by Amber Bardan
The gun lowers, revealing a face of molten fury. “What are you doing here?”
I swallow, gasping, “I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be here. This is private land.”
“I’m sorry.” I scramble backward across the ground on my palms. Blood roars in my ears.
“I thought you were a deer. I could’ve shot you.” His gun falls the rest of the way down, pointing to the ground, but he’s no less menacing as he approaches. No less a hunter.
Me no less a deer.
“I could’ve killed you.”
I struggle for words. “I was at the waterfall. My husband told me to come this way.”
“Your husband?” He steps closer again. His dirty blond hair is cut short but ungroomed. Sandy bristles cover his jaw and continue down his neck. He isn’t as huge as the other man, but he’s plenty big enough.
“You’re not wearing a ring.” He looks at my hands, pressed to the dirt, then to my chest—still damp and shirt clinging. My nipples still ridiculously hard. “You’re not wearing much.”
My pulse hammers in my ears.
He crouches, then reaches for me and takes my hand. My fingers shake. I tell myself only because I’m still shaken up over the gunshot. He’s done nothing wrong I’m the one who’s half-wet trespassing on private hunting ground. He helps me up, but doesn’t let my hand go. Intuition sweeps me into electrified sense of vulnerability. Not because of my state of dress, or rather undress, but because of the power of his hand around mine.
“Where would this husband of yours be?” The question could be innocent if his cool blue eyes didn’t narrow on me that way. If his voice wasn’t a silken lure, wrapping around me like an anaconda.
If his features didn’t pinch with the callous assessment of a hunter lining up a shot.
And maybe I could give my answer—nowhere that can help me now—if heat didn’t bubble in my blood.
“He’s waiting for me in our cabin. It’s just down the hill off the main road.” My tongue darts across my dry lips. “He’s expecting me back any minute.”
He’ll come looking. I let that statement, that outright lie, suggest.
His gaze flicks to my mouth. “We should let you go, then.”
We?
I feel, rather than hear, the movement behind me. I look back. The other man, the darker man, the one I’d let see me naked, emerges from the trees.
Oh, shit. My lungs freeze with foreboding, and blood rushes to my limbs, muscles twitching to flee.
“This time...” He keeps my hand held tight, belying his promise to let me go. “But know this, you’re on our land. Everything on this side of the mountain down to the canyon is ours.”
Steps approach, and for one heart-stopping moment I think they’ll catch me between them. Everything on this side of the mountain down to the canyon is theirs. There’s no doubt in my mind that, right now, that includes me.
“We hunt here.” He releases my hand. I don’t stumble back. The other man is too close. “Wander here again and who knows what will happen to you.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, and step sideways. “I won’t.”
He smiles so wolfishly. The silly fear I first had when I set out this morning, of what wild animals might lurk in the forest, vanishes.
It isn’t wild animals I have to fear.
It’s wild men.
“See that you don’t, Mrs....?”
I take three more steps. He wants my name? Really? I glance between them. The darker one remains as stony and silent as he’d been before. His gaze now less desperate but more intense.
“Gabby.” I’m not quite brave enough to refuse to identify myself, but there’s not much you can do with a first name, especially one that’s shortened.
“I’m Clarke,” the gunman says, then gestures to the other. “That’s my brother Luke.”
My mouth opens. What am I supposed to say, nice to meet you? They threatened me then told me their names. Why?
“Goodbye,” I say, then spin and run as though my motherfucking life depends on it.
Sure feels like it does.
I burst through the front door. A heavy body slams into me. I stumble sideways onto the floor.
A wet tongue crosses my eye. Dog breath smothers my face.
“Pippa, please.” I push at her head. She leans on me, her entire back half wagging. “Honestly, I was gone three hours.”
I stand. “You can’t be hungry.”
I leave the backpack by the door and move to the tiny kitchen area of the cabin, and refill her bowl with dry food.
Dry food scatters over the floor around the bowl. “Shit.”
I’m a trembling mess. The overgrown Rottweiler pup polishes off her early dinner and takes care of the spillage before the bag is even put away.
I pour myself a tall glass of orange juice and sink down onto a chair, then gulp the drink as though low blood sugar might be responsible for my shaking limbs.
I glance at the front door, and a lump forms in my throat. There’s no need to be afraid. I’m being silly. I was the one who went onto private property and startled guys out hunting.
It’s perfectly safe.
As long as I don’t go back...
Pippa returns to me, huge tail pounding at the table leg, body wiggling. She headbutts my lap until I rub her around her ears. “I’ve seen dogs who manage to wag just their tail and not their whole body, you know?”
Her chin rests heavy in my lap, but her eyes stare up at me. And people think this breed is scary? Ha. My biggest fear from Pippa is drool on my face. Or lap.
Or anything I might choose to wear.
I’m not even a dog person.
Her tail beats, thump, thump, thump on the floor. I rub around her ears until she huffs and sighs like a human.
Big, dumb, annoying, adorable dog.
