Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  I laughed and stood, my thighs and ass sore from the bumpy ride. “Calm down, mountain man. Let’s eat lunch, and then do some digging. I’ll warm up fast from the manual labor.”

  He kissed my forehead. “I’ll do the digging.”

  “Yes, we will do the digging.” I rummaged in my pack and pulled out some sandwiches, chips, and water.

  He grumbled and accepted the food. We leaned against the oak and ate.

  “What do you think we’ll find?” He let his eyes rake the trees, rocks, and fertile earth.

  “I don’t know. That’s half the fun.” I took a drink of the cold water. “Could be nothing, could be arrowheads, pottery, bones—anything that gives us a clue.”

  “What about the shack? What do you expect to find there?”

  I finished my chicken salad sandwich and stowed the bag in my pocket. “Not sure. Maybe something that will help me find my father’s grave.”

  “And what will that do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if you do find him, what then?”

  I hadn’t thought of after. My life over the past few years had been centered on three things: school, my mother, and wondering if my dad was ever coming back. Eventually, the last thing morphed into trying to find out what happened to him. School was almost over, my mother was definitely over, and the truth about my dad was within my grasp.

  I walked past Garrett and pulled the long shovel free from the back of my ATV. “I guess then I’ll know.” I shrugged. “I’ll know, and I can move on and finish my degree and start a career somewhere. Finally start a life.”

  “Why can’t you do that now?”

  I whirled on him. “And just forget about him? Let whoever killed him walk free?”

  He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s been two years. Any evidence is bound to be gone. I’m only saying I don’t want you to get your hopes up for a resolution that might not happen.”

  “I’m going to find out. I always do. I dig.” I held up the shovel for emphasis. “I’ll dig as deep as I have to and for as long as I have to.”

  I turned and snagged my measuring tape. Nothing was going to stop me from figuring out what happened. He walked up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

  “I’m not trying to upset you, okay?” His scent surrounded me, comforted me. “I just don’t want you to end up like me with Lillian, always searching for an answer that won’t come.”

  I turned my head and stared up into his steely eyes. “You’re not so bad, you know?”

  He kissed my hair. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”

  “True.”

  He laughed and took the shovel from my hand. “Come on. Put me to work.”

  We tramped through the underbrush until we came to a spot dotted with younger trees.

  I pointed. “Something was here.”

  “What makes you say that?” He scanned the ground, which looked much the same as the earth in the rest of the woods.

  “Look.” I pointed to the nearest tree. “That’s a bur oak. A notoriously slow grower. It looks about”—I glanced up and did some quick math in my head—“ninety feet high. That means it’s probably a hundred years old, tops.”

  “So, that means what exactly?” He cocked his head to the side.

  “Nothing on its own, but look at all the shagbark hickories around here.” I pointed out the nearest five trees. “They’re native to these parts, but not in this concentration.”

  “So are you saying someone planted them? Because that’s not possible.” He leaned on the nearest oak.

  “No. Of course not.” I kept walking through the trees. “This many hickories in various states of growth—they all grew here on their own, but they didn’t start out that way. The Choctaw preferred hickory for all sorts of crafts and projects and also ate the trees’ nuts. So, what the trees are telling me is that, more likely than not, a Choctaw camp was located in this area within the past few hundred years. The hickory trees mature and die relatively quickly, so these weren’t standing back then.” I rubbed my hand down the gnarled bark of the nearest tree. “But their ancestors were.”

  Some brown stalks caught my eye. “And this.” I knelt. “Look at all this sassafras. Dormant now, but thick in the summertime. The Choctaw used sassafras in all sorts of medical applications.” My spider-sense tingled out of control. “Something is here. Has to be.”

  He walked over to me, his lips twitching. “Would it be weird for me to say that watching you work and figure shit out is a turn-on for me?”

  “Not at all.” I pointed to a spot amidst the sassafras. “Let’s dig.”

  He sank the shovel into the dirt. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I watched as he dug. After a few turns of dirt yielded nothing, I had him dig every few feet on a straight line toward the nearest stream. While he dug, I used a hard rake and scoured the ground in concentric circles around the grove of hickories. If anything lay close to the surface, the rake would disturb it and, hopefully, bring it to my attention.

  I checked my watch. We’d been digging and raking for an hour with no luck. Garrett was halfway hidden behind some tree trunks and only had a few more spots to dig before he got into the marshy area next to the stream.

  Leaning on my rake, I wiped the sweat off my forehead and stared at the scored ground. “Shit.” I’d really hoped we’d find something.

  “Hey!” Garrett’s deep voice cut through the cold.

  Adrenaline shot into my veins, and I hurried toward him. “Find something?”

  He sank onto his haunches and plucked something from the fresh dirt. “Arrowhead.”

  “Crap.” I took off my gloves and held out my hand.

  He dropped the arrowhead into my palm. “I thought finding something was good.”

