Autumn Skies: 3 (A Bluebell Inn Romance)
Page 10
Woman. “Fine, technically it was me, but the feeling was mutual.”
Wyatt chuckled. “Sure it was.”
She poked him in the side. “It was.”
He didn’t even flinch. Although, small wonder, since his obliques were a cement wall.
“If you say so. And you still haven’t told me about him, for the record.”
She was happy to accommodate since her turn was coming next, and she wanted a nice, detailed answer.
“He works at the marina.” She left off that he managed the office, preferring that he seemed more . . . physical than he actually was. “We’ve known each other for years, but we hadn’t really had a conversation until I was over there seeing if we could work together on boat rentals for my business. In the end we decided it wouldn’t work, but he asked me out, and I said yes.”
“Where’d you go on your first date?”
“I’d like it to go on record that I’m allowing some flexibility in this line of questioning.”
“Duly noted, Judge Bennett. Please proceed.”
She almost wished she’d denied his request because her answer seemed juvenile. “He took me putt-putting.”
“Putt-putting?”
“Hey, I won.”
“He took you putt-putting.”
“It was fun. And he was a gracious loser. Why, where do you take your women on first dates—Paris?”
“We’re still on my question. Is that all? Did he at least take you out to eat afterward?”
He hadn’t. And he’d presented a putt-putt coupon to the cashier, but there was nothing wrong with being frugal. “We had a Coke and sat and talked afterward.”
“Guess that’s one way to keep expectations low.”
She poked him again. Maybe just because she wanted to feel those iron abs again. “It was nice. He was very nice to talk to. He was a good listener and ended up being super dependable.”
“I’m starting to see why he got friend-zoned.”
She gave him a mock glare. “My turn. Your question, right back atcha.”
“Should’ve known that was coming.” He shifted, his hand coming within a hair’s breadth of her arm. “Currently single. Not really looking. Same as you, focused on my career.”
She waited, but he didn’t continue. “Because . . .”
“I travel a lot. Women tend not to like that so much.”
“You still haven’t told me about your most recent girlfriend.”
He glanced at her. “Lauren. Met her at a friend’s birthday party. Dated for almost a year.”
“And . . .”
“And . . . she got tired of me not being around. Missing special occasions. It’s hard to communicate while I’m on assignment—plus it’s shift work. She finally had enough, like others before her.”
“What’d you like about her? What initially drew you to her?”
He stared into the fire for a long moment. “She was beautiful and sophisticated. Savvy in the way of life. A good match for me.”
Grace felt a pinch in her chest. No one would ever use those words to describe her. She was, perhaps, the very opposite of all that, meaning Wyatt wouldn’t see her as a good match. It was nothing she hadn’t already deduced, but his words cut nonetheless.
Chapter Eighteen
Thunder rolled in the distance, filling the silence between Wyatt and Grace. He’d meant to make a subtle point with his description of Lauren, who was Grace’s polar opposite, but when hurt shadowed Grace’s eyes, he instantly regretted it. There was nothing wrong with Grace’s innocence and youth, and he hated that he’d made her feel inferior to someone who, in fact, couldn’t hold a candle to her.
All the things he’d said about Lauren were true, but there was more that he hadn’t said. That Lauren knew she was beautiful. That she brought her doctorate degree into every conceivable conversation. And that she was masterful at subtle manipulation. In the end he realized he’d been bored with her for a long time. And being released from the weight of her expectations had been freeing.
He couldn’t imagine ever feeling that way about Grace . . .
He watched her stare at the flickering fire. Grace was honest and forthright. There was no manipulative undercurrent to their conversations. No guessing about what she was really trying to say. She was witty and real and beautiful in a way that didn’t require three styling tools and a dozen different beauty products.
She was deserving of someone a whole lot less complicated.
He looked away. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of these things? And did he have the willpower to keep doing it?
He was sorry he’d opened this line of questioning, but he’d been curious about Grace’s love life. Curious if she currently had a man in her life. If she was as inexperienced as he thought. He hadn’t expected the burn of jealousy when she’d come so readily to Nick’s defense.
These quiet conversations on their adventure had done nothing to quell his interest. The more he knew about Grace, the more he wanted to know. He wasn’t usually so reckless, but she made him forget reason.
“Wyatt? It’s your turn.”
He’d zoned out there for a minute. He could think of at least a dozen things he wanted to know about her. “What do you want out of life?”
She blinked at him. “That’s a weighty question.”
“Take your best shot.”
“All right.” She crossed one foot over the other. “I want to make a success of my company and establish myself as a businessperson in this community. I want to be taken seriously. Someday I’d like a man in the picture. Someone who loves this town as much as I do. Someone who shares my faith, who has his own goals, and we can support each other, cheer each other on. I want to live in a small house, preferably on the lake, and I’d like kids someday too, a boy and a girl.” She ducked her head. “That sounds really corny.”
“Not at all. Continue.”
“All right. Let’s see . . . I want to go camping as a family every summer and go for walks around the lake and have date nights with my husband on Saturday nights. Oh, and a dog. I definitely want a big dog that can jump in the water and fetch sticks.”
