“Darren, would you like some coffee?”
He inhales deeply. “Please.”
I rub his shoulder. “Be right back.”
Heading to the counter, Shelly passes me with an already full cup. “I got it, baby. Go to your family. And,” she whispers, “new hot guy also ordered a salad. What the hell?” She sits in Darren’s booth. “My shift ends soon. Can ya use a friend tonight?”
Walking behind the counter, I think about what Shelly said. Family. I stare into Gunner’s gentle eyes across from the bar. Yes, he is a part of my family. A wonderfully sincere smile crosses his face.
I make strawberry milkshakes for my family and set them on the bar with nothing but love in my heart. The doorbell clangs. I look through the large glass front windows at the back of Shelly’s first “hot” customer. The muscles in his arms are taut as if frustration owns his whole body. His hands are clenched into fists.
“Do you know him?”
I shake my head at Gunner, but my eyes are drawn back to the stranger. Even though my eyes only drifted for a second, he’s already gone. Within moments, his friend approaches the counter, unfolding cash in his rough hands. “Hi, I would like to pay for our two salads.”
His eyes are captivating, the brightest green I’ve ever seen with waves of white. I say waves because I’m sure they’re moving, forcing me to blink and check my sanity. “But you haven’t even received them yet.”
“That’s okay.”
“You want them to go?”
“No, I need to catch up with my friend.”
“Oh, well, hold on.” I go to the kitchen order window. “Harry, have you made those salads yet?”
“About to start. What up?”
“Canceling that order.” I go back to the counter, noticing how healthy the stranger’s hair is. Even his shorter strands on top are shiny enough to make any girl envious. “No charge.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure. No food was wasted.”
“Wasting food should be a crime. Thank you. Very kind of you, Rose.”
“How do you know my name?”
His eyes show alarm for only half a second before he points to Shelly. “Heard our waitress call you that.”
I feel stupid. “Of course. Sorry.”
“How ya doing?” Gunner eyes the newcomer and does not sound friendly.
The stranger smirks at Gunner’s body language. “Better than some. How about yourself?”
Oblivious to the testosterone in the air, Lulu answers for Gunner. “We’re having strawberry milkshakes.”
Green eyes leans in, his long hair falling forward. “And I’m sure they were made with love.”
Lulu giggles, and I gasp. That is exactly how I made them.
Standing back up, the stranger winks at me. “Thank you again, Rose.”
At the end of the long night, Harry stands with me while I lock the diner’s front door. My keys jingle against the door’s glass as a cool breeze blows my hair into my face. “Harry, you really don’t have to wait out in this cold for me.”
He rolls his dirty apron up in his hand. “You’re kidding me, right? And have Gunner rip me a new one? Noooo, thank you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Uh, let’s just say that you are to get to your truck safely. Per clear instructions, if ya catch my drift.”
Gunner had visited the kitchen before he left. “Sorry, he thinks he’s my older brother.”
Harry’s ridiculous chef hat bounces with his laughter. “Brother. Right.”
Damn Archer and Betty.
Heading to my mom’s truck, I step on something on the sidewalk. “You okay?” asks Harry. I pick up the item and study it. A fork. Not just any fork. It’s bent in half, mangled.
Holding it up to inspect it further, Harry says, “Hope it wasn’t my cooking that made a customer so angry.”
Wade and Louisa are sleeping by the time I get home, so after my shower and after I check on Mama, I meet Gunner on the back porch. He notices my fresh clothes. “Better?”
“Oh, yes.” I sit beside him on the top step. “I noticed Mama is in different clothing, too.”
He reluctantly nods. “Got sick but we got through it. Don’t worry.”
Guilt rushes through me. “I hate that you have to—”
He grabs my hand. “Don’t. Don’t worry. It’s nothing new for me.”
I pull his hand to my cheek and close my eyes. “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate all you do for me?”
Gunner’s hand opens and cups my face. “I would do anything for you, Rose.”
My eyes open. This is different. Gunner is being different. Or I am finally seeing us differently. “You would… wouldn’t you?” He stares at me as though he cherishes me. I move my body to face his. “Gunner…” I hesitate, wondering if this is a good idea. “Shelly thinks—well, Betty and Archer feel that—umm.” I blow out air.
His body faces mine. “Don’t listen to them if you don’t want to, Rosie.”
My eyes snap to his. I don’t think he is denying anything here. “Are they wrong?”
“Have you ever wondered why I don’t have a girlfriend?”
“No.” That’s the truth. “You’ve been overworked, just like me.”
“I don’t consider myself overworked when it comes to anything you need.”
“Oh.” My shoulders cave a little, bashfully.
“Do you understand now?”
My heart stirs as I look at my lap. “Yes… I think I do.”
Gunner’s hand trembles slightly. “I have waited so long for you to see. Rose, I know you love me—like… I know our friendship is incomparable to any other but… well, if you ever want… more—from me, I’m here.”
The only thing I’m sure I want more of is the new internal comfort I’ve been feeling all week. The sense of ease in my body has been so rewarding, melting stress from my consciousness. To not be terrified every moment of my day is addicting. I crave more. I desire more of the new air lingering in my lungs. “And if I only want your friendship? Are you asking me to choose, Gunner?”
