No Gentle Giant: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  We fan out in a search grid, sweeping the area where Eli and Tara took off for their hike. Warren leads another search party, the guilt on his face palpable, even though it’s not his fault.

  He couldn’t have known they wouldn’t come back. They always did before. They’re both good kids who respect the rules and should know the trails twisting out from the inn like the backs of their own hands.

  We’ve been over miles of forest already, and every time I loop back around for another sweep, taking a different weaving path through the trees, the blackness oozing from my heart gets darker and heavier and me just a little angrier, a little weaker.

  He’s not here.

  He’s not fucking here!

  There’s a sick certainty inside me that he’s not here because he didn’t get lost—he was taken. Right along with the Fords’ niece.

  That woman, that monster, out for revenge after I’d pinned her, humiliated her, threatened her, ran her off. She found out who I am, and she came for the most precious thing in the world.

  Shit.

  I stop just short of backhanding myself across the face.

  I can’t think that without any proof.

  And I can’t give up.

  My legs ache. My arms and face are scratched by brush. My breaths come in rasps and my throat feels as scorched as the Sahara, but I won’t quit.

  No matter how shitty I feel, Eli’s got to be feeling ten times worse—hungry, dehydrated, scared in the dark, possibly injured.

  I can’t rest.

  I can’t quit on my son.

  Deeper I forge into the woods, almost tripping over a fallen branch—then stumbling into a tree trunk.

  My vision reddens for a hot moment, but I shake my head, force myself upright, reel to the other side—and stumble into another tree.

  “Fuck!” I belt out, about to punch it for good measure when that tree moves.

  Damn.

  Not a tree.

  Holt.

  He catches me with steady hands, holding me up, looking at me like I’m as much family as his brother, whose voice I can hear echoing through the night as Blake directs the whole volunteer fire crew in a sweep.

  “Alaska,” Holt says gently. “You’ve got to rest, man. You’ve been at it for hours after a full shift in the summer sun.”

  “The hell I do.” I throw his arm off, forcing myself upright. “I can’t leave them out here alone, Holt. You know I fucking can’t.”

  “You’re no good to him or Tara like this. None of us are. We’re all so exhausted, we’re just gonna make mistakes, get someone else hurt in the dark.” It’s then I notice the dark hollows under his eyes, the bleeding and half-dried scratch along his cheek. “Flailing around blind in the dark isn’t working, man. We need to regroup, plan, wait for dawn, and try again.”

  I stare at him wretchedly, despair rising up inside me.

  “Holt, I—”

  “Listen. You raised a smart kid.” He offers me a weary smile. “He’s not alone out there. He’s with Tara. That girl knows these woods, and she even got lost out here herself once overnight and came home just fine. They’re probably hunkered down asleep, just waiting for somebody to find ’em. Even if Eli’s not from around here, he knows the rules, right? You said you took him camping plenty?”

  “Yeah. Find a safe spot, stay put, wait till morning, get your bearings.” I smile weakly. “I drilled that into his head.”

  How could I not after what happened before?

  Too bad this wild Montana wilderness isn’t a lot friendlier to lost kids than the Alaskan wild.

  “That’s right,” Holt says. “That means you’ve got to follow your rules, too. Because you keep going like this, stumbling around out here alone, you know what happens. Next thing we know, we’re looking for you.”

  God. Damn. It.

  I hate that he’s right.

  I hate that I’m so dead on my feet I’m not sure I can even limp back to the Charming Inn under my own power. The adrenaline surge deserts me so thoroughly my legs sag under me.

  I swore this would never happen again.

  So how the hell am I in this situation?

  Felicity’s face flashes in my mind—and I’m too tired not to let the bitter, ugly thought intrude.

  Was I wrong to give in?

  Was I wrong to offer her my love?

  Did I let one moment of selfish craving for a woman make me forget my senses and my son?

  And now, because I fell for the wrong girl, what if Eli’s gone for good?

  21

  Going for the Gold (Felicity)

  Damn me for starting to believe—for even half a second—that I’m not completely and utterly cursed for life.

  I shouldn’t have let my guard down.

  I shouldn’t have let my hopes soar.

  I definitely shouldn’t have let myself believe I’m capable of anything besides hurting Alaska and his beautiful boy just by existing.

  Sigh.

  I pace the cabin’s floor restlessly, trying not to go to pieces. Even Shrub gave up following me an hour ago, hunkering down in his bed, worn out from my manic circles.

  Hours.

  I’ve been here for hours, and I’ve never felt more useless.

  Of course I wanted to be out there with them, helping with the search. I even closed up The Nest early as soon as the Silverton brothers came bursting in looking for search and rescue volunteers among the people gathered there—plus a fast batch of coffee to keep everyone moving and alert.

  I’d only caught a glimpse of Alaska, standing outside and conversing urgently with Sheriff Langley while he waited for Holt and Blake with a ready stillness. A tension that said the second they let him off his leash, he’d be off like a gunshot.

  How could I forget when he’d glanced inside?

  His dark eyes slid over me, through me, like I wasn’t even there.

