by Snow, Nicole
Fuck. Focus.
The thing about being in a small Army unit is, it means you’re trained for every possible outcome. Including the medical events.
I keep my curse silent when I see the long slice above her knee.
She’d hit that line pretty damn hard.
I’d gone into crisis mode the instant I heard her shout my name. By the time I hit the porch, she was already halfway across the driveway.
Then I saw the line. I yelled out, but knew, like anyone with tunnel vision, she hadn’t heard me.
She crashed so hard, I’d felt it beneath my feet by the time I closed in. My hands were out, just inches from grabbing her, before she tripped.
“How bad is it?” she whispers.
Her head tilts back, worried eyes looking up at the ceiling.
I smile at that. At her. She’s part tabby cat and part lion, I think, just like Jonah described.
“You were right. It’s not as bad as I feared.” Fishing the cloth out of the water, I rinse it out, then wipe away the blood on her knee. “You won’t need stitches, but you do have a nasty cut and some gravel stuck in your knee.”
She nods, turning her head slowly. “I heard you on the phone. What cameras were you talking about with Shelia?”
Thankful for something to think about besides how my body reacts being this close to her, I say, “Game cameras. I put up several for Jonah a while back, mostly around the barn and corral. He wanted his privacy here at the house.”
“Why?”
Shit. So much for easy distractions.
“Critters,” I tell her. “Old man Ramsey up the road got a couple sheep mauled by a cougar back late last summer.”
That’s not completely true. The cougar attack happened, but Jonah was never spooked by wild animals. Sure, technically the cameras get pictures of the odd wild animal daring enough to come this close to the house, but the real purpose is for things like this.
Trespassers. Prowlers. Operatives.
Jonah swore they’d come. I wasn’t sure, but his instinct was always razor sharp.
Once again, it’s proven right.
Looking closer at the long slice that goes from one side of her leg to the other, I say, “Shelia told me to tell you hello.”
Finally, Bella smiles, giving me a stir of relief. “Of course she did. She’s only been Sheriff Wallace’s dispatcher since forever. Gramps and I used to stop by the station plenty while I was growing up. He loved when I baked, and there was always plenty to go around for the cops and firefighters.”
I nod, returning her thin smile.
The cut isn’t dangerously deep, but it’ll need some special attention because every time she bends her knee, the skin could pull apart. “Makes sense. Shelia knows where Wallace is twenty-four seven.”
“Well, yeah. But...why do you say it like that?”
I look up, switching my focus to the scrape on her other knee. “Like what? They’ve lived together for years.”
“Years? They have?”
“Yeah. Everyone in Dallas knows it.” I toss the cloth on the counter. “Guess they made it official a year or two back. Didn’t surprise anybody, but they went off and got hitched in Vegas or something.”
Something in her eyes makes me realize where I’d absently taken the conversation.
Living together. Proxy marriage.
Fuck. Me and my damn big mouth.
Yeah, it’s a conversation we’ll have to have, but other things need to be dealt with first.
“I’ll need to put some butterfly strips on your knee, which means you won’t be able to get it wet for a few days.” I stand. “You can still take a shower in the bathroom down here, get the rest of the gravel off you, then I’ll grab the strips and make sure it’s bandaged.”
“Here? Since when does this bathroom have a shower?”
I pick up the bowl of water and set it aside for cleanup later. “Since the remodel.”
She watches as I take the bottle of pain pills out of the cupboard and a water from the fridge, and set them on the table next to her. “I’ll go upstairs and get you some fresh clothes to put on. Need anything else?”
“No. Thanks.”
She’s gingerly pulling her feet out of the jeans piled around her ankles. I consider offering to help, but having been in close proximity to that damn-near naked perfection for too long already, I know my limit before bad shit happens.
I need willpower in charge now. Not more temptations.
I’ll need it again if she can’t get those bandages on right herself.
Feeding an honest, self-destructive hard-on for Annabelle Reed is the last damn thing we need right now.
“I’ll be right back, and then I’ll help you to the bathroom.” I leave the kitchen without waiting for her response, taking the stairs two at a time.
* * *
The shorts and t-shirt she’d been wearing this morning when she’d opened her bedroom door are lying on her bed. I snatch them, then flip open the top of her unzipped suitcase. The same flowery sweet scent that fills the air when she’s around pours out softly.
Fuck no. I refuse to let it affect me. Can’t let it.
This job is no different than other missions I’ve done in the past. During my military service. I just have to stay focused on the final outcome. An outcome I’ve been working at with Jonah for a long damn time.
This mission is as much for the girl I tell myself I won’t remember when I close my eyes.
Not today, dammit. But, of course, I can’t stop it.
Winnie. That’s why I’m doing this.
Winnie and Jonah and Dad and Bella. Plus that black fucking spot on my soul.
I grab a pair of underwear out of the suitcase, drop the cover in place, and leave the room. In the bathroom, I collect her shampoo and cream rinse from the shelf in the shower and grab the bag she left on the counter next to the sink.