He’d intended to direct the question away from himself. Make her think about her goals so she could see how irrelevant he was—make them both think about how poorly he’d fit into her future. Because, yes, he knew she was drawn to him. As drawn to him as he was to her, and he needed to discourage that.
But instead she’d painted a picture that stirred up something in him. Something that made him remember his early years in Bluebell with his parents. Something that made him long for that quiet, simple, peaceful life where faith and family were everything. Someplace he could find rest and not be on constant guard. Vigilance was such a part of him he hardly knew how to relax anymore.
Still he could all too easily see himself in that picture she was painting, packing the trunk for a camping trip, pitching a stick to their dog, holding her hand on that long evening walk.
He shook the thought away. It wasn’t like him to indulge in fantasy.
But he was impressed with Grace. She knew exactly what she wanted out of life. She’d thought it through.
She shifted. “That probably sounds really stupid to you, world traveler that you are. But I guess I just want what my parents had. And I want to feel worthy of all that.”
He tucked the worthy comment away for later. “You make it sound really nice.”
“My turn.”
“Last question. Make it good.” She’d probably turn the same question back on him. He was already formulating his answer, and it sounded pretty lonely after hers.
“What are you doing here?” She waited a beat. Waited for him to look at her. When he did, she said, “Why is finding this spot so important to you?”
His gut clenched. The question definitely didn’t pass the aunt test, and he could see she was uneasy about asking it. He had his pass left and thought about using it.
But he wan
ted her to know this little piece of him. Maybe not everything, but she’d brought him up here, was giving it her best shot. And despite all the difficulties they’d faced—the rain, the extra night, the lack of food—she hadn’t complained even once.
He gazed back at the fire, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes when he told her. “I told you last night that my mom died . . .”
“Yeah . . .”
“Well, she died out here. In the mountains.” For some reason he couldn’t bring himself to say murder.
Her body stiffened subtly. He could feel her gaze burning into the side of his face. But still she said nothing.
“I guess I want a little closure.”
“Were you camping with her when it happened?”
“Yes.” She was fishing for more information, but he’d kept the details under lock and key so long, he wasn’t eager to let them out just yet.
“I’ll help you any way I can. There’s plenty of ground we haven’t covered—those other creeks. We’ll find it.”
He looked at her finally, relieved to find no pity in her eyes. Only concern and hope. He grabbed on to the hope like a lifeline. “I appreciate that. You’ve been a real trouper.”
She shrugged away the compliment. “Hey, this is what I do.”
“You’re one of a kind, Grace. I hope you know that.”
Her eyes lit, her lips lifting just a little, enough for him to know his words had pleased her. The responding heady rush of pleasure made him want to say or do something else to provoke a real smile. A laugh. A touch.
Somehow during the course of their conversation, they’d shifted closer together, and his hand was almost touching her shoulder. His finger itched to trace a path down her arm. How would she react?
His self-control held out as the silence lengthened between them.
Her gaze fell to his lips.
His heart rate increased, his breaths grew shallow. Temptation crowded out his better intentions. Just one kiss. One taste. He wouldn’t take it any further.
But no. It would be a mistake. It would hurt her in the long run. He made himself tear his gaze away. Pulled his elbows from the table, feeling the painful stretch of his deltoid where the bullet had penetrated.
He absently rotated his shoulder. He hated that the silence had grown awkward but didn’t know what to do about it.
Grace took care of it for him. “How—how’s your injury holding up?”
He stretched it, hoping he hadn’t set himself back the past few days. “It’s fine. Just a little tight.”
The rain pattered on the rooftop. The thunder and lightning seemed to have moved on for now. Their meager supply of firewood wouldn’t last much longer.
“Maybe we should go ahead and turn in.” He stood slowly. “Get started at first light.”
“Sounds good.” Grace stood too, surveying their sleeping quarters. “Why don’t we turn the table on its side and use it to block the wind?”
“Good idea.” They worked in tandem to clear out the spot in front of the hearth. The fire wouldn’t last long, but the wall itself was a good buffer.
He laid her sleeping bag closest to the fire, a safe distance away, then he rolled his out beside hers—also a safe distance away. He added a few more sticks to the fire as she wriggled into her bag, pulling her backpack close to use as a pillow.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” He lay atop his own sleeping bag, propping his head on his pack. “You think the creek will be down?”
“Not if this rain keeps up. We’ll backtrack a little and take that road I told you about. It might take all day, but if we get an early start, we’ll make it home by nightfall.”
The night beyond the circle of the fire was dark and quiet except for the drumming of rain. Wyatt closed his eyes, but he was wired from their conversation. From the look of want on Grace’s face. From the tempting way she’d licked her lips. If he had an ounce less self-discipline, he would’ve tasted that mouth.
She wanted to help him, and he was tempted to let her. Tempted to let her do far more than he should. But future trips with Grace weren’t a good idea. Even he had his limits.
