Cowboy Fairytales Omnibus

by Lacy Williams

  The photo was a long shot. It was grainy and only showed Military-Man in profile, as if he'd been aware of the cameras in the parking lot and interior.

  Nick turned down another side road. He was taking enough detours that even if someone were following—and they'd have to be far behind for him not to see them, even with headlights off—they'd be lost on these back roads.

  He'd be better prepared this time, too. His uncle kept the cabin stocked with hunting rifles. Nick would be vigilant. No one was going to hurt Kylie on his watch.

  Another half hour of driving, including a couple of switchbacks, and Nick pulled onto the winding quarter-mile drive to the cabin.

  The sliver of moonlight reflected off the midnight blue lake, visible even through the birch and oak trees that wooded the area all around.

  He cut the lights as he pulled in front of the single story cabin. The wooden siding was worn, paint peeling in places. A small deck off the side of the house faced the water, a perfect place to watch the sunrise over the lake and enjoy a cup of coffee. Maybe if you weren't on the run from men with guns.

  Kylie followed him out of the truck, Snow jumping down behind her.

  He rested one hand on the side of the truck bed. "At least I hadn't unloaded the groceries. We'll have eats, even if you don't have a spare change of clothes. Maybe my aunt left some things behind."

  Kylie glanced around, and he had to wonder if the trepidation he saw on her features was because of the shadows surrounding the dark landscape or because of what she'd been through in the past twenty-four hours.

  "I'm not that worried about my clothes," she admitted. "More that someone is out there, after me, and I don't even know why."

  He reached for her, now able to take the time to comfort her. She came into his arms, and he felt the trembles going through her body.

  "I'm sorry I left you alone," he murmured, burying his nose in her hair. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

  He only hoped it was a promise he could keep.

  It was late as Gideon surveyed the apartment complex’s parking lot.

  Huge temporary lights had been set up to illuminate the area. Yellow crime scene tape blocked it off from the public.

  Skid marks on the pavement showed where a vehicle had reversed quickly and then burned rubber to escape. He'd heard the call on the police scanner about an attempted shooting at the complex and guessed it was the same hired guns that had tried to kill Alessandra last year. Bear Lake was small enough that he doubted they’d seen this kind of crime before.

  The crime scene looked like a disaster area.

  Pieter stood beside him on the sidewalk, arms crossed, feet spread. The pose was almost belligerent, but Gideon knew the man had to be feeling defensive about what had happened.

  Gideon didn't blame him. It was Pieter's mother's fault. Maybe Pieter should've kept better tabs on her or had her in a more secure location, but he couldn’t have known she’d escape the mental hospital.

  He didn't want to get too close to the officer taking pictures of the scene, though he and Pieter weren't the only curious faces standing around. He figured a small town like this hadn't seen excitement like a shooting in years, if ever.

  He knew, or at least hoped, that the lost princess hadn't been hurt. He'd called the local hospital, and no one had been admitted tonight. On the other hand, if it were he protecting the princess, he’d stay off the radar, too.

  He and Alessandra had made the decision to keep their search for Kylie out of the media, not wanting the King's indiscretion made public.

  But maybe that had been the wrong choice. Maybe if they went public with the search for the princess, she'd come to them. It was worth a shot, wasn't it?

  But he couldn't air Alessandra's family's dirty laundry without talking to her first. He took out his phone and hit the first saved contact. His wife.

  The bathroom light seemed sunshine bright after the darkness and terror of the past hour. Kylie closed her eyes against it and against the knowledge that Nick was walking the perimeter of the cabin with a flashlight and probably his weapon drawn. He knew what he was doing. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

  He seemed certain they were safe here, on this remote lakeside cabin.

  Kylie rummaged beneath the sink and came up with a faded white first-aid box. Judging by the layer of dust, the box had been there a long time. She hoped it was stocked enough to help Nick. He'd sworn the bullet wound wasn't bad, but she hadn't seen it yet for herself.

