by Nicole Snow
Grace was almost fucking kidnapped.
I don’t even know what made me look down that alley when I did. I’d been planning to pull up and wait for her at the main entrance after grabbing our groceries.
First I noticed the SUV.
Too new, too shiny, and too damn familiar after the run-in at the Purple Bobcat.
I’d stared in disbelief, hoping it belonged to someone else, gobsmacked at the notion a guy named Jackknife could get four shredded tires swapped out in roughly twenty-four hours. In one of the biggest winter storms of the year, no less.
I’d underestimated how prepared they were for trouble, and that almost cost me dearly.
At first, I’d thought those two idiots were there to clear snow when they came stomping out of their vehicle. Then I caught sight of the fur on the hood of her white coat.
Thinking she’d fallen, gotten hurt, I’d backed up and shot into the alley.
That’s when I realized what was going down.
Those wolves were the reason she was ass-planted in the snow while they tried to rip her arm off.
I’m grateful Cinderella decided to turn herself into a human pumpkin.
They couldn’t pick her up in time, couldn’t get a good hold on her because she’d damn near buried herself in the snow, up against the wall.
They scattered like a couple flippant crows as soon as they heard me coming.
My hands ball into fists as the anger hits in a hot, needling rush.
Fuck. Them.
I’d wanted to get my hands around their throats real bad. Bury them alive in that discolored, muddy snow.
Remembering how she was shivering in the truck makes me sick.
I’d cranked the heat up as high as it could go on the way home, even though I knew full well it wasn’t just her wet jeans leaving her chilled to the bone.
She’d been scared for her life.
Shell-shocked.
Her face was as bone-white as her coat when she’d climbed out of the truck at the house, trembling so hard she’d barely been able to stand. She asked me to stay with her until she could calm down enough to face her old man without piling more worries on his brittle shoulders.
Of course I did.
I gathered her up in my arms, pushed my chin to her forehead, and held the fuck on.
It’s in a man’s makeup to protect a woman who’s been savaged.
I don’t just mean bodily harm, but a little soul-mending, too.
Everything I never got the chance to do with Mom.
With Grace? I’ll flip her demon-run world upside down if it means holding her heart together when it’s trying so hard to shatter.
I’ll hold her, just like I did this morning, chasing her pain away with my embrace and wordless, soft breaths that’ll have to do for medicine.
Because I’d be a reckless fool to kiss her for real.
“What the hell is going on?” I mutter to myself, downright flustered. “What could those freaks possibly want from an old man selling pumpkins that’d be worth this trouble?”
“Money, perhaps. Don’t they say it’s the root of all evil?”
I whip around in my chair, forgetting I’d left my office open.
Tobin stands there in the doorway, a human statue bathed in shadows with soft winter light reflecting off his glasses.
“How many times have I said I’m gonna put a bell on you one of these days?” I growl, wondering how long he’s been there.
“Please order from Dublin, should you decide to go ahead. There’s this lovely little abbey there that makes these handsome brass bells. They’re lightweight, elegant, and won’t detract from my work,” he says, taking several steps into my office and pausing.
“When were you in Dublin? 1980? I haven’t seen you take a real vacation for at least a decade.”
He raises a brow. “You, sir, would be surprised.”
“What do you want, anyway?” I grunt. “Are Grace and Nelson around?”
“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of them since you returned, escorting Miss Sellers to the guest cabin. I believe that’s how you wanted it.”
Damn this android of a man. He’s too perceptive for his own good sometimes.
“Yeah, well, since you were eavesdropping—”
“Tending to your well-being,” he says matter-of-factly, adjusting his spectacles. “Exactly what you pay me to do.”
“Whatever. You probably know I reached out to Faulk for more on the Sellers, right?”
He stares quietly, admitting to nothing.
“C’mon, there’s no need to play dumb! Tobin, I need you on board with this. Everybody on the same page, if we’re going to help them.” I reach up, pushing a hand through my hair, waiting for him to crack and show me some goddamn sign he’s a human being under there.
“Have I ever let you down, Ridge?” he asks cautiously.
We both know what he’s referring to. I can still see the horror in his eyes when he told me the truth and sent me on the warpath that ended my career.
Just like I can see him pleading, begging me not to go, to control my need for revenge before something horrible happened.
Newsflash: something horrible did happen.
I should count myself lucky I never had to pay the price for what I did to Linus Hammond. Even if the sick, conniving fuck deserved every last bit of it.
“Never,” I grind out. “Quit playing coy. If you’re worried about another situation—”
“No. This isn’t like that,” he says sharply. “I simply have one request.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m forever at your service, Ridge. You know that. And you’d make this peculiar situation easier to manage if you’d keep me appraised of the latest developments,” he says, his eyes mellow green pinpricks of light and shadow behind his glasses. “I’ve earned that much, haven’t I?”
“You have,” I say, giving a firm nod. “Of course, Tobin.”
“Then since I’ve seemingly failed at arguing the wisdom of sharing your home with two complete strangers in questionable legal territory...I’d deeply appreciate not having to guess at the details.”
Biting my tongue, I motion to the chair across from my desk.
