Unexpected Hero

by Barbara Ankrum

  Mick folded his arms across his chest. “Hope I didn’t scare her off.”

  “She’s a little skittish. I don’t think it was you.”

  “But she is a beauty,” Mick said, watching her, too.

  He elbowed Mick. “Eyes on your own paper, pal. I saw her first. Still, I have a feeling nobody calls dibs on that girl. She’s a lone wolf.”

  Mick shoved a hand through his blond hair. “Then what are you standin’ here talking to me for, when your soul mate/mirror image is walkin’ away?”

  “You sayin’ I’m a lone wolf, too?”

  “Man, your ‘lone wolf’ is so lone it’s howling up at the moon. Go on.”

  Noah laughed. “Good to see you again, Mick. Where you stayin’ in town?”

  “I’m bunkin’ at Trey’s place. Me and Paul and Cowboy. Now that you’re here, we’ll make room for you, too.”

  “Nah. No need to cram another guest in. I’m already checked in, stayin’ in town. But sounds like the bride and groom will be keepin’ us busy with events for the next few days, so we’ll have time to catch up.”

  “Count on it, brother.”

  They shook hands again and fist-bumped, but Noah knew he could only share so much of what he’d been up to in his life. Somehow, being with a stranger like Gemma with no stake in his life or his past felt safer, less threatening. But tonight was just a one-off. After this party, he’d likely never see her again. Still, her being here shielded him from unwanted inquiries, at least for now.

  He followed her to the bar where she was just getting a refill on her Chardonnay. From a distance, he studied her backside, the way that dress hugged her curves, and how, again, she struck him as a runner, with long, lithe muscles in her legs and arms but with the posture of a dancer. He’d dated a dancer once. Her upper back had fascinated him.

  Gemma stood, surrounded by other women, but as if she had a spotlight on her, he hardly noticed any of them but her. Attraction tightened his gut and fractionally concerned him. Their unusual encounter might lead somewhere he had no intention of going here in Marietta and putting an end to that soon sounded prudent, if not wise. But prudence rarely outmaneuvered his gut on matters like this and he suspected he was about to step into trouble.

  She spooked when he touched her elbow and spilled a bit of wine on herself. “Ahhh! Oh. Apparently,” she said, with a sigh, brushing the wine off the front of her dress, “this is going to be a ‘thing’ with me tonight.”

  He reached for a handful of cocktail napkins and dabbed at the spill. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t want to lose track of you in this crowd.”

  Her look up at him was somewhere between flirtatious and serious as she took over the napkins and the cleanup. “Worried I wouldn’t come back?”

  Those eyes of hers fascinated him. “Should I have been?”

  After a moment’s pause, she answered, “I may be a chicken, but I’m not a coward. I would’ve come back.”

  “I’d wager you’re no chicken either. Anyone who writes is brave in my opinion.”

  “Really.” She eyed him anew. “You think so?”

  “It takes a whole different kind of courage from, say, my line of work.” Almost as soon as the words were out, he regretted them.

  “Which is…?” she asked.

  “Sorry?”

  “Your line of work?”

  “Oh,” he said. “I’m in…sales. A cutthroat business. That’s all I meant.”

  “Ah. Of course. What kind of sales?”

  “Um. Boats. Mostly.” She was about to ask another question so he said, “You hungry? I see they’re about to serve some food.”

  “Starving.” And she followed him over to the tables.

  *

  Gemma hadn’t missed the sly change of subject he had just maneuvered and she wondered about it. But not for too long. Introductions distracted her from the topic and the food was good. His friends, Mick, Paul and the one they called “Cowboy,” whose real name was Jase, were all charming, if slightly rough around the edges. Paul, in particular, seemed a little different than the others, who appeared to treat him with some deference. And they spoke about another man named Nio who wasn’t in town yet, but was the real-life older brother of the groom-to-be, Trey Reyes. She gathered he’d been their commander in the military and was a few years older than the rest. It took her exactly one minute to realize how respected he was by the men she’d just met. But there was something about him. Something almost…familiar. Then someone mentioned he was a private investigator and then the connection clicked. She knew plenty of PIs in her line of work. Some might even consider what she did close to that. Rather, what she used to do. Now she was writing wedding fluff.