  The bathroom was tiny, and he'd told her he'd wait in the kitchenette after he carried in the groceries. It had taken him several minutes to turn on outdoor levers for the electricity and water. Her stomach was grumbling by now, but his wound was a higher priority than eating.

  When she exited the bathroom, he was coming through the front door, a brown grocery bag in one arm. The other—the one with the gunshot wound—wasn’t exactly held limp, but obviously the wound bothered him.

  Their eyes connected from across the room. She paused on the threshold, or maybe he did, but they both ended up staring at each other from across the room, long enough that heat rushed into her cheeks. A vivid, visceral memory of those moments where he'd tugged his bulletproof vest over her head, making her feel protected, almost cherished, popped into her mind.

  He was the first to move forward, and she felt a little foolish as she moved into the living area. He passed her and set the groceries on a round kitchen table for four, one that overlooked a large corner window that would have a nice view of the lake in the morning. Snow's toenails snicked on the floor as the dog followed Nick to the kitchen.

  The dog snuffled its way into the living area and laid down at Kylie's feet.

  Kylie perched on the awful plaid couch, popped open the first-aid kit, and set its contents on the low coffee table. Surprisingly, there were antibiotic ointment, sterile bandages, and antiseptic wipes. As long as Nick didn't need a butterfly bandage or stitches, they should be good.

  What if he did need stitches? What did she really know about tending gunshot wounds anyway? Could he get infected from the gunpowder residue or something? She should send him to the local hospital.

  She should, but she wouldn’t. She could still taste the fear from earlier. He’d survive without a hospital, but she didn’t think she’d survive being here without him.

  He approached, and she looked up at him, forcing a smile. "Let's get a look at that wound, mister."

  "It's not bad." But maybe he knew she was stubborn, because he sat on the coffee table beside her supplies. Their knees bumped.

  He used his opposite hand to roll up the sleeve of his T-shirt, revealing blood dried to a dark brown and then a two-inch furrow where red still oozed from the wound where his bicep met his shoulder.

  Seeing the blood made her slightly nauseated, and she swallowed hard, willing her stomach to stay strong.

  Six inches to the right, and the bullet would've pierced his chest, possibly hitting his heart or lungs. And he wasn't wearing a vest, because he'd given it to her.

  Thinking about what could've happened made her dizzy.

  "See? Not bad at all."

  His words jarred her out of the stifling fear, but not before he'd tilted his chin up and caught her staring.

  "Hey." He touched her knee, his skin warm against her chilled flesh. "It's not a big deal."

  "It could've been, if that shot had..." She swallowed hard again, unable to voice the awful thought. She raised one hand to touch his chest lightly, just above where his heart would be.

  He clasped her hand, pressing her wrist firmly against his chest. Even through the thin barrier of his T-shirt, she could feel the steady thump of his heart.

  "You can't live in the could have beens," he said softly. You'll drive yourself crazy. And you can't change the past anyway."

  The words resonated back, beyond the situation she faced today to the previous year, this journey to find pieces of her mom.

&n
bsp; Emotion swamped her, bringing tears to her eyes all over again. She ducked her head. She was a mess. Whether the emotion was because of her lingering grief or a barrage of relief at what they'd just survived, she didn't know. But it was overpowering.

  Nick seemed to know how fragile she felt, because he didn't push, didn't fold her close. He just kept hold of her hand against his sternum. How did he know that if he held her, she'd break?

  He was here. He was whole. And he was mostly unhurt.

  That was enough for now. #

  7

  On their third morning at the cabin, Kylie woke to the muffled slam of a car door. Sunlight streamed through the window, which was bracketed by gingham blinds. If Kylie sat up in bed, she had a view of the lake through a canopy of red and orange leaves. Right now she’d trade the view to see who’d parked outside.

  The bright sunlight told Kylie she'd slept later than she'd intended. She was still having trouble sleeping, even though Nick insisted they were safe at the cabin.