I watch his face, his lips, and feel a tingle on mine—a recognition of sorts. Is it from the accidental kiss? Do I want more? Feelings toward the opposite sex are so new for me. I never had time to focus on anyone outside my family, but a fire begins to burn, to ache, making me all kinds of curious.
“No—no.” Gunner drops his hand from mine. “Not at all. If you only want friendship, I will—” He pauses, appearing perplexed. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“I don’t know, but I feel a pull, a desire to… Gunner, can I kiss you?”
In the woods that skirts my property, birds take flight from a nearby tree, but I don’t look away from Gunner. He holds his breath and slowly nods. His voice shakes. “Please.”
Gunner’s breathing becomes labored as I slowly lean to him. He doesn’t move. Gunner lets me do this at my own pace. I am grateful. I pause then press my mouth to his, on purpose this time. Gunner’s lips are softer than I would have imagined, had I taken the time to do so. They are full and invitingly warm, not firm and powerful.
With our lips connected, I’m waiting for the passion to kick in instead of this sensation of a strengthening bond between Gunner and me. I almost whimper at the lack of hormones. The need to satisfy my internal yearning holds my attention more than Gunner does.
His eyes close, so I shut mine, hoping this will start a tidal wave of lust. Not using my sight only heightens my awareness of my yearning. I sense a being that magnetically attracts me—or the something in me that knows him well. Since Gunner is the only male to fit this description, I know it must be him and force myself to let go of any inhibitions.
During o
ur timid kiss, my fingers touch Gunner’s cheek then slide down his neck, studying muscle indentations. Moving my kiss slowly from his lips to his face, I kiss his strong jaw, eventually bringing me to his neck. Resting my hand on his chest, I feel him straining for air, his heart pounding, somehow so familiar.
I let my lips caress his skin as I move them back to his open, gasping mouth. He swallows as my lips linger over his and moans when I press them to his again, gently slipping the tip of my tongue to his. My hands slide down his arms to find his hands in fists.
I want to be breathless like him. I want to struggle for control as Gunner is doing, so I take his fists into my hands and wrap his arms around my waist. That seems to be what he was waiting for. He groans, pulls me closer, then takes charge. His kiss becomes aggressive in a yummy way. My toes don’t curl with excitement, but my heart is soothed into a rhythm that also feels familiar. The more he kisses me, the stronger this rhythm becomes. I’m getting lost in Gunner, and I’m loving it.
Chapter Three
Ryder
Waiting for orders, I stand quietly on top of the mountain, watching the sunset and take in the last serenity of the night. I say goodbye to the sun when I hear, “Ryder, this house is being added. Female, turning twenty.” I face Parker.
Parker governs the woods and the humans we guard. He sets out our routes with a military style that keeps us on the straight and narrow. Blaze hands me a map after looking at it and questions Parker. “But the female is in my district.”
I’m memorizing the new location on the map. Parker says, “This is at Isolde’s request.” My eyes dart to Parker. His hand goes up to stop my questions. “I have no other intel.”
Isolde, our spiritual leader, is never to be questioned, so even if she stood with us, I wouldn’t. What she says goes, and rarely does she offer much reasoning behind her mystical ways. Isolde always claims, “I shall not interfere with choice.”
Blaze’s green eyes shift in the fading sun as he becomes restless on his feet. “Do you want me to switch routes with Ryder so that—”
Parker’s demeanor is clear. “That’s a negative. Chase is taking over Ryder’s old route.”
The elders of the Warriors, Hunter and Sage, pat Chase’s back. Their scars inform us of who has the experience of many years and many wars. “Congrats, little man. Earning your new do!” Sage says with pride.
Chase, our young newbie, is proud to have a knife to his scalp as his own tribal Mohawk is formed. He’s a natural in the field, and we’re proud of him, even though we show it by riding him. Endlessly.
“Finally. Your own run.” Hunter looks just like his brother Parker. His dark skin makes him lethal when hunting in the night.
“Wait. Why am I losing my route?” I fold the map.
Parker is also losing something: patience. He grips his clipboard. “Ryder, we are told this young woman is a special watch to be guarded with no distractions. Blaze, tell Ryder what you know.”
Blaze, my closest ally, looks at me in disbelief. Neither of us understands why this female is mine to guard, but we know that Isolde always has purpose in her actions. “Uh.” Blaze closes his eyes, searching his memory for all the homes he’s guarded since we came here. “Umm—Yeah. White, two-level country home. No surrounding neighbors. Forgotten crops. Property surrounded by woods, hills.” His green eyes open with concern and recognition. “Yeah, there is a female in the right age bracket. Uh, her name is, uh, a flower I think—can’t remember. Mother has already taken ill. Two younger siblings. Male, approximately seven. Female, under.”
I nod to Parker, ready to begin my night. As I leave the other Warriors, I hear Sage lecturing Chase. “You must keep this strap tighter. If they get your knife, your odds of coming home dwindle…”
Making my rounds on the outskirts of this population is habit now, second to breathing. I know what to watch for. I know how to spot danger and how to divert it. I know how to fight it. We have been trained well and have kept the surrounding towns from the plague. And we’re keeping the spread to a minimum.
