Barrett Cole

by Christa Wick

  This time the woman was Quinn.

  “Was that your radio or your phone?” Quinn asked.

  He looked at her, confused. He had brought a two-way radio out to Jester’s from day one so he could communicate with his team in case there was a fire he needed to respond to.

  “There was a tone. I’m certain I heard it.” Standing up, she went over to the trailer and opened up her bag, pulling her phone out.

  “Hey, there’s a signal!”

  Retrieving his phone, Barrett turned it on. After a few seconds of syncing, he had a notification for five new text messages and one voicemail.

  Dotty had sent three of the texts and the voicemail telling him to look at her texts.

  “Everybody complains about older people not using technology,” he joked. “Until they actually know an old person who texts and emails.”

  Quinn smiled. She had already stowed her phone back in the trailer. He had noticed how she never seemed to have a lot of messages to go through when they made it back to a location, such as his house, that had a signal. His phone pretty much blew up whenever they were back in range—but he did run a business.

  “So, Dotty sent me a schedule of the dates we should expect people out here. She says she would have sent it to you, but she doesn’t have your number.”

  Quinn winked. “You don’t have my number, either.”

  She dragged her camping chair over to his, sat down and leaned over so she could read his screen. By the time he scrolled to the third message from his aunt, Quinn was sniffling.

  “I know it seems a little overboard,” he said. “But I got a sense at Sunday dinner that Jester meant more to her than pretty much anyone in my family realized, at least in my generation and my father’s.”

  “Yeah,” Quinn rasped, her voice skating the edge of a sob. “She was in love with him. Really, really in love with him.”

  Picking up a branch, she poked at the fire for a long minute then stared at Barrett.

  “Do you think he deserved it?”

  He shrugged, the gesture joined with a snort. “Most men don’t.”

  Shaking her head, Quinn reached across and squeezed his arm. “But some do.”

  Just having her touch him, her gaze full of approval, filled his chest with hope.

  Hope he didn’t dare act on just yet.

  Clearing his throat with a cough, he jiggled his phone in Quinn’s direction.

  “Signal may cut in and out for a few more days, especially since they didn’t plan on having it fixed this soon. Then we need to see how Cross wants to handle dropped signals. Doesn’t make sense for him to count on just two very discrete points in time each day.”

  Quinn returned to poking the fire and staring at its center.

  “He didn’t seem very reasonable, but maybe I’m just overly sensitive on the subject,” she said.

  Barrett shrugged. “My guess is he wants to get as much out of administering the estate as he can. Sounded like Jester put a set amount of money into it, paying him in advance for finding you and monitoring your compliance. I imagine whatever is left over goes to you if you finish out the ninety days.”

  She gave the fire one last stab and dropped the branch.

  “It’s always got to be like that, doesn’t it?”

  He swept his arm toward all the work Copely and the other guys had done.

  “Yeah, sorry. I am deeply grateful for everything everyone has done.”

  She nailed him with that warm brown gaze.

  “Especially you, Barrett.”

  His lips parted, some corny reply ready to roll off his tongue so Quinn wouldn’t realize just how deeply invested he had become in her staying in Willow Gap. Air pushed up out of his lungs, the first word almost formed—

  A scream from down the mountain shredded his reply.

  “Up,” Barrett ordered, not giving Quinn time to react to the sound beyond the mask of pure terror that pulled at the sides of her face. Wrapping a big hand around her bicep, he lifted her out of the chair and headed straight for the truck.

  He opened the door, pushed her inside then climbed in after her.

  “Was that a person?” she asked, hitting the door locks.

  “Mountain lion,” he answered. He twisted the key in the ignition to power the windows. He lowered the driver side window a few inches.

  “Are you sure?” she pressed. “That sounds like someone being murdered. Like a woman…”

  Barrett turned the dome light on and looked at Quinn. She was shaking, her arms locked tight around her torso.

