Snowfall

by Suzanne Cass

  “Good idea.” Wyatt murmured, lowering his chin back onto the top of Stella’s head. Once Levi disappeared through the front door to make his call, he dipped his head to kiss Stella, not caring that Samuel was glaring at them from his chair.

  Her lips were soft and glorious. A balm to his wounded soul. He’d been so sure he was going to come into this room to find her dead. It was hard to believe she was here, in his arms. But she was real, the way her fingernails dug into the back of his neck, pulling him down so her lips could reach his, proved that. The little satisfied noise she made deep in her throat as he delved into her mouth with his tongue was also real. That small sound had him going all mushy inside, as if something was melting in his chest.

  He could hardly believe all they’d been through. And he could hardly believe the emotions ripping through his chest. Powerful emotions that threatened to swamp him. Were they borne from the hardship they’d endured? Their forced intimacy on the hike over the hills? He didn’t think so. Wyatt had recognized there was something special about Stella from the very first time he’d laid eyes on her. His attraction had intensified when they were caught together in that blizzard and spent the night in his truck. She was so different to anyone else he’d ever known. The chunk of his heart that’d been wounded by Zoe’s death and then his false incarceration became whole again when she was around. He no longer felt as if he was an outsider, doomed to live a lonely, tormented life.

  The word love hovered in his mind. Was this what it was like to be in love with a woman? He’d been expecting fireworks and shooting stars, but this was something much more tender, but also painfully exquisite. It’d crept up on him. She made him feel unbroken again.

  Her lips were melded to his, and he funneled all his yearning into her. It was enough right now to kiss her. Although his body wanted more, his erection throbbing against the zipper of his pants, his mind soaked up this familiarity of her kiss, taking it to his heart and locking it inside. He decided he was never letting her go. They could stay like this forever.

  It was an impossible task, however. There were so many things that needed to be done, so many things that needed to be said. The moment would have to be broken. Cat was still in danger. He needed to know she was safe before he fully relaxed. There was also Mike. He might yet be a threat to them all; they needed to be on the lookout. Most likely he was dead at the bottom of the ravine, or if he was still alive, he’d hightailed it out of there. Although, where he’d go in that wilderness was anyone’s guess.

  As if Stella could sense the change in him, she withdrew her lips and stepped out of his arms.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” she said with a beatific smile. “We can talk about the rest later.”

  He nodded in agreement, relieved she understood him so completely.

  “I’ll see if I can get all our stuff in our backpacks,” she suggested, and knelt down to retrieve the one Levi had been stuffing things into earlier.

  “Hey, Levi.” He started after his brother, wanting to ask about Cat, as well as warn him about Mike, make sure he reported him to the sheriff.

  A movement to his left caught his eye.

  He spun around, reaching for the gun nestled in his coat pocket, while stepping back toward Stella.

  Mike was there.

  He raised his weapon.

  And aimed.

  Not at him, but at Stella.

  “Stella,” he shouted. She looked up from where she knelt on the floor and smiled, not realizing the danger. He couldn’t let her die. He hadn’t been able to save Zoe, but he could save her.

  He got off a single shot as he dived in front of Stella. It all happened in the blink of an eye.

  Pain ripped through his chest as he crashed onto the wooden floorboards.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  STELLA SAT BY Wyatt’s bedside, one hand entwined with his on top of the covers. Her eyes were scratchy and raw from lack of sleep—it was nearly midnight—but she couldn’t close them. Wyatt was going to be okay; all the doctors had promised her that. So why wouldn’t he wake up? She needed him to wake up, hold her tight, and tell her he was fine.

  Cat and Levi had been there until recently. Stella couldn’t put into words how joyful she’d been when she saw Cat walk, unaided, into the hospital. She had yet to hear the story of her friend’s full encounter with Dmytro’s thugs, but that could wait until tomorrow. All that mattered was she was safe, and she had Levi by her side. Cat’s broken finger had been splinted to the one next to it, and she was acting as if nothing had happened. They’d gone home to get some rest, after the doctors assured them many, many times that Wyatt would be fine. It’d do them both the world of good to cocoon themselves in bed, perhaps make love and reconnect after their terrifying ordeal. Let all the poison of the recent few days drain away. If only she and Wyatt could do the same.