  And I guess Holt caught something in my eyes. Or maybe in the way we were looking at each other but our eyes weren’t connecting at all, because he gave me a worried, but gentle smile.

  Hey, you’re staying with them, right? he’d said. If you want to help, someone ought to be at Charming Inn besides Ms. Wilma and Haley if the kids wander back on their own. If they end up with you, just call.

  Okay. I’d nodded almost frantically, scrubbing my hands against my jeans. Let me close up the register and I’ll head right home.

  And now, hours later, here I am.

  Alone, worried, pacing shallow circles in the loneliest way, reminding me that this isn’t really home and I have no business being here.

  But I can’t and won’t leave so long as there’s the slightest chance the kids could make their way back.

  For a second, I hear the voices drawing closer through the darkness.

  My ears prick up, but I realize it’s just the search parties moving to their rally point.

  I don’t know if that should worry or relieve me—but when I hear a heavy foot treading on the front step, I whip around so fast I almost trip.

  I know already it’s not Eli. There’s not enough weight on that string-bean of a boy to make that kind of sound.

  When I see Alaska through the glass, his dark flashlight hanging limply from his hand and his expression drawn and blank with grizzled weariness, my heart skips.

  Then it freaking breaks right down the middle.

  He starts to push the door open, but I’m faster. I almost rip it open and fling myself against him, wrapping my arms around his neck so hard my nails dig into his thick skin.

  “Paxton,” I whisper. “Please tell me you found them, and they’re not...”

  Lost? Hurt? Dead?

  I don’t dare speak anything that terrible into existence.

  My brain doesn’t want to contemplate the very worst.

  That the search was called off because they found Eli and Tara, but too little, too late. Whether it was the elements that got them, or something more vicious...

  Something
like Paisley Lockwood.

  She doesn’t need her sadistic little switchblade to be lethal.

  And the shaft of hurt piercing through me cuts just as sharp as her pet toy when Alaska stiffens against me, his arms slouched at his sides.

  It’s selfish of me, I know.

  That my first instinct is to feel rejected, shut out, when I’m probably the furthest thing from his mind and that’s how any sane man should feel.

  Pressing my hands against his chest, I push back and look up at him.

  “Alaska...?” I bite my lip. “Say something. Please. Please say something about the kids.”

  “There’s...” His voice grinds to life like old machinery trying to overcome an engine flaw.

  One look tells me more than words.

  He’s filthy and scratched up and looks like he hasn’t slept in years—and like he’s aged just as much in the space of one night.

  “Alaska?”

  “Nothing. No news. We haven’t found shit. Not even a footprint.”

  My eyes pinch shut and stick until it hurts.

  My heart goes out to him, then.

  It isn’t good news, but it’s not a disaster—not yet.

  There’s also a spark of hope.

  Kids have been getting lost in these woods for as long as they’ve existed like an evergreen shroud around Heart’s Edge.

  When I was little and first moved here, it was almost a rite of passage to scare the hell out of your parents and then wander out of the underbrush no worse for wear, a little scratched up but elated to be home.

  That doesn’t mean it isn’t dangerous.

  Rural Montana can be cruel. Unforgiving. Endless steep slopes, little gullies and drop-offs, not to mention the cougars and coyotes.

  At least with the wild animals, they’re often more afraid of you than vice versa.

  And kids are resilient.

  I tell myself that over and over again because it’s what I want—no, need—to believe, but I can’t bring myself to say it to Alaska.

  Exaggerated hope would just feel like useless platitudes to him right now.

  Even so, I can’t let him go on like this. Staggering in drained and tired and so bitterly alone.

  Taking a step back, I reach for his grimy, scratched-up hand, tugging fiercely at his fingers.

  “Come on,” I say. “You need rest. You need to be ready to try again in the morning. Eli’s waiting for you.”

  Alaska balks, this anger crossing his face in a sour flash that almost scares me.

  He’s a mountain of a man, and I’m not made for moving mountains, but I dig my heels in and try to tug him along anyway.

  ...and I get exactly nowhere.

  He’s not looking at me anymore, wearing this blank stare that’s just lost, aimed over my head, fixed on the wall like he’s projecting his own nightmares. Every worst case scenario possible.

  I frown, then let go of his hand and reach up to cup his cheek through his beard.

  “Paxton,” I whisper sharply. “Pax. Are you with me?”

  That gets him to blink, a startled shake of his head, before he looks down at me with a puzzled frown. “I...what?”

  “You remember what you told me?” I ask. “The bell. You’re not ready to ring that bell, not for Eli...are you?”

  Pure agony crosses his face before it hardens into determination so intense a chill dives down my back.

  “Fucking never,” he snarls.

  “Then come inside and rest. Let me get some food and water into you. If I know Eli, he’s probably Swiss Family Robinsoned the two of them a treehouse by now,” I say with a cautious smile.

  That’s not what I totally believe. Not when I can picture Eli tied up, struggling to be brave for Tara, Paisley’s contorted shadow falling over him.

  But I say it anyway, for Alaska’s sake.

  And I get back a pale half smile that means the whole universe tonight.

  “I bet the kids are sound asleep right now. You should be, too,” I venture.

