A Stranger on Her Doorstep

by Julie Miller

  She was smiling at the pleasant memory from her childhood until she turned the flyer over and saw that someone had scrawled a message on it.

  I will always find you.

  Ava’s senses suddenly stopped working. Cotton filled her ears, muting the sounds of traffic and voices on the street. Spots swirled through her vision, her breath locked up in her chest and she was suddenly cold. So cold.

  But then adrenaline spiked through her system and she jumped down. She ran to the truck beside hers and pulled off the flyer. No message. She pulled out three more flyers with pictures of a Conestoga wagon and bonfire. Dates. Times. A blur of other printing. But no handwritten words.

  Words that shouldn’t be here.

  Words that could only be meant for her alone.

  I will always find you.

  If she hadn’t felt a cold nose nuzzling her hand at that exact moment, she might have fainted. Or screamed. Instead, she knelt and hugged Maxie tight around the neck, oblivious to the voices of concern, shaking off the hands that tried to help.

  “I’m okay,” she lied to the disembodied voices that were worried for her, letting Maxie pull her to her feet. “I have to go.” She brushed aside the circle of strangers and friends alike who had rushed over to help her and climbed into the truck right behind the dog.

  She started the engine and backed out, barely hearing the tires squealing on the pavement as she stomped on the accelerator. She hadn’t had an attack like this in months. She’d pushed herself too hard. Made contact with too many people. That drone this morning had put the idea of being watched in her head, and she’d never really shaken that sense of someone tracking her. She’d dropped her guard and hadn’t seen the threat coming. She was having a full-blown panic attack in the middle of Main Street, but she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

  I will always find you.

  Ava wadded up the flyer and tossed it onto the floor of the truck. She needed to get out of here. Needed her sanctuary.

  Needed someone who didn’t see her as a victim.

  Now.

  Chapter Seven

  Larkin heard a vehicle crunching over the gravel road and shot up from the stool in the kitchen where he’d been thumbing through the skinny county phone book, wondering who he could call to locate Ava without giving himself away. He knotted the silky ties of the snug, flowered robe he’d found in the bathroom over his jeans, and picked up the carving knife he’d set within arm’s reach on the stone countertop, in case an intruder showed up. He’d prefer his gun—the loaded version—but he could defend himself with a knife if he had to.

  When he peeked through the curtains beside the door and saw Ava’s pickup pulling up to the house, with Maxie’s big, panting snout hanging out the passenger window, he exhaled a sigh of relief. “About damn time, woman.”

  He paused with his hand on the doorknob. Although he wanted to know why she’d been gone longer than a trip into Pole Axe should take, according to his calculations, and ask if she’d considered the importance of having a backup plan or even a way to contact each other if either one of them got into trouble, he thought better of rushing outside and greeting her with a knife in his hand.

  While she unleashed the hound and unloaded several bags from behind the seat, Larkin jogged back to the kitchen to return the knife to the butcher block from where he’d pulled it.

  Chances were, he was overreacting to her lengthy absence. She had agreed she’d shop for him today so he could have some clothes that fit and a blessed pair of underpants. She’d told him she rose early to walk the dog and might be out when he got up. But he’d slept in later than he had in years, no doubt a side effect of his injuries and the medications working through his system. The list he’d jotted last night was gone from the bedside table, so he knew she’d come in to see him. He’d been half-aware of her presence as he’d slept—floating around his bed, gentle hands checking his vital signs, tending him in a way that made him feel someone cared. Or maybe that had all been a dream conjured by his jumbled brain.

  The ringing telephone had jolted him awake nearly two hours ago. When it became clear that Ava wasn’t around to answer, he’d grabbed his jeans and run downstairs to hear a message from Kent Russell, asking on his whereabouts. Was the doctor really that concerned about his recovery? While he was being nosy, he listened to an earlier message from Dr. Russell, and another from Sheriff Stout. Was that why Ava had been gone so long? Had one or the other cornered her in town and pressured her with their suspicions that she knew something she wasn’t telling them?

  He’d been worried that something had happened to her, and he’d had no way to confirm or disprove his worst suspicions. Even more unsettling had been admitting he’d been worried for himself. Ava Wallace was his lifeline to the world. His best chance at survival. Without her, he was a sitting duck, with no clue who his enemy might be or when that enemy would strike again. He felt guilty enough asking her to help him, to help them both recover from the mistakes that left them feeling so vulnerable and alone.

  But even more than the guilt was something unfamiliar twisting around his heart. He’d been worried that she’d wrecked her truck on the twisting drive. Or that Sheriff Touchy-Feely had ignored her boundaries and upset her again. Or that whoever wanted him dead had put two and two together and gone after Ava instead of him.

  That’s what scared him the most.

  He liked Ava Wallace. Liked her big galoot of a dog. He’d admired her talent long before he’d even met her. Her bravery was unquestionable. He loved her sense of humor. He could look into those deep blue eyes all day long and, if he was lucky one day, he hoped to taste those full, sensual lips that so rarely smiled. He’d lost too many people who mattered already. Of all the memories he was certain of, the loss of the men and women who’d served with him, trusted him, had been as close as family, was crystal clear. The fact he could feel that loss so much more viscerally than anything else from his past made him think he didn’t form many close attachments to people anymore. But in less than twenty-four hours, he’d made a connection to Ava. And the thought of anyone, anything, hurting her hit him like another bullet to the chest.