Even with his eyes closed he was sensitive to every sound she made. The quiet rustling of her sleeping bag when she shifted. Every little sigh. But as the minutes wore on those sounds slowed and then stopped altogether.
He checked on her and watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. The feathery shadow of her lashes against her cheeks. He felt gratified somehow that she was at rest.
She was having better luck than he was. It was hard to sleep when he knew bad things could happen, even out here. When he might be the only one able to offer her protection. He touched his Glock, making sure it was still in its holster.
A moment later he slipped quietly out of his bag and went to switch out the overflowing water bottle. Afterward he lay down again, the smell of wood smoke on his clothes taking him right back to that night. Now, alone in his thoughts, he allowed them to come. Some of them. Just the parts before Gordon Kimball showed up.
He thought of the way they’d toasted marshmallows using sticks and the way she’d laughed when he told her about his last day of school. He’d always looked forward to summer at the lake, but it was the camping he liked most. His mom could dress up and impress his dad’s political peers, but she was most comfortable in jeans, planting flowers around their summer home, puttering around the grounds.
Even all these years later the ache in Wyatt’s gut yawned wide. He still missed her. Trying to shake the hollow feeling, he got up again and added the last of the sticks to the fire. The second water bottle wasn’t quite full, but he changed it out anyway.
Grace was still sleeping peacefully when he returned.
He lay back down, ears straining for extraneous sounds. That summer night so long ago weighed on him like a lead blanket, smothering him with heat, making his skin break out in a sweat.
He had to redirect his thoughts. If he was going to keep up with Grace tomorrow, he needed some sleep. He lay there a long time, the day’s tension gradually seeping from his muscles, his breaths slowing.
She was something. He’d learned a lot about her on this trip, and the more he knew about her, the more he liked and respected her. It seemed inconceivable that he’d only met her three days ago. He let his thoughts wander to Grace’s picture of her future in Bluebell. And it induced a feeling so peaceful it was almost intoxicating. The cozy cottage, a gravel driveway, kids playing on a backyard swing set, the dog loping across a green lawn.
He had no idea what time it was when finally he succumbed to the lulling patter of rain.
His mom cried out, snatching him from the oblivion of sleep. Wyatt opened his eyes, but it was dark. So dark. A shadow hovered inside their small tent. A shadow so big Wyatt scurried to the corner.
“Run, Wyatt!” his mother screamed.
But he couldn’t move. The shadow was wrestling with her. Wyatt could hear their movements in the dark, hear his mom grunting with effort.
The man called his mom a foul name. “Stop it, or I’ll shoot the boy. How’d you like that, huh?”
In the sudden silence he heard the cock of a gun’s hammer.
“No, please! I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone.”
His heart was about to explode from his chest. Fear pasted his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He had to do something. But what? The man was so much bigger and he had a gun.
A scuffling ensued as the man dragged his mom through the tent opening. Mom! his heart screamed, but his tongue was frozen.
Wyatt heard their footsteps outside through the grass and decaying leaves. The low pleading sound of his mother’s voice. All of it fading into the distance.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.
Chapter Nineteen
Something tugged Grace from slumber. She turned onto her stomach but kept her eyes closed, reaching for
sleep. The hard ground beneath her reminded her where she was. The quiet patter of rain continued but was lighter now. The chill in the air made her huddle deeper into her sleeping bag.
A sudden movement beside her pulled her eyes open. Wyatt. His restlessness was what had woken her.
The fire had died out, the ashes glowing orange now but putting off no apparent heat. She recalled her conversation earlier with Wyatt. To that moment when she’d thought he was going to kiss her. Her lips had tingled with wanting. She’d never been one to move quickly, and she’d only known Wyatt three days. Yet she never wanted a kiss so badly.
When he’d turned away, the disappointment had been deflating. Was she that inferior to the women he’d dated? To Lauren? Did he still see Grace as a child even after all their conversation, after this backwoods adventure? She thought she’d proven that she was independent and capable. A grown-up at the very least!
But when viewed through the scope of his difficult past, her little crush paled in comparison. He was still mourning his mother. How awful that she’d died in some kind of camping accident, and he was still trying to find closure all these years later.
Grace understood all too well. But she’d had some things working for her in that department. Continuing to live in her parents’ house after their deaths helped. Having her siblings grieve alongside her was a comfort. Bringing their parents’ dream of the inn alive had been healing too.
But Wyatt had had none of those things. It saddened her that he was still trying to cope with his mom’s death. When he’d disclosed his loss, she’d wanted to comfort him somehow. To mother him a bit. And that was so unlike her. That was Molly’s way, not hers.
And yet, there it was. He brought a part of her to life—a part she hadn’t even known about.
He flinched suddenly beside her.
She peered at his shadowy form, still moving in the darkness. She waited for her eyes to adjust. He lay on top of his sleeping bag. The shape of his form indicated he was on his side, but she couldn’t tell which direction he faced.
He groaned in his sleep.
Maybe his shoulder was hurting. He might be lying on his injury. That couldn’t be good. “Wyatt,” she whispered.