  “First time I heard one, I was ten,” he said. “I went crashing through the trees screaming that Satan was in the woods.”

  She stared at him, her gaze uncertain. Small tremors raced across her flesh.

  “Here,” he said, motioning her closer.

  Quinn slid across the seat and into his arms. Reaching up, he turned the dome light off then rolled up the window.

  “Sutton’s already doing training for me tomorrow. After we drop by my place for breakfast and a shower, we’ll head out to my uncle Boone’s. He and Cassian put in a gun range. I’ll teach you how to shoot.”

  He rubbed her back like he would do to Leah when the little girl was upset.

  “That sound good?”

  “Y-yeah.”

  She burrowed closer.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, her face pressed against his neck. “That’s just the scariest sound I’ve ever heard in real life.”

  “I told you, I ran out screaming for Daddy to grab the cross. Thank heavens Mama didn’t have the video camera turned on yet. I’d have a billion hits on YouTube by now.”

  Quinn’s soft, round body bounced with a laugh. Her grip on his jacket relaxed, but she didn’t pull back.

  “Please tell me you are not thinking about sleeping in the tent tonight.”

  “No ma’am,” he answered, his hand coming to a stop at the base of her neck. “I imagine that’s a female out there. It’s late in the year for her to be in heat. She should have had a litter already and be tending to it. But it sounds like she’s out looking for a mate. She’d get one sniff of us and likely head in the opposite direction—but I like being all in one piece, so I won’t risk it.”

  “Thank you. I would have been up all night if all you had between you and a mountain lion was a little bit of nylon.” Quinn pulled back enough to look up at him. “And you can’t be thinking of sleeping in your truck.”

  Barrett chewed at his lip. Sleeping in the trailer with her had its own dangers. But he also didn’t want her separated from him with the big cat prowling the woods. The truck was solid, no chance of a mountain lion or even a bear getting inside once the doors were shut and the windows were rolled up. The trailer was another thing. It’s door and windows were weak points.

  “Nope,” he answered at last. “Me and Betty will be in the trailer with you.”

  “Betty?”

  He tilted his head toward the rear of the cab where he had shoved the shotgun after he realized it wasn’t strangers up on the mountain.

  “Little Miss 12 Gauge,” he chuckled. “Guess I didn’t properly introduce you two ladies.”

  “Why Betty?”

  He sucked at his bottom lip.

  “Oh, I see,” she teased, her tone momentarily icy before she giggled.

  “Nah, nothing like that. It’s one of those ‘let’s not mention’ things.”

  “Okay, I’ll do everything short of pinkie swearing.”

  He chewed it over a little more then decided there was no harm in telling her the story.

  “I didn’t name it. The shotgun was Daddy’s. He named it after a woman in town.”

  “A woman in town?” Quinn teased the words around in her mouth. “That sounds ominous. Sure you don’t want me to pinkie swear?”

  “Still nothing like that,” he laughed. “You know how a blast from a shotgun has a wide spray?”

  “Now I do.”

  “Well, you’ll see e
xactly what I’m talking about tomorrow. Anyway, that’s why I pulled it out when we heard people up on the mountain. The pistol I pulled out and tucked away, that’s one bullet, one man. The shells I put in the shotgun were double-aught buckshot. That’s eight projectiles per shot with a spread. Much easier to disable two attackers at once if they are standing close together.”

  “So this Betty in town is like shooting eight bullets with one pull of the trigger?”

  Grinning, he planted a kiss on her forehead. “When it comes to news she is. You ever want to make sure everyone in Willow Gap knows something before the end of day, you start by telling Betty Rae.”

  “Okay,” Quinn laughed, all the tension over the mountain lion’s appearance gone from her lush body. “So you, me and Betty in the trailer tonight.”

  Not trusting himself to say anything, Barrett swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and nodded.

  Quinn curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt. Her flesh was cold. Barrett covered her hand with his, tilted his head down and blew warm air. Feeling the shiver that ran through her, his flesh warmed a few extra degrees.