  His smile fades, but thank God he lets me guide him, slowly and woodenly into the kitchen.

  I don’t think Alaska realized how dehydrated he was until I’ve poured him a huge glass of iced water. I watch him take one slow sip—then tilt his head back and down it like he’s pounding a beer, his strong throat working desperately.

  He does it again when I give him a second glass, and a third with a sandwich he devours in three bites.

  No question about it, he’s operating purely on self-preservation.

  Autopilot mode because he doesn’t even seem aware of much as I nudge him to his feet and into the bathroom, then gently undress him.

  I’m in no mood to appreciate that chiseled body as I push him under the steaming water.

  He may be the sexiest man alive, but my mind’s glued to other things.

  A certain grim resolve rises inside me, too.

  Whatever the outcome with the kids, I know what I have to do.

  But first, I need to get Alaska into bed.

  He looks a little more present when he finally emerges from the shower with a towel wrapped around his steel hips.

  He’s always seemed so strong, so patient. Almost like he was born that way, and the SEALs only honed a certain toughness into him when he already had the endurance of stone, the Alaskan wild sewn up in his sky-wide soul.

  But every man has his limits.

  Every man breaks.

  Every man falls apart, and if he’s lucky, he gets a chance to heal, call for help, and come back stronger.

  I learned that from him not long ago.

  It’s no surprise that it takes the fear of losing his son—the helplessness of being able to do nothing until morning—that comes close to shattering Alaska beyond repair.

  I’m breaking inside, too, and I’m not even Eli’s mother.

  But he promised me he won’t ring the bell, and neither will I.

  With caresses and murmurs, I guide him to bed. I’m almost expecting to have to talk him to sleep, but as he falls down on the mattress, it’s like his light goes out.

  He practically collapses, brute exhaustion cutting his legs out from under him.

  Before I know it, he’s gone, his huge chest rising and falling.

  I settle at the edge of the bed and gently brush his hair back, looking down at a face ravaged by fear and guilt even as he slumbers.

  Sweet Lord.

  This might be my last chance to ever touch him.

  Because if I’m not dead in forty-eight hours tops...then I’ll definitely be someone he never wants to see again.

  I wait just long enough to make sure he’s thoroughly asleep.

  Then I stand, pocket my phone, snag my keys, and slip out the front door into the dead of a late and troubled night.

  I can’t let this happen to Alaska.

  I can’t let this be Eli and Tara’s fate.

  I’m going to make sure they’re okay, no matter the cost.

  No matter what that bitch-brat from hell takes from me.

  Even if it’s my life.

  Plenty of guilt to go around, so why not pile it on thicker?

  I feel extra awful for dragging Ember away from home when she’s probably just as exhausted as everyone else after a night out beating the brush or being cooped up worried sick.

  It’s worse knowing she has a loving husband, a family, and a friendly black cat named Baxter waiting for her.

  But I can’t get into the safe without her.

  Moving like a sloth, she unlocks the door at The Menagerie, lit only by the headlights from my station wagon. The shadows underscore just how raw and worn down she looks, how worried.

  I can only imagine what’s been going through her head all night.

  She’s a mother, too.

  What if it was her kid?

  What if.

  The worst part is, it too easily could’ve been.

  All because she’s my cousin.

  All because she’s helping
me.

  There are so many people vulnerable to Paye’s sick vendetta. So many people I love who have everything to lose if I don’t end this, pronto.

  I’m the only one with nothing.

  The only one worth zilch.

  No one should suffer for my problems—for Dad’s—but me, myself, and I.

  As we step inside and head into the back, Ember pauses outside the foldaway wall that conceals the safe, the keycard folded into her palm. She gives me a fraught look.

  “Are you sure about this, Fel?” she asks softly in that searching way she has. She’s too perceptive for her own good—and mine. “Coming for this gold in the middle of the night like this...something’s up. Is it Eli?”

  “No.” I shake my head, hoping it’s not a total lie, hugging my arms tight against myself. “I’m just restless. That’s all. I think every time Heart’s Edge has another crisis, our minds go to the darkest places, and having this gold might make you a target.”

  “A target?” She stares at me. “For who? Felicity, who’s after you?”

  I can’t even answer.

  I’m so tired of having to lie, to downplay, to make excuses.

  But I also can’t tell her the truth.

  So I only shake my head, looking at her miserably.

  God, I love her so much. I love her even more for caring so much, for helping me, for not just marching me straight back to her place and assembling every brawler in Heart’s Edge to kick some butts for my sake.

  But I can’t drag anyone else under with me—especially not when they’re busy with Eli. I can’t be drowned and pulled ever deeper by more guilt, more trouble with no end.

  “Ember, please. I’ll be fine. I promise,” I whisper.

  She waits for a few more seconds, staring me down, then sighs and hits the plate that sends the false wall grinding open. The safe is a grooved metal plate embedded inside, nothing marking it except the keycard reader. Ember slides the card through the slot, and the red light in the upper right corner turns green.

  There’s a faint hissing and clicking rising as the lock releases. At the lightest touch, the door swings open.

  There it is.

  All that gold.

  Midas’ flipping curse.