  Stella stared out the window, the lights of Missoula twinkling back at her. Her mind drifted back to this afternoon. But it shied away from all the violence and death. She knew she’d have to deal with it eventually, but not tonight, not while she was waiting for Wyatt to come back to her.

  He’d saved her life. Had dived in front of the bullet without a moment’s thought. She hadn’t known what was happening until it was too late. Until the sound of gunfire echoed in her ears and Wyatt lay on the floor bleeding.

  The man called Mike also lay on the floor. Wyatt had shot him, even as he was racing to save her. Then Levi appeared in the doorway, a gun in his hand. When Mike tried to get up, Levi had shouted at him, told him to stay where he was and then stood over him with the gun pointed in his face.

  Stella had crawled across the floor to Wyatt, and he’d actually smiled up at her. As if he’d done a great thing. She wanted to yell at him, tell him he was a fool. Instead, it was as if she been taken over by some survivalist instinct. Pulling his coat open, she’d rolled him over, ignoring his cries of pain, and surveyed the wound. It was high on the right-hand side of his back, beneath his armpit. There was a lot of blood. She grabbed one of the bits of clothing scattered on the floor, and used it to staunch the injury, pressing down hard.

  “Idiot,” she mumbled to herself. “Imbécile.” She kept repeating the phrase over and over. How could he have done something so stupid?

  “I love it when you speak French,” Wyatt had murmured, gaze fixed on her.

  She ignored him. Her only aim was to keep him alive. If he was fool enough to try to throw away his own life, then she would have to be the one to save it for him. Because she wanted him to live.

  She wanted to be part of his life, if he would have her. If these three days together had taught her one thing, it was that Wyatt Wilson was a worthy man. He’d stolen her heart.

  Later on, the doctors told her the bullet had ricocheted off a rib. He was lucky on two counts. The rib had deflected the slug, leaving a shallow wound beneath the fleshy part of his arm. And he was also lucky that when the rib cracked, none of the broken pieces had pierced his lung. They’d taken him into surgery to remove the bits of shattered bone, and stitch up the wound, but said he would be up and about in a few days’ time.

  She had known none of that at the time, however, all she’d seen was blood seeping everywhere, and when the ambulance had finally arrived, she begged to be allowed to ride with him, terrified he was going to die on the way to the hospital.

  A groan from the bed beside her brought her back to the room.

  “Wyatt? I’m here.”

  He groaned again, his eyelids fluttering. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

  “You’re in the hospital. But you’re going to be okay.”

  Wyatt struggled to open his eyes. He rolled his head on the pillow and licked his lips. Water, he must need some water. She turned to snag the plastic cup on the bedside table.

  When she turned back, his dark eyes were open and fixed on her. She never thought she would be so happy to stare into someone else’s eyes. So inky they were like an obsidian lake.
Definitely the windows to his soul. Because she could see his whole essence bared before her, now. She wanted to dive into the mysterious lake that was Wyatt.

  “I don’t care about me. What about you?” he croaked.

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “Zut. Why are you so worried about me, when you’re the one lying in the hospital bed? I’m great, can’t you see?” She let go of his hand and did a little twirl.

  “That’s good. Very good,” he mumbled. But he looked sad. What was going on in his head?

  Pushing the covers aside, she climbed carefully onto the bed, lying on the opposite side of his injured chest. Snuggling down into the cook of his arm, she reveled in the feel of his firm body against hers. At first, he tensed, then he gave a deep sigh—she hoped that was of contentment—and shifted his arm so it draped around her neck, tucking her in closer.

  “You feel nice. This feels good. But you shouldn’t be here. You need to go home.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Stella curled her leg over the top of his, snuggling even deeper, resting her hand lightly on his abdomen. She could feel his wonderfully chiseled abs beneath the thin, cotton blanket. She was happy he was awake, happy to lie next to him.