  “Probably time to get under the covers.”

  “I think so,” she answered.

  The air wanted to rush straight out of him, but he forced it to slowly leave his lungs. Quinn’s voice sounded so seductive, the tone deep and just above a whisper. He could tell himself all day it wasn’t her intent to sound like that, but his body responded anyway, his blood searing him from the inside out as it coursed through his veins.

  “Stay put.” Barrett opened the door, stepped out and grabbed the shotgun, loaded the shells in and racked the slide. “Don’t come out until I tell you, deal?”

  Her head bobbed vigorously.

  Hands wrapped tightly around the weapon, he walked to the fire, added two logs, the second one out from the center of the pit so it would take longer to heat and catch. He hoped it would burn straight through to morning with enough light and smoke to keep the big cat and her suitors from venturing up the mountain.

  Next, he picked up his two-way radio and sleeping bag and put them in the trailer. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the bag. There wasn’t enough floor for him to sleep on, but he could maybe have Quinn under the blankets and him inside the bag. That would keep things respectable and remove a good half of the temptation from the situation.

  Of course, he’d need to have her sew him inside if he wanted certainty he wouldn’t hold her a little too close, wouldn’t get drunk on her body heat or the scent of her skin.

  He pulled the cord for the dome light then closed the door on the trailer tight. He gave the handle a solid shake without turning it. When he hit it just right, like a mountain lion might, the door popped opened. He checked the inside of the door, his tension easing a fraction as he noted there were two interior locks, one for the handle and the other a slide bolt.

  Satisfied that the little trailer wasn’t going to get any safer until he and both guns were inside, he returned to the truck and retrieved Quinn and the pistol.

  Reaching for the handle she had just witnessed him bat open, Quinn paused.

  “Do you think it’s—”

  A fresh scream curdled the air, Barrett’s blood running cold at the feline shriek.

  “Gone?” he asked, finishing what he thought she was going to say. “Nope.”

  “Nope,” she agreed, her laugh short and nervous as she quickly stepped into the trailer and took a seat on the bed, her legs pulled up to give him room to enter.

  Once inside, he secured the door with both locks then slid the safety on his shotgun and eased the weapon onto the floor. He checked the safety on the handgun then opened one of the built-in drawers under the bed and placed it inside.

  Quinn reached past the spot to put her tennis shoes and folded jacket on the floor.

  Turning slowly, Barrett found her looking up at him. She blinked, her gaze settling on the bed.

  “Trailer’s not made for a man your size to stand up in.”

  “Yeah.”

  He stood stooped over, the back of his shoulders less than an inch from the dome light, his body throwing a shadow over Quinn and the little trailer’s interior. He dropped to his haunches, still not moving to sit on the bed.

  “Better?”

  “You’re not sleeping on the floor any more than you were going to sleep in the truck or in your tent.”

  She unzipped his sleeping bag and spread it across the mattress then crawled under it, the top blanket and the sheet.

  “I didn’t want to say anything, but it gets cold in here…you know how you can pick up a can of soda and it already feels cool?”

  He nodded. “Like how a can of soda also gets colder faster in the refrigerator than soda in a plastic bottle.”

  “Exactly,” she agreed.

  “I’m not going to lie, Quinn. There will be hard days as we get closer to winter. There’s no point wearing down your resistance before then. You should tell me whenever you aren’t comfortable. ”

  “I’ll be comfortable tonight,” she whispered.

  She was doing it again, he thought, intentional or not. That low voice and her melting gaze reminding him of milk chocolate or a nice hot coffee with a touch of cream, something to warm his belly, the heat sedating him even as the caffeine stimulated.

  Indecision rumbling in his chest, he reached up and turned the dome light off then sat on the edge of the bed. He felt her moving, guessed at what she was doing.

  Her jeans rustled as she slid out of them under the sheet. She folded them and leaned out once more to place them atop her shoes. Reaching under her shirt, her elbow smacked the metal wall as she fought the fastener on her bra.