  Another car door slammed. From where she lay at the end of the bed, Snow lifted her head. Her ears perked. She didn't bark.

  The cabin only had one bedroom, and Nick had insisted she take it. He’d been camping out in a sleeping bag on the living room sofa. With the door closed, she didn't hear any of the familiar sounds she'd grown accustomed to in the mornings. Nick shuffling around, the outdated coffee machine percolating, the sound of pans and plates shifting.

  Was something wrong?

  Heart pounding, she kicked her legs out of the sheets and padded across the floor barefoot. She wore a T-shirt that Nick had loaned her and a pair of his drawstring shorts cinched tight enough that they wouldn't fall.

  She opened the bedroom door a crack and peered out into the main room. It was empty. Where was Nick?

  Maybe he'd left a note or something. He'd stuck close the past two days, but perhaps he’d needed to go somewhere. She crept out into the kitchen, Snow following, her nails clicking on the rough wood floors.

  There was no note, but through the living room windows, she saw movement outside.

  Relief swamped her. It was Nick bending over the bed of his truck.

  She let herself out on the step, the cool morning air invigorating her. Snow rushed past and disappeared in the woods to do her morning business.

  Nick looked up, a smile spreading across his lips. "You aren't ready, sleepyhead."

  His words made no sense. She shrugged, probably looking as baffled as she felt.

  "We're going fishing. You aren't dressed for it."

  "We are?"

  He nodded, looking almost giddy about his surprise. "Here, you'll need this."

  He took something out of the bed of the truck, a plastic shopping bag it looked like, and brought it to her.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Couple of changes of clothes. I had a buddy in town pick up some things at the store. I hope they fit."

  She'd been making do with the clothes she'd worn when they'd escaped from Nick's apartment.

  "You shouldn't have..."

  His gaze was steady. "It wasn't a big risk. I've been checking in with the precinct and other friends in town, It's been quiet since the other night. And my buddy Ryan and I were careful. Plus, he brought the bait." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the pickup again. "I'll get the poles and tackle box while you run in to change."

  Snow bounded out of the woods and right up to Nick, sniffing his boots and jeans.

  "Thank you," Kylie said, emotion choking her up slightly.

  Nick nodded.

  She turned and traipsed inside.

  A surge of excitement went through her at the thought of getting out of the cabin. It'd been a quiet couple of days, mornings spent on the porch, sharing coffee and enjoying the birdsong; evenings spent playing cards with one of the decks they'd found in a drawer. Nick had lit a fire last night in the outdoor pit, and they'd pulled up the Adirondack chairs and curled up to enjoy the heat.

  They'd talked a lot. Nick had told her about the police academy and the best and worst small-town calls he'd answered. He’d also shared some wild stories about his younger sister.

  She'd told him about her favorite college courses and Michael, the boyfriend who hadn't understood why she'd needed to search for her mother's memory. He’d been patient for about a month, then ended their relationship in search of someone available.

  She'd found an unexpected friend in Nick. Maybe more, if she considered the way her heart raced when he was near.

  But what would happen when she left to go back to Chicago? Nick was firmly entrenched in his life here. His family was here, as was the job that he seemed devoted to.

  She dumped the contents of the plastic bag on the bed, blushing a little when she saw the underthings in their package. At least Nick hadn't done the shopping. She hadn’t met the friend, and now she sort of hoped she never would. Beyond the intimates, she found sweatpants, jeans, several colorful T-shirts, and a light jacket.

  It was simple clothing, but the gesture touched Kylie. The same way his care over these last days had. Every time he proved that he was thinking about her, putting her first, her heart opened to him a little bit more.

  She threw on the sweats and a deep green T-shirt and tugged on her running shoes.

  Back outside, she stood on the step and called to Nick as he jogged up a thin path through the woods that must lead to the lake. "Should I pack something to eat?"

  He shook his head. "Jerry owed me one more favor." He popped the driver's side door, reached inside the cab, and pulled out a brown paper bag.