  “It is.” I picked my way to the small stream and dunked the artifact into the clear, cold water. Swishing it around, I drew it out and stared at the rough divots along the shaft. “It’s just that I wanted more. But it’s a good start.”

  Garrett laughed. “So you found what you were looking for, but you won’t be satisfied until you have it all?”

  I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Look who’s finally on the same page.”

  His jaw tightened. “We need to get home.”

  “Why?” I stood up and stowed the arrowhead in my pocket.

  “Because it’s time you became acquainted with a few of my favorite toys.”

  I walked over to him and tugged on his beard. “I’m so very scared, Mr. Blackwood.”

  He gripped my ass and lifted me until I had to straddle him. “Taming your smart mouth is going to be a real pleasure.”

  I affected an innocent pout. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He walked until my back struck the nearest tree. “I think you do.” He licked across my lips, then forced his tongue into my mouth.

  I opened for him as he pressed me into the tree, his cock already rock-hard against me. He gripped my ponytail and yanked my head back. His teeth hit my throat, teased with a little pressure, then bit down.

  “Garrett!” I dug my nails into his side as he kissed back to my mouth, the force of his kiss creating a shockwave of need in me.

  He ground against me, my clit taking the full brunt of his cock as he trapped me against the trunk. I wanted him to fuck me right there, up against the tree like two wild animals. He must have had the same thought, because he groaned into my mouth and skated his fingers down to my jeans.

  Something popped, and the skin along the top of my shoulder burned. Garrett’s body shuddered and he broke our kiss. His brows drew together, confusion washing across his face.

  “What? What is it?” I stared at him.

  Another pop, and the bark next to my head burst into shards of wood.

  “Down!” He sank to his knees and dragged me around to the back of the tree, then covered me with his body.

  It was only then that I noticed the crimson stain s
preading along his chest and soaking through the sheepskin coat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  RAIN SOAKED THROUGH MY clothes until my skin crawled, my teeth chattering nonstop. Garrett sat behind me on the ATV, his head lolling forward onto my trembling shoulder every so often. He’d stopped shaking, which worried me more than anything else.

  We’d waited behind the tree while I did my best to stop Garrett’s bleeding. The bullet had gone straight through, but I couldn’t tell if it had hit any organs. The blood worried me, the crimson stain soaking his shirt despite my attempts to stanch the flow. And his breathing had taken on an ugly wheeze.

  He’d wanted to wait until dark before we moved, but I refused. He couldn’t stay out in the frigid woods for that long with major blood loss. So, despite his protests, I’d darted out to an ATV, started it up and driven it to where he was. He’d managed to climb on behind me, and then we took off through the woods.

  The rain had set in only an hour later, the smell of water mixing with the dirt. The forest floor became a sloppy mess, and I couldn’t fight the chill. Instead of trying to make it to the house, which was two more hours away, I headed for the shack. I prayed that it still had a roof. If I could get us somewhere dry, I could tend to Garrett and warm him up.

  I pushed ahead through a thicket, pinning the vines and scraping brush beneath the ATV. At least the shack was well hidden, though I had no reason to believe that whoever shot Garrett didn’t know about it. I stowed that thought and decided to worry about it later. I had enough on my plate.

  Once through the first wall of foliage, I saw the shack ahead. About ten feet by ten feet, the wooden structure had been constructed of roughly-hewn wood from nearby trees. The roof consisted of a pine thatch, one corner completely rotted through. Fuck.

  I motored up to it and peered through the darkened doorway. No windows greeted me, just a narrow entry. It would have to do. A burst of lightning shot across the sky, and the thunder chased it down, the rumble deep and loud.

  “Garrett.”

  “Mmph.” He squeezed around my waist.

  “Come on. We’re here. I have to get you inside.” I threw my leg over and slid off the ATV.

  He stared up at me with glassy eyes, his wet hair plastered to his head. “Here?” His breath wheezed in and out.

  “Yes.” I dug in my pack and grabbed my gun, then found my flashlight, which I clamped between my teeth.

  I slung his arm over my shoulders and pulled, keeping my gun in my free hand.

  He stumbled to his feet, and I struggled under his weight.

  He stopped, his breath a rattle. “This isn’t the house.”

  “Uh huh,” I mumbled around the flashlight and helped him walk forward as the rain intensified, the sheets broken up by the pine boughs overhead.

  Training the gun on the door, I followed the beam of light and checked the dank interior. The floor was made of packed dirt and strewn with pine needles. A pile of leaves in one corner appeared to be an abandoned critter nest of some sort. The back left side was wet, water pouring through the hole in the ceiling. Not good, but the ground sloped, so the water ran out between the rough planks. I could work with that. I dropped the flashlight and pulled Garrett along.

  “Let’s go.” I dragged him inside, turning sideways so we could navigate through the narrow door.