  So, running to the door, swinging it open to meet her on the porch might be overreacting. But since he wasn’t exactly in his right mind at the moment, he wasn’t going to argue these instincts where Ava was concerned.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded before he could temper the emotion out of his words. The dog lumbered past him, but he scooped two grocery bags out of Ava’s arms and blocked her path. “You were gone longer than you said it would take you. I had no way to call you. You couldn’t leave a damn note? Why didn’t you wake me up? I was worried about you.”

  “You needed your rest.” Her voice sounded used up. She stared at the middle of his chest for a moment, but her gaze never reached his eyes.

  Then she shouldered past him and walked into the kitchen, where she set two cloth bags onto the counter. Something was off. Something was way off. Avoiding people was one thing, but the Ava he knew was antisocial with an attitude. This robotic tone and distant focus were something else.

  “Ava?” He locked the door and followed her to the kitchen to find her studying the knife block before she pulled out the blade he’d used and reset it into its proper slot. What? No freak-out about the knife after the kidnapping nightmare she’d shared last night? No joke about the robe with the pink flowers that reminded him of his grandma’s garden? He preferred a slap across the face for greeting her like such a scary jerk to this spooky quiet. He set the sacks on the center island. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on your case like that. I let my uncertainties get the better of me. We don’t have a backup plan in case this cabin gets compromised or one of us gets into trouble and needs an Option B to stay safe.” He circled the island as she unpacked the groceries and turned to the refrigerator to put them away. He mad
e his voice as gentle as a Marine who was used to giving orders could make it. “I was right to be worried, wasn’t I. What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  No reply. No acknowledgment that he’d even spoken. She unpacked a bag of coffee and a disposable cell phone. She pushed the cell phone across the countertop toward him and turned to put the coffee away in a cabinet. This woman had bossed him around six ways to Sunday, pulled a gun on him and ogled him with an unabashed appreciation he wondered if she was fully aware of. He certainly was. That was the fighter she wanted to be—the fighter he suspected she had once been before tragedy had stolen her trust in the world and her faith in herself. Today, she was slowly, methodically going through the motions as though her brain didn’t fully realize what her hands were doing.

  And it was killing him.

  “Ava, I’m going to touch your arms. Okay?” If he hadn’t been studying her so closely, he’d have missed the subtle nod. When she didn’t flinch at the cup of his hands around her shoulders, he turned her to face him. He hunched down to study her pale skin and her unfocused eyes. “You drove home like this?”

  Instead of offering an explanation, she raised her hand and touched the point of his chin. Her gaze followed her fingers as she rubbed her palm against his jaw and curled her fingertips into his beard and gently tugged. He cooled his body’s response to her curious exploration. Whatever was going on, she didn’t need it complicated by the punch of desire heating his blood. He lifted his chin to give her access to the side of his neck. And when she slipped her fingertips beneath the edge of the silly robe, he understood that she was touching him in the places she’d said her abductor had had scars.

  There were no reassuring words he could offer. She had to discover the truth and believe it for herself that he was no threat to her. Eventually, her shoulders lifted with a weary sigh and she slowly walked into his chest.

  Larkin wrapped his arms loosely around her. When she didn’t instantly bolt at his touch, he slid one hand up beneath her silky ponytail at the nape of her neck and splayed the fingers of his other hand at the small of her back. One thousand one. Even with her arms folded between them, she fit perfectly against him. But she was shaking. He felt her breath come in stuttering gusts against the skin of his chest exposed by this ridiculous outfit he wore. One thousand two. Ava was usually a prickly touch-me-not, and now she was melting into him. She nestled her head beneath his chin, some of the long strands of her dark hair tangling with his golden beard. Her fingertips slipped into the front of the robe and she palmed the thumping beat of his heart. Seeking warmth? Taking comfort? Ensuring he was the same man she’d made a dangerous bargain with last night? One thousand three.

  It took a considerable will to relax his arms and step back.

  “You counted to three, didn’t you.” She tilted her blue eyes to his and he breathed a little easier at the clarity he saw there.

  “This is your sanctuary. We play by your rules.”

  Even in that simplest of embraces, several strands of dark hair had come loose from her ponytail and drifted in curly wisps against her eyelashes and cheek. “It’s nice to have the option to snuggle in or break contact if I need to. Thank you for understanding.”

  “You know me—I’m all about Option B.” He reached out to capture those stray tendrils of hair and brush them off her cheek. But then he pulled away, despite having discovered an affinity for burying his fingers in the sable-colored silk. “If breaking contact is what you need, then that’s what will happen.”

  “And if I don’t want to break contact?”

  He swallowed hard at the implication that she might want his touch, that she trusted him with that gift, at least a little. “I’d be game for that.” No sense denying his attraction to her. “But no pressure. Like I said—your house, your rules.”