  As she had that thought, she realized someone had asked her a question. She glanced around the table. Everyone was staring at her. “Um…I’m sorry?”

  “Where are you from, Gemma?” Mick asked again.

  “Seattle. Actually, Sammamish. It’s a small town; a suburb really, close by. A lot of houses mingling with a lot of pine trees. It’s very pretty there. I’ve lived there my whole life.”

  Mick said, “Isn’t that near where you’re from, Noah? Where your old man has his boats?”

  Beside her, Noah stiffened. “Yeah. Close.” A waitress came around with more appetizers and Noah leaned back, disengaging from group talk. But a moment later, Cowboy dragged his chair up beside him and started chatting.

  When she heard Noah laugh, Gemma leaned toward Holly. “So, are you both from Marietta? I hear it’s quite the meet-up place.”

  Holly said, “Neither of us are. We both ended up here, kind of by accident, having known each other forever. In fact, all of us—the brothers, that is—are from somewhere else. But my late husband Tommy was from here. And, in a way, his passing brought us all together in Montana.”

  “I’m…I’m sorry for your loss.” Gemma wished she could call back her question now.

  Holly shook her head. “Thank you. But, no. It’s okay. It’s been a while. Our story, Trey’s and mine, is…complicated. But you’re right. There is something about Marietta. Half the people at this party are prime examples of that. Most of them are newlyweds or soon to be. Take Olivia and Jake Canaday-Lassen over there.”

  Gemma glanced at the handsome couple, holding hands and intimately whispering to each other.

  Holly went on. “They were friends, reunited here after a long time apart. They’d made some silly pinkie-swear promise to meet if they were both still single. The rest is, as they say, history. And there’s her half-sister, Ali, and her husband Adam Wolfe.”

  Gemma turned to the pair she’d noticed early on. Ali was a beauty, and Adam was handsome, despite the burn scars on his cheek from some awful accident. There was nothing but adoration in Ali’s gaze though as she looked at him.

  “Their meeting,” Holly went on, “was even more random and unlikely, but now they’re married and all settled on his ranch on the east side of town. To be honest, I’m not so sure that what you’re talking about isn’t so much Marietta itself as the feeling that’s here.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s a welcoming place. A place where you start to imagine a new beginning, or…that one is even possible. The people here are great—not really so different from other places—but they are just more willing to risk being themselves here, maybe. It’s a bit of a throwback to other times when taking a chance on people wasn’t steeped in so much cynicism. Optimism can be contagious, right?”

  Optimism wasn’t something she’d thought of for a long, long time. Survival. Survival was what she managed every day. But at Holly’s words, an image of herself, dangling from the edge of a cliff above a pool of sharks came to mind.

  “You’re saying we’re all cynics from other places?” Noah asked jokingly, lifting his glass of Tito’s in a half toast and leaning into the conversation.

  “Now, don’t be so cynical,” Holly answered with a laugh. “Of course not. But you�
��re new here, Noah. Give the place a week or so to work on you. You’ll see what I mean. Maybe we’ll even recruit you to stick around.” She reached for his hand. “By the way, I couldn’t be happier that you made it. Thanks so much.”

  “You think I’d miss this wedding? Not a chance. Two of my favorite people on the planet.” He squeezed her hand and Gemma found herself leaning back in her chair. “But the likelihood of my sticking around here is pretty much zero. Still, a few days’ reprieve from my world is more than welcome.”

  “Well, damn,” Trey said, overhearing their conversation. “Words like ‘reprieve’ must be immediately jettisoned from your vocabulary, man. Or we will demand to know the details.”

  Noah laughed. “Hyperbole.”

  “That’s a big word for a nonwriter,” Gemma teased.

  “Don’t underestimate this one,” Trey warned, nudging Noah. “We suspect he’s been recruited as a spy by the CIA. Hence, his MIA status.”