  He wiggled it side to side.

  She stepped off the stoop. "Is that from the bakery?"

  He nodded. "Fresh from the oven. You can grab the coffee. It's in the console."

  She brushed past him and grabbed two paper cups, bringing one to her lips as she bumped the truck door closed with her hip.

  Nick was watching her with one brow raised. "I guess that's a reflection on my coffee-making skills."

  She grinned sheepishly. "No, no...."

  His eyebrow twitched, but he stayed silent. Was this his interrogation technique?

  "Okay, yes!" she admitted.

  He kept the serious look. How long could he keep it up?

  "I'm sorry! I don't mean anything by it, it's just that you brew it so strong!"

  He crossed his arms over his chest, still holding the paper bag in one hand. It swung as he settled in to the defiant posture. She really hadn't meant to offend him.

  And then he eased out of his stance, a smile widening over his tanned face. "I’m just messing with you. My mom says the same thing."

  She wanted to give him a friendly punch, but with both hands full, all she could do was elbow him.

  "C'mon,” he said, “we're wasting prime fishing time."

  Nick could get used to having Kylie close. He knew the past two idyllic days weren't the norm and that life would have to go back to the way things had been before, but the time with her had shown him how much he still liked her. Cared about her.

  Was maybe even falling in love with her.

  She followed him down the faint deer trail toward the lake. The silvery water reflected the early morning sunlight. A breeze cooled his cheeks.

  The dock came into focus, a smudge of dark brown against the blue water. Beside it rested a slender canoe where he'd already loaded the paddles, poles, and tackle box.

  Kylie slowed her stride behind him. "A canoe?"

  He half-turned, paused near the foot of the trail. "What's the matter? You can swim, can't you?"

  "I'd rather not."

  He grinned. "Then I guess we'd better not turn it over."

  "I'm not sure..."

  He jerked his elbow toward the boat. "I'm an experienced canoeist. I won't send you into the water."

  She wrinkled her nose but followed him to the water's edge and they juggled coffee cups and laughed a little as he tried to hold the bow steady
while she stepped in. He invited Snow to jump in, and the dog settled at Kylie's feet.

  Nick waded through the mossy water, the tall rubber boots he'd donned earlier keeping his socks dry. He stepped into the canoe, sitting smoothly on the small bench in the rear seat, barely rippling the water around them.

  He picked up a paddle and dipped it in the water, careful not to splash her.

  She sipped her coffee, her eyes scanning the shoreline as they began to drift slowly.

  It was pretty. The leafy birches hung over the water in some places, interspersed with oaks and the occasional elm. The ground was carpeted with decayed leaves in shades of brown. The sunlight broke through the trees overhead, dappling them with light and shadow. A hidden chickadee sang from somewhere overhead.

  It was peaceful.

  Kylie seemed lost in thought, staring down—maybe at her reflection in the rippling water.

  He rested the paddle in the floor and let the canoe float. It took a few moments to attach a hook and sinker to one of the poles and bait it up with a live minnow from the bucket he'd stowed beneath his seat. He let Snow have a sniff of the tiny live fish before he hooked it. The dog was peaceful, resting in the canoe. Impressive.

  He cast the line out into the water, the bait and hook sinking with a soft ploop. Then he nudged Kylie and pressed the pole into her hands.

  She settled her coffee cup between her knees and tested the weight of the pole in her hands. "I haven't done this since... I guess since Mom and I moved away from here."

  "Then I bet you're due some beginner's luck," he said. "You'll probably reel in a three- or four-pounder. My dad said the crappie have really been biting this year. Although I remember coming away with the biggest catch the time we fished together."

  She sent him a lingering glance over her shoulder. "When we were ten? I'm sure I don't remember it going that way."

  He shrugged. "Unless you can provide photographic evidence to the contrary, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree."

  She squinted. "Is that a challenge? Because I'm not sure whether you remember how competitive I am."