  “Well, you should. You should want to get as far away from me as possible.”

  What was he saying? She brought her head up so she could stare at his profile. But he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Why would you think that?” She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Because I’m not good for you. I’m a dangerous influence. Bad things happen when I’m around.”

  “Merde. Don’t be le idiot,” she said, slipping into French once more. “You are a good man. Full of spirit and life. You’re passionate about your land. I can see what you are, beneath that big, gruff exterior you put on. You are as soft as a teddy bear inside. Like one of my profiteroles. Hard and crusty on the outside, but creamy and sweet on the inside. Bad things have happened to you, but you are not a bad man. You don’t frighten me, Wyatt.” She could feel him considering her words, but he wouldn’t look at her.

  “You should be afraid,” he said so gently, she almost didn’t hear him. “I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  He hesitated, staring out the window. She gave him the time he needed to form his answer, because this was the crux of his problem.

  “Myself,” he finally answered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid I might hurt you inadvertently. I wouldn’t intend to do it, but I would anyway.”

  “You did the exact opposite this afternoon,” she said, half rising on her elbow, so she could make her point. “You saved me. You put yourself in danger so I wouldn’t get hurt. That’s how I know you’d never harm me. I trust you, Wyatt, even when you don’t trust yourself.”

  “That was… Well, it was different. I did that because…”

  She knew why he’d done it, but would he ever admit it to himself?

  “It was my fault you were in that situation in the first place. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d be safely tucked up in the Stargazer kitchen, cooking up one of your amazing dishes.”

  He was still harping on about this whole diamond thing. How could she make him see she didn’t blame him for any of this? He’d only ever been trying to protect her.

  “Would it make any difference if I said I’m falling in love with you?”

  This got his attention. His head snapped around and his dark eyes flashed.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? It’s true.” She took a perverse delight in watching him squirm. It was going to be hard for him to hear the truth. Hard for him to accept it. She might have to treat him like a skittish horse for a while, with care and patience. But she knew Wyatt would come around, eventually. Because he was in love with her, too, he just had to admit it.

  He stuttered, unable to form a coherent sentence as he stared at her.

  “Don’t worry,” she crooned. “Lay your head down here.” She patted the pillow, and he lay back against it, never taking his eyes from her face. “Let’s sleep now. I need to sleep. With you. Here.” She smothered a yawn.

  His black eyes were deep as night. He opened his mouth to say something more, and she put a finger against his lips.

  “Hush, Wyatt. It will all be okay, I promise.”

  His hand came up to cover hers as it lay on his chest, pressed it hard against his rib cage, right above his heart.

  “Maybe it will,” he agreed. “Maybe it will.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “STELLA, HURRY UP, or we’re going to start without you,” Emily called. Wyatt glanced over his shoulder to where Stella was still fussing around in the small kitchen, cleaning up, and then winced as the movement caused pain to shoot up his side.

  Tom and Emily had invited them all for a meal in their small cabin at Stargazer, to celebrate Wyatt getting out of the hospital, and the fact their ordeal had come to a—sort of—happy ending. But of course, Stella couldn’t help herself and had offered to cook. Cat and Levi, Penny and Dale were also there. They were all seated on the couch or perched on dining chairs, drawn up to form a circle, with plates of food balanced on their knees. Wyatt had been given the luxury of a spot on the couch, thanks to his injuries, his left arm in a sling for at least the next few weeks.

  “I’m coming,” Stella sang, and then she was there, settled next to him on the couch, her leg resting against his. He drew in her scent, and his heart lifted at her presence. “You can all eat now,” she said, using her fork to dig into the delicious-looking chicken dish. Before she put the food in her mouth, however, she cast him a concerned look. “Are you okay?” she whispered. She must’ve noticed him wince earlier.

  “Yes.” He nodded and then gave her a lopsided smile. Of course, he was okay, she was sitting beside him, he couldn’t be better.

  There were sounds of appreciation and murmurs of this is yummy, as people began to eat.

  “There are pignoli cookies for after,” Stella said.