  When Noah reacted with mock-horror, Gemma asked, “Are you?”

  He swirled the vodka in his glass. “Well, I can’t tell you or I’d have to—”

  “Right.” Gemma laughed. “I’d better be on my toes tonight, then.”

  As the conversation turned away from them, he met her gaze with a flicker of humor. “You’d better.”

  Gemma took another sip of her wine. “So. How does a nice boy from Seattle end up in the CIA?”

  He shook his head denying it. “It’s been a long road to where I am now.”

  “But you are mysterious. At least your friends think so.”

  “A little mystery never hurt anyone.”

  True. “Do you still live there? Seattle, I mean?” That would just be too weird if his other world intersected with hers.

  “No. Not for a while,” Noah said. “After coming back from the war, I needed sunshine. Seattle has too much rain.”

  “I kind of like the rain. I like the green. The trees. The pine scent in the air,” she added. “The rain’s a trade-off for those perfect sunny days that happen in the summer.”

  Some memory crossed his expression. “Seattle has its good points.”

  “Isn’t that true of every city, though? Most people only hear the rumors about a city, but don’t really know its insides. Its secrets. Like this place. Like what Holly said. When you think of Montana, you imagine snowdrifts and freezing temperatures. Mountains jutting up into the horizon. You know, an elk or two scampering by? But I didn’t really expect…this.” She gestured out at the water meandering by outside the window, sparkling in the moonlight. “This beautiful river. Or a restaurant as pretty as this one. This quaint little town. Or even strangers welcoming me into their party.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said, sipping his drink and staring out at the darkened landscape. “Every town has its secrets. Even this one.”

  “And you?”

  His eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

  “Where do you live now?”

  “Oh.” He seemed to relax. “I move around. Right now, it’s New York City. A town with plenty of secrets and also some hidden greatness.”

  “Never been,” she said, snatching another appetizer from the tray of a passing waiter. A bit of filet mignon and blue cheese on crostini.

  “You’re joking.”

  If only. “Nope. Marietta is as far as my current budget will take me. At least for now. It’s a ‘someday’ trip for me.”

  “You must go then. Soon.”

  “That’s really not looking too promising right now.” She sighed, thinking of her shrinking paycheck.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of someone dinging a wineglass for attention came from the head of the long table. Holly winked at Gemma as she raised her glass.

  “I just want to say a few words to all of our out-of-town friends, the new friends and family who have come to Marietta for our wedding—some of you locals.” She lifted the glass in her hand. “We are so thankful you’re here. And so appreciate you taking the time out of your busy lives to share this extra-long weekend with us. For many of you, this is a destination wedding and I must admit that this is a destination that both Trey and I have come to love. As you know, we both came from other places, but Marietta has so much to offer, and is especially beautiful at this time of year. So, we both hope you’ll enjoy the events we have planned for you, including a fly-fishing expedition, a fish fry and bonfire, and of course, the Fourth of July celebration here in town. Oh, and a few other surprises as well.”

  A ripple of oohs and ahhs rumbled through the smallish crowd, all of whom seemed to have come prepared for some fun.

  “But for tonight, for those of you staying in town at hotels, we’ve arranged for a horse-drawn hay wagon to take you back, as well as give you a little introductory tour.”

  Gemma and Noah exchanged looks. “Did you drive a car here?” he asked.

  “Cab.”

  “Me, too. Wanna rough it back to town with us?”

  “Actually,” she said, “I’d love that.” A ride in a hay wagon? Check that off of things she never thought she’d be doing here.

  Her expectation that the evening was about to come to an end shifted at the thought of spending a little more time with him under the stars. He had her curiosity piqued. Not so much from what he’d told her, but what he hadn’t.

  Still, she knew tonight was a fluke of timing. He’d been very generous to include her, but she was here to work and certainly didn’t intend to make this a thing. And whatever Holly had said about the magic sauce in Marietta…well, that simply didn’t apply to her. She’d be back in Seattle by the end of the weekend and he’d be back in New York. Spying or whatever he did. None of her business, for sure. But she would enjoy a wagon ride back, and she’d store tonight away in a little trove of memories she kept, to pull out now and then.