“Sit your ass down, then,” I say. “Please. I’m sorry I didn’t keep you posted, there’s been a new development this morning. Hell, several developments. I know you’re not fond of this, but you’ve always had my back. Let me clue you in on everything.”
We talk for almost an hour.
It’s a relief to get some of this shit off my chest with a guy I can trust, even if he makes me want to rip my hair out sometimes.
By the time we’re finished, I grab my phone off the desk and leave the office with Tobin several paces ahead of me.
Back in the kitchen, I pluck my coat off the hook we installed for the times when I can’t be bothered to head for the mudroom. I fling the back door open.
It’s been a few hours since we got home, plenty of time for her to tell Nelson about everything.
If she hasn’t, I will.
Talking with Tobin made me realize that keeping the latest run-in from the old man isn’t in anybody’s interest.
The sooner he gets that he’s safer here with me—the sooner both of them do—the better.
Maybe then he’ll open up. Tell me what the hell’s really going on with his past and why these vampires want blood.
Grace opens the cabin door on my second knock. I instantly notice she’s wearing different clothes, and her hair looks freshly washed, pretty spun gold tucked behind her ears.
“You’re looking a lot better,” I tell her. “Can I come in?”
With a nod, she offers a meek smile and waves a hand for me to enter.
“How’re you feeling?” I ask, studying her expression.
“Fine for now,” she answers quietly, glancing at the sofa where Nelson slumps against several pillows, but very awake.
I catch the tension in the air instantly, which
tells me she’s filled him in.
Unzipping my coat, I walk to the sofa.
“How about you, Nelson? Any of that stuff from the drugstore helping?”
“I’m better than I was yesterday,” he says, trying to hold in a cough, but it has to come out.
“I’m hoping the stuff that’s supposed to break up the mucus works,” she says as she walks around the sofa and leans against the back of the matching armchair.
An array of over-the-counter meds sit on the coffee table, along with a half drunk mug of coffee, a bottle of water, and a barely touched orange juice. I’d loaded up a cart full of soups, juices, and anything else I could think of for a sick person.
She’s working her sweet little ass off for him, and that affects me, deeply.
A kid loves their folks, even when those kids grow up. Then it’s the child’s turn to protect dear old mom and dad from the shit this world flings.
I know.
I tried.
I couldn’t.
Sitting down in the rocking chair that makes up the U-shaped furniture around the coffee table in front of the fireplace, I push my feet gently against the floor, letting the chair bob as my thoughts race around like it’s in Daytona instead of Dallas.
“I talked to the police,” I tell them, my hands gripping the wooden armrests.
Nelson’s face tightens as he shoots a look at Grace. An unhappy one.
Her shoulders stiffen as she closes her eyes for a moment.
“And? What did they say?” she finally asks.
“The plate number I gave them was reported stolen off a vehicle in Michigan over a year ago. The owner’s deceased.”
“Oh, God.” She turns white, the hope draining from her eyes. “Recently deceased?”
I shake my head.
Her relief shows as she leans against the back of the chair.
“They have police patrols out now looking for the SUV. Well, patrol, I should say, my man Drake. I asked them to touch base with the state troopers too, but no guarantees.” I rock back a little harder than I mean to and have to catch myself.
The highway patrol in this area of North Dakota is the same kind of skeleton crew as the official Dallas police. Speeders, drunk drivers, cows in the road, deer accidents...those are the types of issues they deal with regularly.
Not chasing down hardened criminals.
An attempted kidnapping might raise the alarm, but not enough to call in a full posse from over a hundred miles away to hunt down Jackknife and his boys.
“Listen. I want to say thanks for, uh, for looking out for Grace today,” Nelson says quietly, taking a ragged breath. “Once I’m on my feet, we’ll be heading out. Leaving the horses in your excellent care, of course.”
Seriously?
He’s still stuck on this half-baked plan?
The dude looks like hot death and must feel like a rotten egg. I cast a slow glance at Grace, raising a brow.
She pushes off the chair, stands straight, and tugs the hem of her green t-shirt down.
“That’s right. I was just packing our bags. Had to use the washer and dryer downstairs.”
Her answer stuns me, but it shouldn’t. She’s trying to placate Nelson. I hope.
She knows as well as I do that they don’t stand a chance in hell against those maniacs out on the open road.
Hell, they wouldn’t make it more than a few miles before disappearing into the ether. And then...who knows.
I sure don’t, and it pisses me off.
She’s lucky to be here now. Nelson knows it in his bones, I’m sure, but he’s desperate and trying to save face.
I don’t know why, maybe it’s the fear or his condition. I just know Grace is scared out of her wits.
What a life.
Her nerves must be totally shot.
Not just from today, but from everything.
The goons. Nelson’s health. The horses. The ambush. Whatever it is they’re still hiding.
Like why in God’s name these brutes pursuing them sent an entire pack of coyotes.
That’s unusual, no question.
I heard enough stories in Hollywood to know no crime syndicate sends a team—if these bumble-fucks can be called that—into the sticks, hundreds of miles from home, without an insanely good reason.
I like her, though. Her stamina goes a long way.
Let’s not even get into that saucy burn she puts in my blood, especially when it winds its way down to a lower part of my anatomy aching to rebel against common sense.
