“It’s okay.” Marissa wiped at her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Let’s talk about something else,” he suggested.
Marissa didn’t want to talk any longer. It wasn’t Archer’s fault but her heart was too heavy to attempt more light conversation. She shook her head but her gaze softened when she met his worried stare. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to close my eyes for a little while. I didn’t sleep well last night and…I’m exhausted,” she said.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Archer said but the worry was still in his eyes. And she loved him for it. Was that bad? She was too emotionally wrung out to try and figure it out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE SUN WAS RAPIDLY sinking into the bruised western sky when they arrived at Josh’s cabin. The air held a bite to it that immediately had her bundling Jenna against the chill while Archer went in search of the hidden key.
She’d never been to Yosemite, much less the neighboring Wawona, so it was hard not to be taken in by the breathtaking sequoia trees, the ambient noise of the forest as it surrounded them and the chunks of granite that littered the area as if a giant had played marbles with them and then just left them behind when he was finished. The air nipped at her lungs but it was exhilarating.
Jenna voiced her displeasure with the chilly conditions and made her feelings known with a whimper as she tried burrowing deeper within the blanket tucked around her. “It’s cold but so beautiful, mija,” she murmured against the baby’s forehead.
Archer opened the front door and gestured. “Let’s get you guys inside before you turn into Popsicles,” he said and ushered them into the cabin.
It was an odd home. That was the first thing Marissa thought as she entered the long breezeway that by the looks of it was probably an add-on to the original building. A bedroom splintered off to the left and the living quarters were to the right. She waited as Archer secured the door and then followed him as he went to the front, checking windows as he went.
“No screens on these old houses so I always double-check the latch. I think we’re safe here but old habits die hard.”
She was thankful for his diligence. He made her feel safe even if it was an illusion. “Where’s the heat?” she asked, shivering. It felt as cold inside as it did outside.
“Over here,” he said, going over to a circular ’50s model wall thermometer. He moved the small plastic knob to seventy-five and then disappeared into what she assumed was a bedroom. He emerged with two quilts. Then after wrapping one around her and Jenna, he disappeared again. This time she decided to follow.
The hardwood, scuffed and worn from many generations of families and vacationers, creaked under their weight but the sound was comforting, not unlike the sound an old wicker rocking chair makes when you sit in it, and Marissa recognized the rustic charm of this place. She entered a bedroom and smiled at the quaint white eyelet bedspread with matching bedskirt and the antique rosewood wardrobe that she guessed if she opened would smell faintly of mothballs.
“This place is wonderful,” she said, watching as he wrestled something from the small closet. “What is that?”
“A traveling crib,” he answered, wresting it free with a heave as the motion dislodged a small vacuum cleaner that looked as old as the hardwood. He returned the vacuum and then made quick work of the small crib. He was only slightly flushed when he finished. “The Halvorsens keep it here for the families with young children. I figured you might need it for Jenna,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, appreciation for his thoughtfulness warming her heart more quickly than the handmade quilt tucked around them. “Where will you sleep?” she asked.
He pointed down the hall. “There’s another bedroom right there,” he said, and she tried to hide her disappointment. Was it terrible that she wanted him to sleep beside her? This time it wasn’t about sex, just about having his arms around her, making her feel protected and far from harm. Should she offer to let him stay with her? Would that make him uncomfortable? Her tongue felt tied and twisted and she couldn’t quite believe that she was acting as jittery as a teenager with her first crush. They were both adults; they’d once been a couple…it wasn’t so farfetched to—
“What’s wrong?” he asked, cutting into her mental rambling. Her head jerked at his question and she bit the side of her cheek, still not quite sure if she ought to just thank him and close the door or invite him to stay with her. “Marissa?”
“Stay with me,” she blurted and her cheeks burned. Well, that was one way to get it out there. Not very suave. Not very subtle. Oh, well. She supposed they were way past those niceties anyway.