  She crossed to the center island and picked up the discarded sling that he’d never bothered to put on once his mission had been to locate her. She held it out to him. “You’re supposed to wear this.”

  “And you’re supposed to be okay. You’re not.”

  She dropped the sling on the island top and went back to unpacking the groceries. “I wasn’t always like this, you know. Tentative. Jumpy. Fragile.”

  “I didn’t think you were. Willow Storm is a passionate woman. And I’m guessing there’s a lot of you in Willow.” Larkin reached into the sack closest to him and pulled out a carton of milk. “Talk to me, Ava.” When he handed her the milk, he held on for a few seconds until she made eye contact again. “Last night you said you wanted to be a fighter. Fight through whatever’s hurt you this morning and tell me what happened.”

  She carried the milk to the fridge before she spoke. “I had a panic attack in the middle of downtown.”

  “Because of me?”

  She shook her head. “Because of this.” She pulled a crumpled piece of shiny paper out of the second sack and set it on the counter.

  He unfolded the advertisement and read the message. “‘I will always find you.’”

  She carried the sacks to a crate by the back door and stooped to pet Maxie where she’d stretched out in one of several beds Larkin had noticed around the house. “I don’t know how many people saw me. But it’s the height of tourist season. They were shocked or feeling sorry for me. It’s humiliating to lose control of my senses like that. Even worse is how vulnerable I am when that happens. I couldn’t see faces. I heard voices asking if I was okay, and I think someone called 9-1-1, but...” She’d been deprived of her sense of sight when she’d been kidnapped. Losing her ability to focus in on anyone had probably fed her panic. “I had to get out of there. No wonder everyone I know walks on eggshells around me.” When the big dog rolled onto her back, Ava obliged by rubbing the dog’s tummy. “If Maxie hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “You would have figured it out. You did figure it out because you’re here now. You’re safe.” Her hand paused on Maxie’s belly. “Clearly, this note triggered something in you. What does it mean?” Nothing good, he could guess from her seeming need to maintain contact with the dog. Although his instinct was to go to her and offer the same support she got from Maxie, he gave her the space she insisted on. “Honey, I’m so sorry this happened. What do you need from me?”

  She rolled to her feet and came back to the counter. “Right now, I need you to go away and leave me alone. And maybe you’d better not call me honey. Here.” She tossed him the bags of clothes and finally commented on the robe he’d borrowed. “My grandmother would be honored that you like her robe, but I hardly think the pink peonies are something Bonecrusher would wear. There are towels in the hallway closet if you want to shower.”

  He looped both bags over his good shoulder, wondering if she had truly recovered from the panic attack, or if this was a brave front meant to keep him at a distance. “If I had on my own underwear right now, this conversation wouldn’t be over.”

  She rewarded him with the shadow of a smile. “I can’t share my backstory with a man who has no underwear.”

  She was back with him and she was okay. But there was definitely something wrong when her gaze slid over to the message on the counter. He’d been serious about trading his military police skills for her protection. Even if that note had nothing to do with him, a panic attack was no joke. If he could do anything to prevent another one, he would. However, he sensed that pushing her to talk to him wasn’t going to get him an explanation. He’d best give her what she’d asked for. Distance.

  As he backed into the living room, he looked over at Maxie, who’d laid her head on her big paws. “You keep an eye on her, okay?” Then he nodded to Ava. “I’m leaving the dragon to watch your back.”

  A soft smile rounded her lips a little further. “I’ll be fine, Larkin. Go.”

  One thing Larkin hadn’t forgotten from his military training was how to take a five-minute shower. Si
nce he was skipping shaving these days, he was stepping out of the guest bathroom in three. But with his bum shoulder making it difficult to lift his arm over his head, it was taking him five times that long to towel off and get dressed.

  That’s why he was standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but his briefs and his unhooked jeans hanging low around his hips when he heard a startled, “Oh,” from the open doorway.

  He spun around to see Ava beating a hasty retreat into the hallway. “Ava?”

  “Sorry.” She tried to pull the door shut after her, but each hand held a mug and she couldn’t grab the knob or the door.

  Larkin buttoned his jeans and hurried to catch her. “What’s wrong?”

  When he reached the doorway, she gaped at his chest, then turned her back to him. “I’m sorry. Your door was open. I thought... I can’t seem to stop looking at your naked body. I mean... I keep seeing you without your clothes on. And I’m not looking away.” She muttered a curse. “Why am I still talking?”

  He laughed at the unintended compliment. “Not the worst thing a woman’s ever said to me. Especially for a guy who’s a little beat-up around the edges.”

  When she faced him again, her cheeks were that healthy shade of pink he enjoyed putting there. “That makes you interesting.”

  And now he was the one blushing. Nice to know the attraction he felt wasn’t one-sided. But this was hardly the moment to act on it. Time to move on from any further discussion of his seasoned attributes. The fragrant steam rising from the mugs she held reached his nose and he breathed in the rich, toasty smell. “Is one of those for me?”

  She held out a mug, which he gladly accepted. “I saw you hadn’t helped yourself to anything in the kitchen. Thought maybe you could use some caffeine.”