  Wyatt chucked quietly to himself. She’d made his favorites. The cookies she knew his mother used to make him. A slight flash of sorrow flickered through him, as he wondered what his mother was up to, back in Italy. He wondered if she even knew he’d spent two years in jail. Or that he’d nearly died at the hands of a drug-smuggling group of thugs? He shrugged. Perhaps she didn’t care. Or perhaps she was dead, who knew.

  Wyatt took a mouthful, but he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “So, did you find them?” he blurted out, staring at Levi, who sat across from him in a single recliner. He hadn’t seen his brother all day, and the question had been burning a brand in his mind the whole time.

  “Of course, I did,” Levi snorted. Wyatt smiled. His brother was picking up Cat’s habit of snorting every time someone said something he didn’t like. “They were right were you said they were.”

  “What are they going to do with them?” Wyatt prompted.

  Levi took another bite before he answered. “They’ll go into evidence. Sheriff Buchanan is hoping it might be enough to set up a case against Dmytro.”

  Wyatt’s heart lurched against the inside of his rib cage. “Even though he’s in prison?” It was an outcome he’d been silently hoping for. But he knew better than most how slippery Dmytro could be.

  “Yep,” Levi said smugly. “This time they’re going to try to get him for Bryce’s murder, as well as Tony’s. If they can prove he ordered his men to kill them, then he’ll spend the rest of his life in jail.”

  Wyatt shrugged. It was a long shot. Samuel was in police custody, but he was refusing to talk, even after he was charged with aggravated kidnapping and torture. Mike was recovering in the hospital, under police guard. Wyatt doubted he’d be of much use to the police in building a case against Dmytro, either.

  Wyatt really hoped it’d be enough to keep Dmytro so busy that he didn’t have time to think about anything else; like retribution. Sheriff Buchanan had told him he
had nothing to worry about, that he’d make sure Dmytro wouldn’t cause him any problems. Bryce’s murder was still under investigation. Tony never did give Wyatt a good explanation for why Bryce had been murdered. The thugs had most likely shown up at CJ’s, hoping to find Wyatt. But it wasn’t likely to be a case of mistaken identity. With his long beard and many tattoos, Bryce could hardly have been confused for Wyatt. Deputy Jude Wilder thought it might’ve been as simple as Bryce standing up to the thugs. Perhaps he’d tried to drive the two men out of his café and things had gotten heated. Poor Bryce. Wyatt could hardly believe he was dead, even now. He hadn’t had time to grieve properly for his boss and mentor yet.

  “And Tony? Did you find his body?”

  “Yeah.” A look of distaste crossed Levi’s face. “Thankfully, that forecast snow held off. Another snowfall might’ve covered his body and we would’ve had to wait ’til spring to recover him.”

  Police had confirmed the photo being shown around by the two mysterious strangers—who’d later been identified as Fedire and Mike—was indeed of Tony. Which had obviously spooked Tony and was the reason for him being a no-show on the day he was supposed to collect his diamonds from Wyatt.

  “We found the other guy, Anton, as well,” Levi said. “Which is a good thing, as it corroborates your story. Not that I ever doubted you,” he added quickly. “But you know, the cops, always want to get their facts straight.”

  The police had taken his statement at a bedside interview, but they needed more information before they believed his sordid tale. So, Wyatt had spent most of yesterday, after they discharged him from the hospital, talking to the police and then two FBI agents. Because Dmytro was involved in all kinds of things, including drugs as well as diamond smuggling, the FBI had been called in, much to the sheriff’s displeasure. They’d grilled him all day, until Wyatt was left feeling drained and it’d sparked that old resentment about his lack of fair treatment at the hand of the authorities, as he was made to feel small and somehow at fault. But Wyatt had managed to hold his tongue. Just. They’d also grilled Stella for most of the day, in a separate room, which rankled Wyatt no end. She had nothing to do with any of it. But as Levi said, they needed her story to verify his. Along with Levi and Cat’s testimony, the sheriff was satisfied with Wyatt’s report, and no charges were to be laid against him.