Autumn Skies: 3 (A Bluebell Inn Romance)

by Denise Hunter

  When she’d awakened to rain this morning, Molly had thought they would make their way back to town. Then when lunchtime had come and gone, she realized they must’ve gone ahead with the hike.

  But now the sun was setting and Grace wasn’t home. Should Molly have been more proactive about her fears? They’d already lost their parents. The thought of losing Grace was more than she could bear.

  They didn’t know anything about this Wyatt guy—and he was toting a gun.

  The thought made her shiver.

  “Are you cold?” Adam had already started to get up—to retrieve a throw probably.

  She tugged him back as thunder sounded in the distance. “I’m fine. Just hold me.”

  He curled his arm around her, drawing her close, trailing his fingers down her arm. His touch still made her heart quicken. “What’s wrong?”

  “Grace hasn’t come home yet, and she was supposed to be back by dark.”

  “Have you tried to reach her?”

  “About a hundred times. Levi’s supposed to call me when she gets home.” She’d told Adam her concerns the night before after she’d talked to Grace on the phone. He did what he always did—talked her off the ledge.

  But as she peered up at him in the waning light, she could see the concern in the way his forehead creased above his glasses. She had a tendency to overreact, but she could trust Adam for a levelheaded response.

  “I’m sure she’s fine. But let’s pray for her.”

  Molly loved this about her man. While her first thought was worry, his was prayer. He offered a quiet, fervent prayer that hit all the points she was fretting over.

  When he was done she squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

  “She’s probably just running a little late, with the rain and everything.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” Her tone was heavy with reservations. “I didn’t tell Levi about the gun. I didn’t want to worry him needlessly, but now I wonder if I should’ve said something. If we should be doing something. I feel so helpless.”

  “Why don’t we give it another hour? She said she’d be pushing it time wise, right? If it gets dark and she hasn’t shown up, let’s talk it over with Levi and decide what to do.”

  “Okay, you’re right. That sounds reasonable.” Adam was nothing if not reasonable. She’d never known such a trait could be so darned appealing. She looked at her husband. He hadn’t shaved for a few days, and she liked the scruff on his jaw. She liked the shape of his lips too.

  “What?” he asked when she continued to stare. His lips curled in a sexy half smile.

  “I like you, Mr. Bradford.”

  “And I like you, Mrs. Bradford.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers.

  As the sky darkened Molly and Adam moved inside. They had supper and cleaned up. Adam turned on the TV to a documentary, and Molly stayed in the kitchen, needing to burn off excess energy. She kept an eye on the time.

  When it was good and dark outside and a full hour had passed, she set down the cleaning supplies and went into the living room. “It’s been an hour. I’m calling Levi.”

  Adam muted the TV and watched as she pulled her phone from her pocket and made the call, putting it on speaker.

  “Hey, Molly. I haven’t heard from her yet.”

  “I’m getting worried. She said she’d be back by dark.”

  “I know, but they probably got held up from the rain or something. They’re probably driving back right now.”

  She made eye contact with Adam, and he gave a little nod. “There’s something I didn’t tell you, Levi. I didn’t want you to worry, but now I think you should know. Wyatt has a gun with him.”

  “What?” Levi snapped. “How’d you know that? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Grace told me on the phone yesterday. He told her he has a carry permit and he’s said before he’s in security. Grace didn’t seem overly concerned about it, but I was. I offered to go pick her up last night, but she insisted everything was fine.”

  “And you waited until now to tell me? We need to call the police.”

  Molly’s fingers tightened around the phone. “You’re scaring me. I was telling myself I was overreacting—you’re always saying I do that.”

  “We don’t even know this guy, Molly. I’m calling Chief Dalton. I’ll let you know what he says.”

  At the quiet click Molly disconnected the call and looked at Adam. He patted the seat beside him, and she went to him and sank onto it.

  “I really thought I was making too much of it. But if Levi wants to call the police, I know I have good reason to worry.”

  “Or good reason to keep praying,” Adam said.

  She leaned into the warmth of his embrace and did just that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Her sister was going to kill her when she got home.

  Grace and Wyatt had backtracked to an overlook that had a small picnic shelter. The stone fireplace was useless to them without dry tinder, and they wouldn’t be able to pitch their tents on the concrete floor, but the shelter would keep them out of the rain at least.

  Grace ducked behind the privacy barrier she’d rigged with one of the tents and changed into dry clothing, still fretting about Molly. Not only had Grace been unable to reach her sister all day, but now she was staying out an extra night.

  Molly had one of the biggest imaginations known to mankind. She probably had Grace dead and buried under a pile of decaying leaves by now.

  At least Levi and Adam were sensible. They’d suspect a delay, maybe even get word of the flash flood and talk some sense into Molly. But Levi could be overprotective too, and he definitely had a tendency to overstep.

  Grace hung her wet clothes over the barrier, then pulled out her damp ponytail and combed through her hair, leaving it loose to dry. Finally she slipped on her jacket, wishing for something heavier.

