by Addison Fox
“If you feel that way, then why were you so quick to reject my marriage proposal?”
Marriage? They were back to that. “Hoyt—”
“Wait.” He held up a hand. “Hear me out.”
Hear him out? Give him the chance to convince her? Because between the raging hormones and that sly, subtle attraction that refused to let go of her, the thought of a marriage proposal kept getting more and more enticing.
“Okay.”
“I know marriage isn’t ideal between two people who really don’t know each other. But we do have a bond and you do have a place in this community as a teacher. There’s a connection between us. One that’s big enough to get us through the hurdle of not knowing each other that well. I don’t need you to make a decision today, but tell me you’ll think about it.”
Think about it? All she had done was think about it. From the drive back from Reynolds Station, to the cleaning frenzy once she’d arrived home, to those lazy minutes on the porch.
Oh, how she had thought about it.
He’d avoided saying they weren’t in love and that stung, but the rest of it swirled around her like a whirlpool, pulling her down into the spinning vortex.
“Please?” he asked.
“Please what?”
“Please tell me you’ll consider becoming my wife.”
Chapter 7
The summer nights were growing shorter, day by day, but streaks of red and gold still filled the edge of the sky as Hoyt pulled back into Reese’s driveway. Dinner had been a revelation. For the past few months, his memories of her had veered more toward the outcome of their evening rather than the start. Admittedly, he’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed her company in those initial hours at The Border Line.
She was smart and funny, with a sharp sense of the world around her. She had a kind heart but she wasn’t syrupy with it. Instead, she seemed to have a keen sense of human nature, yet genuinely liked other people despite their flaws.
Or maybe in spite of them.
In fact, he had to admit to himself, the only quiet moments at dinner had come when he’d pressed his marriage proposal. She’d seemed to close up then, and while he wasn’t ready to drop the subject, he did back off. And had continued to back off ever since, keeping their conversation light.
“You really passed the kid?” He’d come around to her door and held it open, taking her hand to help her down from his truck. The feel of her fingers closing around his momentarily had him forgetting his question or the young football player whose grades had allowed him to pass with flying colors.
“He earned it. And not because the coach came by my office almost daily, begging me to give the kid a good grade.”
“Football in Texas is sacrosanct.”
She shot him a sharp eye as she stood beside him, her hand still wrapped in his. “Funny, but so is learning.”
“Spoken like a true teacher.”
“I’d like to think the coach and I both won, but in the end it wasn’t about either of us.”
“Oh, no?” Hoyt thought about the bright lights that filled the Midnight Pass High School football stadium so many Friday nights during the fall, and questioned how passing the kid wasn’t clearly a win.
“Not at all. It was Spence Long who really won. The boy wrote a damn fine paper, ended up with a B and a shot at a scholarship to college. And with the extra tutoring hours we put in together he’s got more confidence in his schoolwork, which will ensure that college tuition isn’t wasted by only putting him on a football field. That’s the definition of a win-win in my book.”
“Let me amend that. Spoken like a true educator. You gave him the gift of knowledge and that’s something he won’t age out of or risk with an injury.”
The smile that lit her face in a warm glow was the best reply he could have received. “That’s exactly how I feel.”
He wanted to kiss her. The hand still wrapped in his was warm and soft. The smile that beamed in his direction was welcoming and oh-so-enticing.
But it was the look deep in her eyes—the one that turned those hazel eyes a deep, soft gold—that pushed him over.
Before he could check the impulse, he bent his head, his lips grazing hers with a light touch. She responded, her fingers tightening around his as she opened that lush mouth pressed against him. Hoyt deepened the kiss, taking them from a sort of gentle persuasion to heated exploration in a matter of heartbeats.
The evening heat was thick and still, but instead of being cloying, it enfolded them in a cocoon. All he felt was Reese and, as the kiss deepened, he wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her close. With her free hand, she settled her fingers over his nape, holding him to her for their kiss.
She was as warm and welcoming as he remembered, even as he sensed something different than the last time they were together. There was knowledge here that went beyond the carnal. They’d created a life, and the intimacy that came with that—and the understanding that they shared a bond that would never be broken—had changed the dynamic.
His body responded in kind, the slow pull of desire mixing with a deep protectiveness he’d never felt before in his life.
How was it possible to want a woman like this?
Sexual need, he understood. But that pull between a man and a woman, which was as natural as breathing, had suddenly become something more.
More intense. More powerful. And more deeply felt than he could ever have imagined.
This was the mother of his child.
But even more than that, this was the woman he needed.
* * *
The streets were familiar, hot and dusty to match the air that swirled around him. Innately, Hoyt knew the moment wasn’t real. That it was a figment of his imagination, conjured back to the forefront of his thoughts from some of the hardest days of his life.