Archer hesitated but she could see a war going on behind those piercing blue eyes and she didn’t know which side was winning, only she hoped it was the side she was on. “Arch?” She swallowed, feeling the silence fill the room. Oh, mercy. She’d made a terrible mistake. “You don’t have to,” she said quickly. “I just—”
“If it’s what you want, I will stay here with you,” he said, coming to stand within kissing distance. She could feel his breath on her cheek and her eyelids threatened to flutter closed but she forced them to remain open and wide. He caressed the side of her cheek with a gentle touch as he said, “Marissa, I would like nothing more than to spend the night curled beside you but you can’t play with my heart.”
“I’m not,” she stammered, not quite sure where he was going with this. “I wouldn’t…”
He held her gaze. “What happens when this is all over? When you don’t need me anymore? Am I going to be a complication you don’t want like before?”
Stung, she drew away. “I didn’t do that.”
“You did,” he disagreed. “But I’m willing to let that be in the past if you can tell me that’s not how it will be in the future.”
She swallowed, her mouth worked but the words had dried up. What could she tell him? What promises could she make? “What are you asking me?” she asked, stalling for time to think of how to answer a question she didn’t truly have the answer for. She didn’t know what the future entailed. There were too many variables to even try and formulate an educated guess.
“Marissa, I’m asking if I’m going to be a part of your life for the long haul or am I just your temporary bodyguard with privileges?”
“I don’t know. Please don’t make me answer that right now,” she pleaded. “You have no idea how things are going to turn out with all this. I know you’re hoping for the best but there’s a worst-case scenario, too, and I can’t ignore the possibility that we might not be so lucky with the outcome. So, I’m not about to make a promise I don’t know if I can keep.”
Dissatisfaction with her answer darkened his expression and his mouth tightened but he seemed to understand her reasoning. He stepped away and Marissa’s heart contracted painfully as if they were tethered together and the movement strained the cord. “Fine. But as you’re factoring all the variables into your calculations, try to remember this—I’m not the one who walked away from this relationship. Not then. Not now.”
“That’s not fair,” she whispered. Jenna, sensing the tension, shifted in her arms and whimpered. Archer’s gaze rested on the baby for a moment and for an instant Marissa could see this man loving a child who wasn’t his. For all his tough act, he was soft and sweet on the inside. Just for catching that glimpse she might’ve been tempted to give him the answer he needed but he deserved her honesty even if it hurt them both to hear it. “You’ve said your piece. Thank you. Perhaps it’s better that you sleep in the other bedroom,” she said stiffly, though her heart wailed and protested, nearly causing her to rescind the words and offer different ones.
His lips all but disappeared as he compressed them, keeping whatever it was he wanted to say behind his teeth. She had a feeling that was a blessing.
“Fine. There’s likely no food in the fridge or pantry. We’ll have to make do with what we brought in the ice chest until we get down to the market tomorrow mo
rning. Is there anything else you need?” he asked with all the solicitous courtesy of a man paid to do a job, nothing more, nothing less.
She tried not to show that his withdrawal hurt but she was a terrible actress and it was likely written all over her face. “We’re good. Thank you, Archer,” she offered, hoping the words softened the tension between them.
It didn’t.
IT WAS LATE. Archer tossed on the hard mattress, stifling a groan at being unable to find a spot that didn’t make his back or shoulder scream. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of roughing it any longer. He rolled to his back and stared at the darkened ceiling. He thought he understood Marissa’s reluctance to commit due to the circumstances but she didn’t say that if things were different she’d jump into his arms. He sensed her hanging back, keeping a part of herself separate, just as she did when they were engaged and that didn’t make him feel very secure in her feelings. Sex was one thing but to run the risk of sounding like a chick, there was more to life than a good roll in the sack.
And he wanted whatever that might entail. He’d thought he’d wanted it back then, but he’d been just as stubborn about the whole job thing as she was being about the circumstances between them. He’d assumed she’d follow him, like a good wife. Hell, he’d been wrong. And frankly, it had been arrogant of him to assume any such thing. Now, he’d never ask her to give up her career, yet, in essence, he’d have to give up his line of work in order to make things happen with Marissa.