He’d known that. When Dean presented me with the black-and-tan puppy on our first wedding anniversary a year ago, he’d fully expected the look of befuddlement I’d given him.
How was I expected to look after an actual living thing?
He hadn’t helped care for her, either, always reminding me that she was mine.
I run my knuckles over her head, then down her neck, and give her a hug.
“Happy?” I let her go. “I have to shower, I have dog drool on my face, and I’m filthy.”
My heart skips at the reminder of what had just happened. I take the extra step of fastening the security chain on the front door. Yet, here in the warmth of the cabin, it’s only my sore and filthy feet preventing the memory from fading like a strange dream.
I go to the bathroom, shower and scrub myself clean.
I emerge, tucking a towel around me and go to the fridge, and then eat yogurt directly from the family-sized tub while standing over the sink.
Pippa nudges my calf.
I glance down.
She holds her tug-toy in her jaws.
“No, Daddy’s not here.” My throat gets tight, and the sweetener in the yogurt suddenly tastes of chemicals. I drop the spoon. “He’s not here to play with us.”
I shove the lid back onto the container.
If not for the notes that keep coming, I’d be convinced he’s finally woken up and realized I’m not like one of his patients. I’m not someone he can fix.
But the notes and packages continue arriving even though he left me in anger—or was it disgust—a month ago.
What lesson is he trying to teach me?
He’s psychoanalyzed me from the beginning. How much had he known about me when we’d met? On that first day in my office, when I’d opened his new account, my pressed white blouse buttoned high, stationary sparse and ordered on top my desk, each one of his documents laid
out just so. Precise. Had he seen that order and known even then that those things were how I kept the gates to my chaos bolted and chained tight?
I blink. What had he seen in me that he’d wanted?
He withdraws a gleaming gold pen from his pocket. The point pops out with a click. The gathered little spot of midnight blue on the tip catches my eye.
“Oh no, you can’t.” My fingers fly out to hover above the contract. “It must be black pen.”
His gaze moves from the papers to me, like the tick of a clock, almost mechanical. “Really?”
“Yes.” I withdraw my fingers sharply, rocking back into my chair, into my space. “Sorry, I know some people who work here don’t realize that company policy specifies black ink be used on all contracts.”
“What happens if it’s signed in blue?” That gaze of his seems to tighten, crunching me in its cogs.
I blink, my usually sure words getting clunky. “Nothing happens, but it’s wrong.”
He watches me, his clear eyes flick to my cheeks where heat bursts.
Moisture breaks out above my lip, beading there and I itch to swipe it.
I don’t.
“Then Ms. Blaire...” He leans forward, voice lowering to a whispered secret just between us. “Would you consider breaking the rules, and use my lucky blue pen with me?”
Movement streaks across my vision, jerking me from memories. I stare out the window. The last of daylight has gone. Outside is now the same dark blue as Dean’s pen when I rebelled against every better instinct and used it. A shadow hovers in the trees.
A man-shaped shadow.
My pulse shudders. I blink and the shadow moves, slinking back until it’s gone.
I breathed deeply. Maybe it isn’t a man...
It could be a moose, a bear, it could be anything.
Anyone.
“Pippa, guard.”
She drops the toy and races to the door with a growling bark. One of the neat tricks Dean taught her. I’d taken charge of her day-to-day care, and he’d handled discipline and training.
I double check the locks, and windows, then sit in the chair by the fire, mind ticking far too fast to concentrate on the book I’d been instructed to read before the end of the week.
Chapter Three
Good morning, Baby.
You’ll take the bike from the shed and have breakfast in town. At the tea house, you’ll have a pot of Earl Grey, and an Apple Danish.
Just one, you greedy thing.
Take Pippa with you and sit outside. She needs the exercise.
My tummy gives a flutter as it always does when I open one of his notes. I stuff the paper back into the envelope.
His instruction, as expected, is a little nice and a little cruel. Eat my favorite Danish, but afterwards I’ll have to cycle back up the hill to return to the cabin.
“Come on, Pip.” I grab her lead from the table.
If I’m not allowed to drive to town, I’m definitely going to have two Danishes.
She pounces to the door at the sight of the leash.
I go to the woodshed and take out the bike. It’s old but perfectly kept. Too bad I haven’t ridden a bike in years.
I climb on top and buckle the helmet. Pippa knocks against my leg. I shuffle to stay upright. “Geez, how are we going to do this?” She’s going to drag or knock me off the bike until she’s settled down if I leave her on the lead. “Can I trust you to behave off leash until we get close to town?”
Pippa knocks against me again.
This time I hold my footing. “Let’s take that as a yes.”
I push off, speeding out the driveway and down the slope toward the town. Pippa sprints behind me, and I keep a brisk pace, letting her burn off her excess energy. We slow as we reach town and I refasten the lead on a spent and subdued version of Pippa.
We roll up to the tea house, taking an outside table by the pavement. I attach Pippa’s lead to the table and fill a container from my backpack with water for her, along with a chewy treat. Hopefully that will distract her from wanting my food.