  No way was he helping with that contraption, he promised himself. No way, no way, no way.

  “There,” she said, extending her body over the side of the bed one last time to add the bra to the pile.

  Barrett sighed, the quality of the sound reminding him of every time he’d ever been sent to the principal’s office at school.

  Slowly, he took his shoes and socks off. He hesitated, his thumbs hooked behind the waistband of his jeans, one finger pushing at the zipper pull.

  Chances were, the mountain lion wouldn’t come anywhere near the trailer. If it did, the beast was a lot less likely to get the door open with the inside locks set. He really didn’t need to worry about being caught in just his briefs and a t-shirt.

  “It’s safe, isn’t it?” Quinn asked, her voice small, all the seduction—intentional or not—wiped away at the thought of the big cat still out there and maybe, just maybe, creeping up the mountainside.

  “Absolutely,” he answered, unsnapping his jeans and pulling at the zipper.

  With a bounce of his hips, he got the jeans down to his knees then off his body and folded. He followed with the jacket before cautiously getting under the covers.

  The pocket of heat Quinn’s body had already created surfed over his bare thighs and arms. Telling himself he was going to sleep, Barrett closed his eyes.

  The mountain lion had other plans, vocalizing them like a demon being driven from a holy place.

  “That’s really pillow talk for big cats?” Quinn asked, a fresh tremor running through her voice.

  “Yep. Sort of like people—takes all kinds.”

  Feeling her shake, he tried to ignore it. Either she or the demon cat screeching outside would settle down. Holding Quinn in the truck had been bad enough. Holding her in bed, both of them down to a shirt and underpants could only lead to him saying something stupid. Something like suggesting they get married when they hadn’t even had a proper kiss yet.

  “Barrett?” she whispered.

  “Yeah?” He didn’t want to answer, knew what was coming.

  “I don’t want to keep imposing…”

  Damn, there was such sweet hesitation in her voice, so much genuine regret.

  Rolling toward the center of the bed, he wrapped his arms aroun
d Quinn and pulled her to him, his hand stroking the long, thick hair as she pressed her face to his chest.

  Slowly, the fear running through her body subsided and they finally fell asleep.

  When they woke a little after dawn, it was to a tangle of limbs. Quinn had her leg draped over one of Barrett’s and an arm across his chest. One of his big hands covered her plump thigh, securing it to him.

  She looked at him, her gaze fuzzy, her smile soft. He stared back, his face marked by the same early morning ease, as if it wasn’t their first night in the same bed.

  Releasing his hold on her leg, Barrett leaned across Quinn. Resisting the urge to kiss her until she was fully awake and gasping for breath, he gently planted his lips against her forehead before sliding out of bed.

  Throwing on his jacket, he tossed Quinn a wink and her jeans at the same time.

  “We better get moving if you’re going to learn to shoot today.”

  Chapter Ten

  “We should probably wait until Monday to talk to Mr. Cross about the phones,” Barrett suggested as Quinn loaded bullets into a magazine. “That way we’ll have a good idea how the cell reception is with the new repairs.”

  Momentarily positioning a bullet backward, she caught herself before Barrett could make the correction.

  He had started her on a smaller caliber weapon, a Smith & Wesson Victory 22LR. There was next to no kick and the bullets were cheap enough she could shoot a thousand rounds, build up her confidence and not crack a hundred dollars in practice ammunition. From there, he had switched to a 9mm Beretta. This would be her third magazine for the weapon. After that, he would see if she could handle his forty-five.

  They would return the following day to make sure the lessons with the handguns had stuck and to get Quinn comfortable with the shotgun.

  “Sounds good,” she said, seating the magazine then chambering a round.

  “Remember to lean in a bit to your stance.” He curved one palm against her stomach and centered the other between her shoulder blades. “You’re still trying to lean away from the weapon after your first shot.”

  Her cheeks colored, but she nodded.