“Well,” I say, letting the word hang in the air while I stand up. “I’ve already given you my thoughts on your departure. Let me reiterate: you’d both be goddamn crazy to hit the road while he’s sick and you’ve got no defense for human scum.”
They both look at me, surprised.
Yeah, I’m overdoing it, but even the thought of Grace and Nelson on the road, helpless, sends a shock-current straight up my spine.
“Look. I’ve got no doubt Grace is a skilled driver. She’s smart, scrappy, capable of handling issues as they come up. Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned. I’d be a fool not to speak up while I still can and tell you it’s not just a bad idea—it’s a death sentence, guys.” I turn to her father. “What happens if a tire blows, Nelson? She’d be out there, on the road, changing it all by herself. You’re too sick to help. And when you’re relying on a truck I think they brought over on the Mayflower, anything could happen at any time.”
Nelson’s lips twitch, but he says nothing, just peels his gaze off both of us. Let him digest what I said.
It won’t go down easy.
Too bad.
I’m not done.
“If you want, I’ll take a look at it, make sure the air pressure is up in the tires, check the fluids, the filters...” Hell, I can’t think of anything else off the top of my head. I’ve had roadside assistance forever, and I certainly wasn’t a mechanic in the Army. But I went through the flashy muscle car phase most kids do at sixteen and I was rich enough to own a couple. I learned to take good care of them. “And I’ll need a bill of sale on the horses if you’re hell bent on taking off. In case they need a vet visit or something happens, I’ll need proof they’re mine.”
“We can do that,” Grace says tightly, looking at her father. “He’ll grab Stern and Rosie’s papers. They’re still in the glove box, aren’t they?”
Nelson nods slowly.
In just the short time I’ve been here, it’s like his eyes droop, turning a shade paler than they were ten minutes ago. I pat the arm of the sofa.
“Why don’t you take a quick nap? I know from experience some of those medications could knock an elephant out. Grace can get me their papers, and I’ll type up a bill of sale for her to bring back to you to sign. Nice and neat. Then I’ll take a look at your truck.”
I think there’s a hint of reluctant appreciation in his eyes as Nelson looks at me.
“There’s oil in the back of the truck, and washer fluid, the below zero stuff.” He pulls the blanket around his shoulders, slowly cocooning himself. “Make sure the jack is easy to get to, would you?”
Although I can’t stand his eerie insistence on leaving, I empathize with his condition.
He’s a sick, desperate, broken man.
And sick, desperate, broken people who still have a fighting spirit don’t listen to their bodies or good sense.
“Sure. You rest easy now.”
“Thanks, Ridge.” He rubs one eye and settles back in the sofa cushions. “We’ll sort this out later, when I’m feeling better, I’m sure...”
I’d pat his shoulder if I was close enough, but I’m not, so instead I pat the arm of the sofa.
“Certainly.” Glancing at Grace, I lift a brow. “You coming?”
“I’ll be along shortly,” she says, a barely detectable edge in her voice. “I just want to get another dose of cough medicine in him before he’s out.”
“Okay.” I zip up my coat and exit th
e cabin, waiting on the porch, where she can see me through the window.
I watch my breath curling out in small smoky puffs in the cool air, wondering if spring will ever come.
Also wonder if I just pissed her off by trying to play Mr. Tough Guy and lay down the law.
If so, I’m not sorry.
She needed to hear it, and that goes double for Nelson.
You can’t be Mr. Nice Guy when you’re trying to save someone’s life. Especially a couple of folks with their backbone and relentless appetite for rotten luck.
Grace finally steps outside a few minutes later, blonde curls bobbing on her shoulders. She’s all sugar, good enough to eat, except for those eyes that tell me I might get chewed up if I tried.
“Really? You had to do that?” she asks, scowling me into a hole in the ground.
I’m about to protest when I see it’s not all venom in her eyes. There’s a teasing glimmer, too.
Grinning, I wave for her to step down next to me.
“We’re on the same page, trying to get your dad to see the light. Like it or not, he has to realize he’s in a fight he can’t win. Not alone and sick, anyway.”
“So, what, you’re Batman? And you don’t trust me to handle it?” She’s dead serious again, keeping even with my face.
“I played a couple superheroes in my time. It goes with the territory,” I tell her, remembering what a mess that last film Hannibal the Incredible was. Elephants get awfully pissed when they have to spend five hours under a makeup artist trying to make them look like woolly mammoths. “And I trust you just fine. Didn’t mean to step on any toes, figured you could use the help.”
“Next time, wait for me to ask,” she says as we walk side by side. “But I guess I hadn’t thought about mentioning a flat tire or a bill of sale. That was good thinking.”
Her coat smells freshly washed, same for her hair. It’s soft, clean, subtly flowery, a scent that rubs my nose in all the less-than-pure things I’d love to do to her.
Fuck, she smells good.
“You tried everything else, right?”
“Unfortunately.” Sighing, she shakes her head. “He’s so stubborn.”
“Must run in the family,” I bite off, holding back a smile.
“Thanks, pot. I’m kettle. Looks like we’re both black. What else is new?”