We guard towns and cities of all sizes, but are instructed to cover some houses more diligently when someone is coming of age. The age change seems to trigger the demand of the Blood Clones. Once we learned that no one under the age of twenty was becoming ill, we were able to better strategize and more efficiently protect the delicate ones. Yet, never has a Warrior been taken down to one human to guard before tonight.
My head spins. I can’t understand the reason for the change in our routes. And I can’t understand why my body is vibrating with some sort of anticipation. Distracted is no way to be before Guardian duty. Lives are on the line. I take a knee in the forest, bow my head, and close my eyes to center myself. As I deeply inhale, I ask the earth for her guidance. When the wood fairies—what humans call fireflies—join me, I know I’m ready. Focused and present.
Finding the house is easy enough, especially since the closer I get, the more my body hums. I spot a tree that will allow me to properly see over this location, so I shimmy up to a sturdy branch. Sitting high in the tree, I can evaluate the location of my new charge. Except for the kitchen, the house is dark on the bottom floor. Conserving electricity, very common. Two children wash dishes. I can’t help chuckling at the boy dousing the little girl with dirty dishwater. Blaze and I missed out on childhood play.
Through a window, I see a young female coming down the stairs, and she ends the comical altercation. Before I memorize her, my humming sensation becomes even more intense. I grip the branch to keep from falling. I close my eyes to reground myself. Wood fairies appear as my insides ease again.
The second floor has one light on in a small window, probably a bathroom. The immediate land around the house is clear, no trees. Crops dead. Blaze was on point with the surroundings of the property. This helps me. The Clones have nowhere to hide except in the woods and hills surrounding the property. A dilapidated barn stands alone, away from the house. Not much furniture on the wrap-around porch. Wind chimes. Occupants must like to sit outside.
Soon after the second floor goes dark, the young female comes back downstairs. To her right is an eat-in nook area. She stares at the sink as though it is making her unwell. My alertness heightens with her labored breathing, surprising me. My muscles tense. Ryder. Focus. She runs out a screen door to sit on the porch step, giving me perfect view to commit her to memory.
The subject appears to be very upset but is clearly the one coming of age. She’s very natural looking, not overdone with human products. I feel I’m refocusing until her long auburn hair blows in the wind, carrying a scent of fresh running spring water and a hint of magnolias. The fragrance makes my internal humming return, even stronger.
Her tired hazel eyes look around as if evaluating her circumstances. I can’t help noticing she doesn’t look like the two younger children. Her dark hair color and her soft ivory skin are quite the contrast to the blond, tanned children.
The moon shining off her face shows a sadness. Movement in her house draws my attention away from her, but my instincts say I don’t need to react. The dog’s flapping tail is also an indicator, and the Clones should not be coming for her yet.
A healthy-sized, dark-haired male comes out the back kitchen screen door. He looks strong. He must not be sick. I notice he’s too young to be her father. Maybe the father is deceased? The male sits next to her without speaking, I can’t get names. The female begins to cry. I watch him carry her to a rocking chair and hear him comfort her.
“I know… I know… Rose—”
Her name is Rose.
The way this female reacts to this young man’s affections tells me how close they are: extremely connected. He clearly adores the young woman in his arms. This is also evident when he puts her to bed then comes down to the kitchen and washes the leftover dishes before exiting the premises.
&
nbsp; Once the male is gone, I sneak around Rose’s home to make mental notes for easy entry. There are tall windows on both floors. The living room is in the front of the house with the front door off to the side. I don’t have to worry about being spotted by neighbors. She has none. The lower level is secure, but I notice bedroom windows are open. No screens on the older windows, just curtains. Access way too easy. I also notice the same aroma of magnolias and spring water that sets my insides on fire.
The dog eats the harmless, organic, sleepy treat I throw in the window. He doesn’t bark, which is very common. Dogs have impeccable character instincts. But I can’t have him following me around, waking up the humans.
I sneak in the window where the light went off at the beginning of the night. A wave of grief resides in this room. It’s almost overwhelming. A woman lies motionless in her king-size bed, her breathing labored. She has loss of her energetic matrix. Because the female has lost so much life, it is hard to evaluate her age, but I would guess she’s in her forties. I also notice her auburn hair. This is Rose’s mother. A framed picture next to her bed is of a man with much lighter hair, like the two younger siblings.
Rose’s mother stirs in discomfort, so I rub an herb remedy on her forehead. Unfortunately, it is not a guarantee. It rarely works. If it did, we would be sneaking in windows all over town to heal people, but I figure Rose is important. If she is to be my only charge, maybe fate will help her mother survive. She stills quickly with the herb. At least the female will have one night of needed rest. If it works, I’ll come back with more.
The hallway has many pictures hanging in excellently crafted wooden frames. Many photographs of nature. Flowers, leaves… I stop at one in particular. It is a picture of the hill I often sit on. It is odd that the picture is not of the view the mountain offers but of only the serene spot I favor.
Rain (Stranger in the Woods Book 1) Page 3