He waited for the sharp pang to hit at the thought of leaving behind the special ops division. The only pang he felt was the dull ache from his shoulder. What did that mean? Was he ready to move on? Get a nine to five? Okay, there was the shudder he’d been waiting for. So, not your typical day job but maybe something that didn’t involve someone shooting at him on a regular basis.
And what was that? He didn’t know. But he supposed he could find out. To what end? Marissa wasn’t even meeting him halfway. Why should he rearrange his life completely when she wasn’t even willing to take a few steps in his direction?
He grabbed the second pillow and punched it a few times to fluff it up but it was an old feather pillow and all it did was burp out a few tufts of fluff. He sneezed and then tucked the pillow under the first pillow in the hopes of creating more comfort. Useless. Sleep wasn’t going to happen for him tonight.
And it was a long way until morning.
He groaned softly and tried a little meditation. One, two, three…Who says this stuff worked? God help him.
It was going to be a long night.
MARISSA AWOKE, EVERY muscle stiff and a headache pounding from behind her left eyeball. So much for the healthy benefits of sleeping in Mother Nature’s bosom. She rose on her elbows and glanced down at the sleeping form of the toddler in the crib. She smiled. At least Jenna didn’t seem to mind the accommodations. As she went to return to the bed, perhaps to grab a few more minutes of sleep, a mouthwatering, tantalizing smell jerked her back up and out of the bed. Slipping into her jeans and sweatshirt, she padded into the tiny kitchen to find Archer hard at work at the old porcelain stove, whisking a creamy white gravy that smelled like heaven and made the saliva fill her mouth. “If you have fresh biscuits in that oven I will kiss you,” she said before catching herself. She almost groaned out loud. “I’m sorry…”
He waved away her apology. “Get ready to eat,” he directed and she didn’t waste time. In the dining room, where an antique table commanded the space, she grabbed the cutlery and laid out a makeshift place setting.
Archer came in with two plates, one laden with bacon, the other eggs. Then returned with the biscuits and gravy.
She eyed the spread with suspicion. “I thought you said there was no food in the house.” She gestured to the plates. “I’d say this is a pretty good sampling of breakfast goodies.”
“While you were still sleeping I went down to the Pine Tree Market for some food to last us a few days if need be. A good breakfast is important to start the day off right. Dish up.”
Marissa didn’t wait but she grumbled at his good mood. “You must’ve slept better than me,” she said, stuffing a thick-cut piece of bacon in her mouth. “You’re too perky for someone who only caught a few winks.” Like me.
His mouth twitched as if holding back a smile but he didn’t comment. Instead, he said, “I was thinking we should take a walk down to the river. It’s beautiful this time of year.”
“The river?” she asked, frowning at the idea of taking a toddler down by a river. She hated to admit it but she was a city girl. She’d never been around rivers or lakes growing up. There was a city pool but she could never afford the admission fee and she hadn’t had a bathing suit worth letting others see, but the biggest reason and the reason that made little shivers of dread dance down her spine was the very plain fact that she couldn’t swim. “I think I’ll pass,” she murmured before stuffing a bite of gravy-soaked biscuit in her mouth.
But Archer wasn’t about to let it go. “C’mon, there’s a swinging bridge and it’s really quaint. It might take your mind off things. I think we could all use a change of scenery.”
“This is a change of scenery.”
“I mean, it would be nice to be outside. Enjoy the sunshine. We’ve been cooped up in the house for days and I feel like I’m starting to mold.”
“I said no,” she snapped. Then horrified at her own waspishness, pulled herself back to offer a quiet, “No, thank you.”
Archer stared at her, trying to gauge where that came from, and just when she was sure he was going to call her on it, he returned to his breakfast with a shrug. “It was just an idea.”