  Chapter Three

  Outside of Beck’s, a beautiful, matched pair of dappled Percherons pulled the wagon Trey and Holly had hired to take them all back, and the horses stood, patiently waiting as the guests loaded into the benched seats that lined the wagon’s sides. This was, Gemma thought, the perfect ending to a night of firsts. First time falling flat on her face in public. First time being rescued by a stranger. First time crashing the wedding party of someone she didn’t know—with someone she didn’t know. Tonight seemed…adventurous and dangerous at once. Which was far outside her usual box.

  She didn’t have time for adventure or danger when her career hung in the balance like so much ripe fruit, there for the picking by any of a dozen other writers at the paper. Writers just as good—well, nearly as good—as her.

  He held out his hand to help her up into the wagon. A gentleman. His hand was warm and strong, and his skin smooth, not rough. A spy. Yes, that fit. He looked like he could take any of the local cowboys in a physical contest. That thought sent a ridiculous tingle through her.

  Ash had been all talk when it came to strength, but when push came to shove, his only strength lay in retreat. And he’d been very, very good at that.

  Noah took a seat beside her as the others filed onto the wagon. His knee brushed up against hers, sending a little zing of awareness through her. Daringly, she made no attempt to move away. She simply allowed the contact. Okay, maybe she enjoyed it. After all, it had been a long time since a man had done anything more than shake her hand. Not to mention a man who looked like Noah.

  With a cluck from the driver—an older gentleman with a full, gray beard—the team trotted down the road under the full moon and stars. The summer night was warm and the air sweet with the tall grasses that grew everywhere. In the distance, past the town of Marietta’s approaching silhouette, the Bitterroots and the Beartooth Mountains knifed into the darkness, snow still clinging to their highest peaks. They sparkled in the moonlight like headlamps.

  “How beautiful,” she murmured, as Noah followed her gaze to the mountains.

  “I’m beginning to understand the draw of this place,”
he agreed. “Marietta’s about as far from the city as you can get.”

  “We could run away from all that. All we need is a motorcycle and some barbed-wire fence and we can be like Steve McQueen in The Great Escape.”

  “You are an old movie fan.”

  “I grew up on them. My father was quite a fan, too. Saturdays, his day off, he would spend the afternoon, introducing me to all the oldies but goodies. He loved Westerns. But this is probably as close as I’ve ever gotten to one in real life.”

  “Even though you write about the West. In your books.”

  “Oh. Yes,” she corrected quickly. “Of course. I write about the West—” not a lie “—but my research is all…just confined to books. The internet. But here,” she said. “The smell of the land, the sky, even this ride.” She smoothed a hand along the bench beside her. “This is why I came.”

  He leaned closer and said, “Do I need to be concerned that you’ll write me into one of your books?”

  That thought hadn’t occurred to her until just now. Even if the book thing was only a dream she might someday get to. “Would you like to be?”

  “No.” His laugh seemed quite definite. His smiling eyes studied hers in the dark and a wave of warning washed over her. Don’t like him too much.

  Over his shoulder, she spotted a small herd of elk curled up in a meadow on the outskirts of town. Moonlight cast their shadows long across the grass. “Oh, look!”

  That got the attention of the rest of the wagon and the moment was broken. But she could feel his eyes on her just the same. When she looked back at him, he pretended he’d been looking at the elk, too.

  The ride to town was quick and Marietta’s streets were sleepy at this hour. As the wagon dropped off its guests at various stopping points, she braced herself for the night to end. He was probably staying with his friend Trey, along with his other friends. But when the driver asked if anyone was at the Graff Hotel, they spoke up together. “Yes!”

  “You’re at the Graff, too?” they asked each other at once.

  He nodded and Gemma did, too, a prickle of surprise and pleasure curling through her at the news. The Graff was the nicest hotel, a renovated old Victorian beauty chock-full of historical details. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d stay there, too. But the proximity was intriguing.