the oven and set the table. So she started some rice and went to join him on the deck.

  It was raining, so Adam had put out the retractable awning. Even though gray clouds shrouded the sun, the lightning put on a show of its own in the distance.

  She settled into the seat for two and snuggled in beneath her husband’s arm. She drew in the familiar spicy scent of his cologne, letting it comfort her.

  “Long day?” he asked when she released a long sigh.

  “It did seem long.” Mainly because of Grace. Molly checked her watch for the umpteenth time. When she left the inn she’d made Levi promise to call her when Grace returned, so there was nothing else she could do. “How’d the writing go today?”

  “It was a bit of a struggle, actually. My protagonist just will not do as she’s told.”

  Molly smiled as he expounded on the problem. Adam liked to run through plot problems with her. She loved being involved with his writing, but he usually ended up working things out himself as he verbalized the dilemma. This time, the direction he’d planned to take the novel was not the direction he was headed.

  He would eventually decide that the protagonist was right and he should just stop fighting it. So yes, she was paying attention—more or less.

  Molly couldn’t seem to get her mind off her sister. Grace hadn’t reached out to her once today. Yes, yes, she knew the signal was almost nonexistent up in the mountains.