  When she stepped around the barrier she found Wyatt already changed and nurturing a small fire in the fireplace.

  “Feels good to be dry again,” she said. “Where’d you get the kindling?”

  He took her in, and she wondered if he was noticing her hair down around her shoulders. She’d always thought it was her best feature, as it was long and thick and naturally blonde. Somehow the way he was looking at her made heat rise to her cheeks.

  He turned away and blew on the fledgling flame. “Dug for pine needles, cut off some dry bark, found a dead tree under some heavy coverage. Not enough to last the night, but a few hours anyway.”

  She’d be glad for the warmth, and the light would push back the shadows.

  Wyatt nursed the flame while she set dinner on the lone picnic table. Within a few minutes the small branches had caught fire, brightening the space, and he joined her.

  She’d set out two granola bars and the last bag of chips. “I figured we’d save the apples and peanuts for morning.”

  “Good thinking. I’m collecting rainwater.” He nodded to just outside the shelter where a nylon tarp from the tent was tied up. He’d rigged it to a funnel made from a potato chip bag and into a water bottle.

  “Clever.”

  “Creek water’s pretty muddy.”

  “Definitely not ideal.”

  “When that bottle fills up we can switch it out.”

  “At this rate, it shouldn’t take long.” She looked at him across the table. “Wyatt, I’m really sorry about this.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “I feel like I should’ve prepared better or something.”

  “No harm, no foul. We’re dry and safe. What’s one more night?”

  “I guess.” She surveyed their supper. “Well, bon appétit. I’m sad to report that we’re out of coffee, and I’m going to go ahead and warn you about my morning disposition.”

  “I’ll be right there with you.”

  “At least we don’t have drunk, disorderly neighbors tonight.”

  “There’s always that.”

  Grace started on t
he granola bar, her stomach rumbling gratefully. She chewed each bite carefully, hoping her hunger would be satisfied with the meager fare.

  “Will your family be worried when you don’t turn up?”

  She wasn’t about to admit that her sister would be frantic by now. Wyatt was only starting to view her as an adult. “They know I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sorry I dragged you out here. You could be warm and cozy in your bed right now.”

  “I offered, and I guess neither of us can claim responsibility for the flooded bridge—act of nature. I’m going to consider this a learning opportunity for future treks.”

  He gave her a long, steady look, his eyes dark as coal in the meager firelight. “And what is it you’re learning exactly?”

  “Pack extra coffee.” Though she was thinking, No more trips with handsome single guys whose eyes say one thing and actions say another.

  “And more water,” he added.

  “Dry clothes.”

  “More food,” they said at the same time, then shared a smile.

  The fire crackled and snapped, burning brighter, casting shadows over his beautiful face, emphasizing his angular features and deep-set eyes. Really, did a man need eyelashes that long?

  “At least we have plenty of bug repellent,” he said.

  “True.” She’d applied some as soon as they reached the shelter. Not sexy but necessary.

  They finished the food all too soon, stuffing the trash into the bag they’d brought along, then they dragged the table closer to the fireplace.

  Grace sat down and propped her feet on the stone hearth. A breeze cut through the open space, and she zipped her jacket to preserve warmth. Wyatt added a few more branches, then settled a couple of feet down the bench.

  Her thoughts turned back to Molly, and she sent her sister a silent apology. At least she didn’t know about last night’s debacle. Grace remembered the man’s iron grip on her arm and the helplessness that had risen in her. Feelings that took her back to that long-ago day when her heart thumped so hard she thought it’d beat right out of her chest.

  She shivered.

  Wyatt leaned forward, elbows planted on his knees. “Want your sleeping bag?”

  She held her hands out to the fire as though temperature had been the cause of the shudder. “No, it’s not that cold. The fire feels good.”

  Silence settled around them, punctuated only by the crackling fire. It was way too early to turn in. Though her muscles were fatigued, she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. And something about Wyatt’s presence made energy hum through her veins. It screamed danger, but she knew now he wasn’t a danger to her physical well-being. Her mental well-being was another story, however.

  An alpha male, Molly had called him. Grace knew what that meant in a general sense. But the men she’d had in her life—her dad, her brother, Adam—weren’t so assertive and confident. At least she didn’t see them that way. Wyatt didn’t seem to need anybody.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the concrete floor where they would bed down tonight. They wouldn’t even have the thin walls of the tents between them. Would she lie awake half the night in her sleeping bag, buzzing with this energy of awareness?

  And what would they do until bedtime? She’d learned a lot about Wyatt last night, but there were other key things he hadn’t revealed. He wouldn’t give them up easily though.

  Grace gave him a sideways glance. “Are you up for another game, like last night?”

  “We should’ve brought cards.” He leaned back against the tabletop, propping his elbows on it. His hand dangled mere inches from her arm. “I think I’m all out of profound revelations.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “We can change it up. How about direct questions this time? We can take turns.”