She’s in the bathroom off the kitchen, leaning against the stacked washer and dryer I’d installed during the remodel. This laundry room doubled as another downstairs bathroom with just a toilet behind a short partition wall. Now it’s got a shower and sink as well as a new toilet and several storage cabinets.
“Wow. It’s bigger than before,” she says quietly, turning her eyes up and down, taking in my work.
I set the items I’d gathered on the counter. Then open a cabinet and lift out two towels and a washcloth.
“Took a little space from the old dining room and a brand new wall.”
She’s standing stiff, barely moving. Slowly, I take her arm. “Need some help?”
She shakes her head, looking past me. “No. I’m just...why is there a shower chair?”
I follow her gaze inside the shower.
“Well, the stairs got to be more than Jonah could handle sometimes.” Placing my other hand on her back, I add, “Come on. I’ll help you to it.”
She sighs. “I don’t need any help. I’ll be fine.”
Questioning leaving her, I ask, “You sure?”
Taking a step forward, she nods. “Thank you again. For, well, everything.”
“Okay. Before I get those enchiladas on, I’m going to see to Edison and—”
“Wait! There are some candy canes on the table beside my bed, would you take one out to him please? He loves them.”
She’d twisted around, looking at me, and the hollowness of her eyes tells me a lot about what she’s thinking.
Jonah’s failing health, and how he kept it from her, are hitting home.
“Sure.” I nod toward the shower. “Use that chair so you don’t slip. You’ll feel better after you’ve showered.”
She nods but doesn’t move. Whether she wants my help or not, she needs it.
I scoop her off the floor, careful of her injuries, and carry her across the room. I set her on the chair, and then pull the shower curtain halfway closed.
“I won’t be gone long.” I collect her items and the towels and set them on the small table
near the shower just like I had for Jonah. “Don’t try to get out by yourself. I’ll be back to help you.”
“Don’t forget the candy cane.”
That’s one mystery solved. I’d thought it was weird that Jonah asked me to buy several boxes of candy canes this winter and put one in her room because she liked them.
Now I know different. “He’ll get what he’s owed, no worries.”
There are five other boxes in the kitchen pantry, so I grab a cane from one of those boxes. After collecting a few SD cards to swap for the ones in the cameras, I head out the back door.
Edison is in the barn, snorting from his stall as I walk inside. When the lights don’t come on as I flip the switch, I let out a curse.
Whoever came in that pickup was here awhile. Long enough to find the breaker box.
I go into the tack room, and sure enough, the lever is down. I flip it up and make a mental note to make sure that can’t happen again as I move over to Edison.
He tosses his head restlessly a few times and nickers as I unwrap the candy.
“All right, all right, it’s coming. Hell. Had I known a stick of peppermint turns you into a well-trained Labrador, I’d have been buying these damn things by the case.” Pulling the last of the cellophane off it, I tuck the wrapper in my pocket and hold out the cane for his taking.
He sniffs it, but then lifts his head, ears twitching, and looks toward the door. A few seconds later, he starts turning his back.
“Aw, come on. Really?”
He keeps staring at the door, as if ignoring me.
On second thought, fuck 'as if.' Yep. He’s ignoring me.
“She can’t come out here tonight, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” I drop the candy in the trough near his feed bucket. “Just me. Sorry to disappoint, your majesty.”
Sighing, I give him some grain, then secure the barn doors and the corral gate, before collecting the SD cards from three cameras. I hope they caught something.
I survey as much as I can in the darkness. Everything looks secure.
Returning to the house, I pause in the kitchen and hear the shower still running. While I’ve got some privacy, I flip open my laptop on the far end of the counter.
There are a couple pictures of the Ford. It has a South Dakota plate.
The few shots of the men are blurrier, but if someone knows them, they might be recognizable. The cops have the software to enhance this stuff, too. I fire off an email to Shelia with everything attached.
The shower’s still running. Too long for my liking.
Slowly, I head over and tap on the door with one hand while grabbing the knob with the other. “Bella? You alive? I’m coming in.”
I figured she’d freak, but I don’t hear her. Fuck.
Tearing open the door, I stop at the entrance, find her standing at the sink, brushing her hair.
It’s darker and longer when it’s wet. Her shorts are short, and the t-shirt hangs loose, but form-fitting. I tighten every muscle in my body and enter the room.
“What the fuck? Why’s the shower still running?”
“So you’d think I was still in there and give me some peace and quiet. Apparently, that’s in short supply.” She sets down her brush and looks at me in the mirror. “I assumed you were listening for it to stop.”
I shut off the water, then meet her gaze in the reflection. “I was.”
Twisting about, she hobbles toward the open doorway, keeping the weight off her sore leg. “Did you give Edison his treat?”
I snort, quirking a brow. Even her hobble is almost graceful, putting a certain shake in her ass that borders on irresistible.
“Tried, darlin’. But he wouldn’t take it.”
Bella smiles and laughs. “Oh, I should’ve known. He wouldn’t take them from Gramps either.”
I fold my arms across my chest, just watching as she crosses the room.
Once she reaches the door, she turns. “Look...we need to talk.”
Famous last words.
“We will.” I walk as far as the cabinet and open another door, taking out the first aid kit. “But save it for after we patch up your leg.”