He’d been good at special ops. His innate athleticism and understanding of nature—how it sounded, how it settled at night and how it felt when something disturbed it—had added to his almost preternatural sense of his surroundings and had served him well on past ops.
This one, however, was different.
He’d walked this street up and down, dressed in his fatigues with a gun on his hip, to send a message. That the town was being watched. Scrutinized. Studied.
He and his fellow soldiers had been instructed to show themselves and make their presence known by day for one simple reason. The real prize was just outside of town and it was his leaders’ most fervent hope that a visual presence during the day would keep civilians in their homes at night.
Away from the action and the danger.
Away from the mission.
Hoyt did it willingly. And while he didn’t care for the heat, especially clad in another fifty pounds of gear, he was from Texas and knew what August weather felt like. He’d survive.
In the way of dreams, day faded into night. While the air wasn’t any fresher, the relenting sun had gone down, providing a modicum of relief. Hoyt followed the backs of his fellow soldiers, their forms hazy before him as dream blended with memory. At times, he followed. At others, he led. But each step took him closer and closer to the inevitable end.
To the goal of their mission.
Crouched low, he spied the small, squat dwelling. Dim light showed from the windows before being doused, as if the occupants knew they were being watched. Not that it mattered. The equipment in his hands lit up with the reality of body heat inside the dwelling and Hoyt knew he’d found his quarry.
Holding still, he waited. Wasn’t that the part no one ever told you? How much waiting you’d do in the military. Waiting for orders. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for something not to happen.
Until it did. In wild, often explosive bursts of activity.
Just like home.
He’d waited his whole life to take
over the ranch, only to find out from Ace’s call that there was precious little to wait for. Their father had ruined everything and had nearly run them into ground in the process.
Would this be his last mission because of it? Was he ready to give it up? And could he really see his way to staying when his brothers needed him?
Before he could dwell on the seemingly endless questions, everything shifted into motion. Shouts and screams, live fire and the scent of smoke from a well-placed grenade. Hoyt forgot about his questions and focused on the moment. He’d trained for this and now it was the time to depend on that training for his life and the lives of his fellow soldiers.
One moment he was under cover of night and the next he was at the edge of the dwelling, visible through his night goggles. Shouts sounded from inside and he listened, absorbing them as he staked the perimeter. With careful movements, always watching for any hint of the enemy, he sidestepped his way along the building until he was at the door, slipping inside.
The air was still fetid with smoke but all shouts had vanished. He was alone.
He dragged off his goggles and turned on his heel, assessing every part of the room and shocked to find it all empty.
Where was everyone? Why had the fighting stopped? And if the gunfire had ended, where were the bodies?
More questions, their possible answers as confusing as the ones he’d asked himself outside in the bush.
Only then did he see another light, tugging at him as if it’d show him answers. As if the light would show the way. Hoyt walked down a small hall that looked surprisingly like the one at home. From the kitchen to the living room, he followed it, the light growing brighter and brighter before he found himself in another kitchen.
His kitchen. He could still see his mother in it if he squinted hard enough. Could still picture his father, seated at the head of the table as they all ate dinner.
The bright overhead light gave way to the softer light of late afternoon, flooding the room with a golden glow. It was only in that softening that he saw the figures he was meant to see, strapped to chairs in the middle of the room, with twin gunshots between the eyes.
His father and Russ Grantham.
Hoyt woke on a harsh scream, tangled in the sheets.
The familiar sight of his bedroom came back to him quickly, moonlight streaming through the outline of his windows. He fought to even his breathing, the scent of war and the stark image of his father tied to a chair fading with each inhale and exhale.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out the direction of his thoughts or the momentous reason for them. But damn, he hadn’t had a dream quite that vivid since his first year out of special ops.
Settling back onto his pillow, Hoyt replayed the evening in his mind. He thought he’d made several good arguments for marriage and had been encouraged by the heated kiss he and Reese had shared when he dropped her off, but had also figured it paid to make a hasty retreat. He’d seen her to her door and after pressing one last kiss to her forehead, left for the evening.
He’d driven around for a while, restless with his thoughts and the overwhelming shift in his reality. He had a future. One that was clear and defined.
A child.
The image of that new life filled him with joy in the deepest of ways.
It also scared the hell out of him.
He was responsible for a child. Or would be in a matter of months. Did he have what it took to be a father? He had a miserable example for one, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be a good one. Right?
He lay there for a long time, staring toward the window, as that question played over and over in his mind.
Reese stared at her computer, her eyes reading and rereading the words she’d typed in earlier for her first week of lesson plans, but seeing nothing.
It had been a week.
A week since she’d driven over to Hoyt’s and told him about the baby. A week since they’d gone to dinner and talked. And seven very long days since she’d kissed him in her driveway.
They’d talked every day and the past weekend he’d come over to mow her lawn, but there hadn’t been any more kissing. Nor had there even been any suggestion of it. He’d kept his physical distance and hadn’t shown the slightest sign of coming in close for one.