  He studied the fire, that enigmatic expression back in place. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Come on. It’s only eight thirty, and we have a long night ahead. What else are we going to do?”

  The question was out before she’d thought it through. She was thinking it through now though. At least a dozen possibilities flashed in her brain, all of them sounding better than the game she’d suggested.

  Her cheeks flared with heat.

  He turned toward her just a bit, not enough to make eye contact but enough to signal he was having the same thoughts.

  She barreled on. “They—they don’t have to be anything personal. Just like, you know, things an aunt might ask you at a family reunion.”

  “You obviously don’t know my aunts.”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “A distant aunt, then, with good manners and excellent social skills.”

  He continued to stare into the fire, obviously considering it. Was he weighing his desire to know more about her with his need for privacy? Maybe that was wishful thinking. Probably he was weighing boredom against the risk of sharing too much with this child he was stuck with another night.

  “All right,” he said finally. “Three questions. And I reserve the right to pass once.”

  “You and your ground rules.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, but I have a pass too. I’ll even let you go first. Ask away, Aunt Wyatt.”

  She stared into the fire, a thrill of anticipation passing through her. The questions themselves could be as revealing as the answers.

  “Tell me about your extracurricular activities in high school,” he said.

  Grace frowned. That really was something an aunt would ask. But it also wasn’t a yes-or-no question. It was actually a request, not a question at all. Open-ended, like he was panning for as much gold as possible with each scoop. And she wasn’t calling him on it since he’d just set precedence.

  “High school seems like so long ago,” she said, because it was true and also because she was eager to add another point to the “woman” column. “Well, let’s see, I played several sports early on: volleyball, softball, and I ran track. But after my parents passed I had to devote time to the inn, so I focused on volleyball.”

  “Part of that growing-up-quickly thing we talked about.”

  “Exactly. Suddenly there were extra chores and no parents to report to. Though Levi inserted himself into that position.”

  “I guess somebody had to. So volleyball was your favorite?”

  “Definitely. And probably the sport I was best at.” She ached to tell him about her achievements, about how hard it was when her parents weren’t there to celebrate them with her. But she didn’t want him to think she was too big for her britches.

  “Is that all?” His voice was a low hum in the night.

  “I’m not really the show choir type.”

  “I think you left out a few things.”

  She looked at him, searching for his meaning. But as usual there was no way to read his expression.

  “You had the highest RBI average on your softball team. You set your school’s record for the four-hundred-meter dash. And you were all-state in volleyball your senior year.”

  She blinked at him. How . . . ? “Molly.”

  “She’s very proud of you.” He sounded amused.

  “Good grief.” Grace wanted to slink under the table. What else had her sister shared while trying to pique his interest in Grace? “She’s very nosy, and she doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut.”

  “You should be proud of your accomplishments.”

  “No one cares what you did in high school. It’s real life that matters.”

  “Your history shows perseverance and discipline—traits that’ll serve you well in life also.”

  “My turn.” She was ready to shine the spotlight on someone else. Only she hadn’t really thought about what she’d ask first. She most wanted to know if Wyatt had a girlfriend, but she’d save that one. Too obvious. She decided to ask him something equally as dull as he’d asked her. “Tell me about your favorite hobby.”

  If he was disappointed in the question it didn’t show. “All right. I play the guitar. Taught myself when I was a
teenager. Good way to relax.”

  “You didn’t bring a guitar with you.”

  “I didn’t come here to relax—at least not entirely.”

  She wanted to ask exactly why he had come here but suspected the question would make him retreat. “What genre? Do you write your own songs?”

  He looked away. “You had your question; my turn.”

  “You do.” She grinned, suddenly knowing it was true, even though his expression gave nothing away. “You write songs.”

  “Your question has expired.”

  “Are they love songs?”

  “It’s my turn, Aunt Grace.”

  She wasn’t letting him off that easily. “My request was to ‘tell me about your favorite hobby,’ so songwriting falls under that category.”

  He spared her a long look. “Fine. I may have written a song or two. They’re not especially good, and no, I’m not singing them to you.”

  She’d bet her right arm they were better than he admitted and couldn’t help but wonder what exactly had inspired those songs. Women? And did he have a good voice as well? She suddenly wished he had a sister who’d spill all the deets to her.

  “Favorite genre?”

  “Country and classic rock. I know a few hymns too. And now it’s definitely my turn. Tell me about your boyfriend.”

  She blinked at the sudden shift of topic. Now it was getting good. “What makes you think I have a boyfriend?”

  “Come on. Pretty girls usually do.”

  She liked the pretty, but there was that girl again. “Well, as it happens, I’m single at the moment. I’m focusing on my business right now.”

  “Your most recent boyfriend, then.”

  It was sort of another question, but she’d let it pass in the event it might work in her favor later. “That would be Nick. We didn’t date long, just five or six months, and then we decided we’d be better as friends.”

  He hiked a brow. “You mean you decided that.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Admit it, it was you. No guy wants to be friend-zoned by a woman like you.”