The scrapes on her face barely show, other than a bruise that’s starting to deepen under her left eye. My jaw tightens.
Her injuries could’ve been worse. That’s what really pisses me off.
If I’d been ten seconds faster, they wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
It happened because I’d let her out of sight. Something I can’t ever afford to do again.
Bella heads into the kitchen but stops where there used to be an archway off to the side. It’s a door now. She opens it and clicks on the light.
“Why’s there a bed in the dining room?”
“Because it’s only half a dining room now.” Sighing, I walk past her and set the first aid kit on the table.
“You mean...Gramps slept down here?”
I walk to the sink and wash my hands. My silence is her answer.
“Drake, why?”
I dry my hands and walk back to the table. This isn’t a conversation we should be having. Fuck, how much agony can you jam into a single day?
Even before his first heart attack, Jonah had slowed down considerably. Probably from the secret blockage in his heart.
I open the kit and offer her the best answer I can. “The bathroom was closer for him. Easier. No stairs to climb.”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “How long? How long was he sleeping down here? Living like this? Jesus, if I’d only known...”
“About a year. Maybe add a few more months.”
She turns off the light and shuts the door. Limping, gingerly keeping the weight off her leg, she walks to the table and sits down.
“So that’s the real reason why the kitchen and half the rooms in this house were remodeled.” She closes her eyes, shaking her head. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Kitchen was for you, Bella. You’re wrong about that one. He knew, if you decided to stay, you deserved better.” I sit down and pull my chair over so we’re facing each other, then reach down to lift her leg to my lap. “The rest, well, he didn’t want you to know. Simple as that.”
“That’s such...bullshit!” Anger flashes in her eyes, turning lively green to fierce and wild. “All of this. Just like that proxy marriage in the will you forced me to sign.”
I hoist her leg onto my lap. She tries to pull it away, kicking slightly. I only hold on tighter.
“Easy. Keep it straight so I can put on your strips.”
She glares pure daggers.
It’s a showdown between us. Like two gun-slingers in the Old West, waiting for their moment to draw. Only, I’m not sure any steely-eyed cowboy ever had everything riding on some chick’s leg.
Swallowing harshly, she glances away and lets her leg relax.
It’s not much of a win, but I’ll take it as one for me. “It’s not bullshit, Bella. Not all of it. Neither is the proxy marriage, your grandpa’s will, or the prenup that’s also in the file. It says I don’t get one red cent of anything I’m not already owed in Jonah’s will. I’m not a thief, and I didn’t force you to sign anything.” Tearing open an alcohol wipe, I warn her quickly, “Hang on. This might sting.”
“You tricked me, Drake. Prenup or not, we have a problem. And you’ve got some explaining to do.”
Not the fuck now.
Ignoring her, I clean the gash on her leg and the area around it with the alcohol wipe. It’s stopped bleeding.
As long as the butterfly bandage stays on, there shouldn’t be much of a scar. That shouldn’t be any of my concern. To know her flawless skin isn’t marred.
Just like it’s none of my concern how she smells, or looks, or feels, or – goddamn.
I’ve got to stop doing this. Forcing those thoughts aside, I open up the bandage strips. “Would you have signed if I’d asked you to?”
“No way.” She looks at me like I’m insane as she brushes stray
hair out of her eyes.
“Hold still.” Using the tweezers, I lift up one of the little strips and apply it. “That’s what Jonah predicted, you know. He said you were stubborn.”
“Stubborn? Ha, he was the stubborn one.”
“No arguing here – especially when it came to you.” I continue applying the strips, carefully spacing them, making sure they close the gap around the slash.
It’s just a damn injury, no different from any other I’ve mended in the past.
Her sun-kissed, silky skin is just like the skin of any man in my unit that I’d patched up.
The lies I keep telling myself just won’t ring true, no matter how many times I repeat them.
This is different from treating a fellow soldier. And that’s every last bit of the fucking problem.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” she says, thankfully changing the subject.
“I do. My unit was trained for every possible scenario.”
“What, your Army unit?”
“Yeah. Snipers get stranded in places where it’s hard to get out and there’s no opening for extraction.” I secure the last strip, set the tweezers on the table, and pick up the gauze pad and tape.
“Sniper? That’s what you were?”
“These strips have to stay dry for at least forty-eight hours,” I tell her, confirming nothing. “After that you can shower, but be careful. They’ll fall right off on their own within two weeks.”
“What did your unit do?” She glances at the strips and then lifts her leg off my lap, back to the floor. “Where’d you serve?”
“Did a lot of things. Iraq and Afghanistan. Syria. Everywhere they ever needed me.”
I really can’t tell her more. The missions we did were top secret. Few knew about them then, and no one needs to know about them now. “Need a bandage anywhere else before I put these away?”
“No. The rest are just scrapes.”
I put away the first aid kit, and returning to the kitchen, take the enchiladas I’d made earlier out of the fridge.
“Ready to bake?” she asks.
“Yep, I was just cleaning up earlier when I heard you holler.” I put the pan in the oven and walk over to clean off the counter.