They ate in silence for a few more minutes until the guilt made it impossible to ignore. Putting down her fork, she stared at her plate and when she thought she could bear to admit how embarrassed she was with her own lack of skill, she said in a tight voice, “I don’t know how to swim.”
He looked up startled. “Excuse me?”
She gave him a pained look. “You’re going to make me say it again? Can’t you see how hard it was for me to admit that?”
He held up his hand and calmed her quickly building annoyance at what appeared to be thick-headedness, and said, “I heard you…I’m just not quite sure where the admission came from. It’s too cold to swim, Rissa. I certainly wouldn’t suggest that you jump in the water. That’s snow water and bound to freeze your butt off.”
“I know you weren’t suggesting we go for a dip,” Marissa said, frustrated. “I just mean that I don’t feel comfortable being so close to a raging water source when I don’t even know how to doggy-paddle. What if I slipped? What if by some horrible circumstance, Jenna fell in? How would I save her if I couldn’t save myself?”
“I would save you or the baby if either of those situations occurred,” he answered simply and if she hadn’t been so pissed off and overtired, she would’ve laughed at his earnest declaration. He shrugged. “What’s the big deal? I’m trained in water rescue, you know.”
“That’s not the point,” she maintained, pushing away her plate, wishing she had room in her belly for more food, since it had been so delicious. “The point is…well, I can’t always expect you to be there to save me so I should avoid putting myself into situations where I can’t save myself.”
“Fair enough,” he agreed briskly, surprising her with his quick capitulation. Too quick, she thought. Then he leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to her lips, startling her with the action. He smiled at her bewildered expression, prompting him to explain. “You said if there were biscuits in the oven you’d kiss me. I was just collecting on what you’d already offered.”
Sneaky fox, she thought, but it warmed her to her toes. She risked a small smile. “Imagine what I might’ve done if you’d somehow procured chocolate macadamia muffins.”
She slid out of the chair with her dirty plate before he could snag another kiss and scooped up his, as well. “It’s only fair that I pick up the kitchen duty si
nce you cooked. There’s only one catch, you need to go wake up Jenna and feed her while I wash and dry. Deal?”
He seemed uncertain but only for a second. “I can handle that. Dish soap and drying rack are under the counter.”
Marissa smiled and went to clean up. As she filled the small sink and prepared to scrub their breakfast plates and pans, she was struck by how much she enjoyed this simple scene of domestic unity. She’d grown up without a father in her life, with only Mama and Mercedes to keep her company and shape her ideals. She wondered how not having a strong male figure in their lives steered their decisions as adults. Her thoughts strayed to Jenna, whom she could hear giggling and burbling to Archer who was doing his best to get her to eat eggs and bites of biscuit by alternately talking to her like an adult and then when that didn’t work, tried talking to her in a high-pitched voice that made Marissa wonder if he’d lost a testicle somewhere. And then she wondered if Jenna would suffer without someone in her life to call Daddy.
Ruben was her father, a voice reminded her, and she winced. If only she could erase that small detail. It wasn’t as if he’d been an active participant in Jenna’s life aside from the occasional dismissive glance her way when Mercedes had desperately tried to regain his favor with the child. Perhaps if Jenna had been a boy, he’d said, his lip curling at the child he’d given life to without a second thought. Marissa burned inside at the idea of Jenna growing up at the compound, surrounded by thugs, rapists and drug pushers, all on Ruben’s payroll.
Finished, she rounded the corner to find Archer rolling around on the living room floor with Jenna as she climbed all over him like a man-size jungle gym. It was hard not to smile at the fun they were having but Marissa was too keyed up to truly just enjoy the moment. “So, what’s next?” she asked, rubbing her pruned fingers together, wishing for a split second she had her vanilla sugar-cookie lotion from back home. “Not that I don’t enjoy playing house in the mountains, I can’t take this uncertainty. We need to find out if Layla is okay. She wouldn’t know how to handle someone like Ruben. He’ll break her within seconds and have fun doing it.”
Trusting the Bodyguard Page 11