Which was fine with her. She didn’t need the heartache or confusion kissing the damn man seemed to gin up.
Like now.
She had lesson plans to write and another dive back into the first book she was teaching this year, The Scarlet Letter. The irony wasn’t lost on her, and as much as she might want to avoid teaching that classic this year, Nathaniel Hawthorne was a requirement for high school English. Add on that she knew that the scarlet A inevitably made it into state testing exams and she didn’t dare skip the book.
As she did each year, she reread every book on her syllabus, seeking new ways to teach the information or new tactics she could draw on to make her lessons fresh. Funny how her own personal understanding of Arthur Dimmesdale and Hester Prynne had changed so radically this year. Where she’d always seen both characters as tragic figures, in this latest review of the work she saw something else.
Courage.
It was an odd thought and one that she hadn’t expected. Nor was it quite the tone she wanted to strike with impressionable teenagers who inevitably found forbidden love dangerous and exciting, yet she wanted to find a way to bring her new understanding to her lessons.
With a renewed focus on her computer, she read through her lesson plans. She expected the normal moaning and groaning when she announced the fact they’d read seven books this year, but had made an effort to mix the historic with the present. The Scarlet Letter might be on her lesson plan, but so were The Hunger Games and The Maze Runner. Books she anticipated would make up for puritanical Massachusetts.
The doorbell pulled her from thoughts of a dystopian future and she headed for the front door. Had Hoyt come over unexpectedly?
While she didn’t expect him in the middle of the day—he’d talked enough about his work on the ranch to give her a sense that there was very little downtime during the day—hope sprang in her breast all the same.
She enjoyed seeing him and no amount of trying to temper those thoughts seemed to be working.
A glance through the small peephole on her front door didn’t show anyone there. She wasn’t waiting on the delivery of any online packages and the mailman didn’t usually arrive this early anyway, but who had rung the door?
Even more curious, she tugged open the door and scanned her front lawn, continuing on across the street. Reese saw nothing, not even a light breeze to mar the stillness in the air. Which made the light brush along her toes that much sharper.
When she glanced down, she saw the large spider that even now moved another inch farther up her foot.
* * *
Reese struggled to catch her breath as she fumbled for her keys. Her throat was still raw from the screams that had filled her at the sight of the spider and she couldn’t get rid of that creepy-crawly feeling that still covered her bare flip-flopped foot.
Despite the unpleasant feeling, she couldn’t fault the eight years of soccer that had carried her from elementary school clear through to her own senior year at Midnight Pass High School. Her still-powerful kick had dislodged the unwelcome visitor and landed it somewhere near the center of her lawn.
And now she had to figure out what to do.
Her first instinct was to drive over to Reynolds Station and share the trauma with Hoyt, but that initial need was beginning to fade. What would she say? A big bug (and she knew an arachnid was technically not a bug) had paid her a call on her front porch. The damn thing was big enough that it might have rung the bell all on its own.
Which only made her feel more stupid.
And vulnerable.
Who had run
g the bell? It could hardly be coincidence the front door had buzzed and a spider was there waiting for her. Which meant someone had put it there. Deliberately.
Reese was almost tempted to brush it off until some shred of common sense buzzed through: the need to protect her child. Someone had played a cruel and deliberate trick on her. No, on her and her baby. She deserved to go for help.
She toyed with looking up answers online but decided the front doorbell required a bit more urgency. Besides, who knew what horrific images would lodge in her mind once she went down the internet rabbit hole?
Hitting the button on her garage door opener, she pulled slowly away from the house and down her driveway, her attention focused on the center of her lawn where she’d drop-kicked the spider. It was large enough that she’d have expected to see the shape of its body over her freshly mowed lawn, but nothing stood out. She hit the door opener once more, her attention focused on the driveway to ensure her new “friend” didn’t find its way back in. With the door down and satisfied the spider wouldn’t be in her garage to greet her when she arrived home, Reese pulled out and headed for the familiar police station downtown.
How many times had she gone there to see her father, stopping in after a long day at school or running in a cup of coffee on the mornings she popped in to the town barista for a morning fix?
She hadn’t been back since before his death. Since before the murders.
The thought of going back filled her with an unpleasant mix of dread and sadness that thickened in her midsection like cement. But she ignored it all as she headed toward town, determined to find help.
The lingering threat of death by arachnid began to fade as she drove down the street, her thoughts roiling of who would have done such a thing.
It kept her from looking back to see the dark sedan parked at the bottom of the hill.
* * *
Hoyt brushed down Stinkbug, feeding him sugar cubes as he worked a currycomb over the horse’s neck and shoulders. A wild-caught mustang, Stink hadn’t spent much of his formative years being groomed or brushed, but had caught on quickly as Hoyt had worked to tame and temper the animal.