Unlikely, but there’s always hope.
The waitress delivers my order, side-stepping Pippa sprawled by my feet.
I pick up the teapot. A rumble vibrates beside us. The teacup rattles on the saucer. A waft of exhausts hits me mid-inhalation. I choke, setting down the teapot to straighten the cup.
A giant blue pickup pulls in front of the tea house, blocking the quaint town view. Excellent. I wave in front of my face, clearing the last of the fumes, then fill the teacup.
What kind of asshole parks—
The door opens. I set the teapot down with a clunk. That kind. My pulse skips. Clarke emerges from the pickup.
Then the other one, Luke, climbs from the passenger side.
Luke, who saw me naked in the fucking forest.
My breath catches, this time nothing to do with fumes and everything to do with them.
Two hunters here among pastries and teacups and I’m still not sure, yet, if civilization takes me off the menu.
Clarke turns, his attention coming to land on me. He smiles, tight-lipped, and one-sided, and completely of the devil. My chest somersaults. Luke looks at me. He brushes his thumb under his bottom lip like he’s just eaten—or is about to.
A rumble fills my belly, making my hand fly to my stomach.
The table jerks to the side as Pippa lunges toward the men. Her bark snaps.
I grab on to the table top, holding it down. “Settle, Pippa.”
She strains her leash, her bark a series of high sharp shouts. The table slides another two inches. I hold on as best I can, given Pippa weighs not much less than me.
“Sit, Pip.”
The table tips.
“Sit.” The deep command rings out.
The table falls back into place with a rattle. Pippa drops, lying flat to the ground, face right between her paws, as low as she can get.
I pant, then look up at Clarke standing beside my table. His devilish expression spreads to his eyes. Why? I grip the edge of my seat, then look down in horror. I dropped down to sit just like Pip. Yes, I did. He could’ve just as well have barked the command at me, given how well I obeyed him.
“That’s a good girl,” he says, and bends.
Wait, what me? Nope, not hardly, but right now I almost want to be.
He reaches toward Pippa.
Alarm blasts through me. She’s my dog and I don’t want her confused as to what side she’s supposed to be on. “Wait—”
He scratches the top of her head, ignoring my protest.
She accepts his touch as though she’s been drugged into submission. Luke comes to crouch beside Clarke, and pats Pippa’s back. Great. Now they’re all best freaking buddies. She’ll probably follow them home and forget I exist. I glance between them. Luke whispers something to her under his breath. Hell, maybe I’m wrong about them.
I’ve found people who are nice to animals are generally nice to people, as well.
Pippa rolls over, wrapping herself in her lead. Little whore. Not that I blame her, with all that attention and their big hands all over her. I’m suddenly a little jealous of my dog.
Maybe they’re not that bad. Maybe they just take trespassing really seriously.
“Husband joining you?”
My mouth opens. That’s right, my husband. My tongue flicks out. He stares at me, and that look he has on him...he’s one-hundred percent evil, and oh so smug. Like he knows there’s no man here with me, coming for me, or joining me.
Attraction pulses thick, making my mouth water. Now who’s a whore? I want to feel guiltier than this, but I can’t.
“Why do you think that?” The question is better than the possible responses, s
uch as, “Actually I’m all alone and you’ve seduced my only companion.”
“You have two pastries on your table.”
I glance at the scattered food. One of the pastries has departed the plate. Yes, there are. I ordered two Danishes right off the bat without even seeing if one would do. Disobeyed instructions. Was greedy.
I clear my throat. “I like having two of a good thing.”
Luke straightens to standing. There’s something too intense about him. He still hasn’t said a word, but the way his attention hones in so sharply on me now, is bolder than anything I’ve ever been told. It’s a knife through butter.
“Do you?” Clarke’s voice is huskier than before. I look back at him and reexamine what I just said.
I like having two of a good thing.
My blood goes combustible because now I’m picturing two of a good thing. I’m picturing being the soft apple center in their man-pastry.
I’m picturing things a decent woman would never dream of.
I clear my throat, and reach for the tea.
Clarke stands, and the two of them take a nearby table, taunting me with an image I can’t forget.
Two of a bad, bad thing.
Chapter Four
I let Pippa out to do her business and make my way to the shed for more wood. Pippa sniffs along the grass.
I point to the trees away from the lawn where I’m likely to step. “Go potty over there.”
Her head rises from the grass, and she stares at me, tail beating behind her. I swear, if I’d said there was chicken over there she’d have understood. I’d have whiplash from her dashing.
“Potty in the trees, Pippa.” I point again. “Go, now.”
She trots to the trees.
I collect an armful of wood. “Finished, Pip?”
When I glance over, she isn’t there. I walk toward the woods. There’s just too many juicy smells for a city dog to sniff here.
“Come on, Pippa.”
A woof rings out, distantly.
My spine stiffens.
I drop the wood and run into the trees.
“Pippa, come here.” I glanced around, trees and bushes forming a maze of green. “Pippa?”