  My back ached, and I wondered if I’d pulled something as I lowered him to the ground in the dry corner.

  “Stay.” I retrieved the flashlight and did one more sweep just to make sure nothing was going to jump out.

  Dashing back to the ATV, I grabbed our bags and dumped them inside the door. My face and hands were so cold they hurt. Not a good sign. Garrett rested against the wall, his eyes closed.

  Even in the dim shack, I could tell his skin was ghostly pale. A frozen hand squeezed my heart, and I snapped. “Garrett!”

  His eyes fluttered open. “Yeah?”

  “Stay awake, okay?”

  “Bossy. I like it.”

  I tore through my pack and snagged my Superman lunch box.

  “We already ate.” His words slurred, and I forced myself to move faster.

  “I know.” I unclicked the latch and flipped open the lid. “I keep my kindling in here so it stays dry.” I pulled out a small pack of dried twigs and a lighter. Glancing to the break in the roof, I realized it was a good thing. I’d need the smoke to vent out that way.

  Setting the kindling aside, I flipped up my hoodie and headed back outside.

  “Don’t!” He gripped my ankle. “It’s not safe.”

  I leaned down and kissed him, his cold lips spurring me onward. “I’m going to find a few fallen limbs. They’ll be wet, but the rain only started within the last little while. I’ll cut down to dryer wood and we’ll be all set. Trust me.”

  “I’ll come too.” He tried to sit up from the wall, but only made it halfway before falling back. “Fuck.”

  “Stay here. I won’t go far. I promise. Two minutes, tops.”

  “I don’t like it.” He reached up and pulled me down, our foreheads touching. “Please be safe.”

  “I will. I swear.” I dropped another kiss on his lips and hurried out into the rain. I passed behind the shack and peeked out into the forest. The rain created a milky barrier. That meant I couldn’t see the shooter, but he couldn’t see me either. I hurried forward, my eyes trained on the ground. Up ahead, I saw a limb that would work. I snagged it and another and dragged both back to the shack.

  “Garrett, I need one more. I’m almost done. Stay awake.”

  He mumbled a response.

  I walked in the opposite direction and scanned the ground. An oak limb, the leaves long since rotted away, presented the perfect opportunity. I darted up to it and started dragging it along.

  Glancing back, I stopped dead. Beneath the limb, the ground was sunken in what appeared to be a six-foot by about three-foot rectangle. An unmarked grave.

  A warning sounded in my heart. I needed to dig. But I couldn’t, not until I was certain Garrett was safe and the shooter was gone. I forced myself to turn and keep going. Dropping the limb at the doorway, I walked in and pulled my hatchet from my pack.

  “I’ll have a roaring fire in under ten minutes. Want to time me?”

  “Merit badge if you make it?”

  I ran my hand along his forehead, hating the cold, clammy feel. “No. If I get it done, I get to use a flogger on you when we get home.”

  He grunted. “That’s a big reward.”

  “Hey, if you can’t handle it—”

  “Done.” He coughed. “What do I get if you don’t make it?”

  I kissed him again, then steadied myself so I could get to work. “Hypothermia.”

  I STARED at the narrow door. The night beyond consumed what little light the moon offered, the rays gobbled up by the thick clouds and endless rain. Garrett slept beside me. I’d dressed his wound, stripped him, and covered him in fresh clothes from my pack. I’d dried my clothes by the fire and put them back on. We were both warm, well fed with snacks and water, and as comfortable as possible in the shack. Once I was certain he wouldn’t die from the cold, I let him sleep off the injury.

  Still, I worried that the shooter lurked just beyond the door, waiting for his chance. I adjusted so I could rest my gun hand atop my knee. If anyone came through the door, I’d shoot first and ask questions later.

  The fire crackled, and I tossed another piece of damp wood on the top. It would keep us warm until morning, though I intended to rouse Garrett and head to the house about two hours before daybreak. We’d be soaked through again, but the dark would keep us safe from the shooter’s scope.

  Midnight came and went as I kept watch, my eyes drifting closed and my hand drooping until I forced myself awake. The grave just fifty yards away preyed on my mind. Was it him? Had I finally found my dad’s resting place?

  And who was the shooter? If it had been one shot, I could have believed in a stray bullet from a hunt
er’s gun. But the second shot dispelled that notion. Someone had tried to kill Garrett. Maybe even me. What the hell was going on? Fresh mysteries piled on top of old ones, and my questions kept circling the grave like a drain. I spent the rest of the night like that—in between waking and dreaming, one eye on the door and my thoughts buried along with whoever lay in the shallow grave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SHERIFF CROW AND RORY burst through the front door as I leaned Garrett against the wall of the foyer. I’d called them as soon as I got within range of the house’s WiFi.

  “How far out is the ambulance?” I started stripping Garrett’s wet coat from him.

  “Ten minutes or so.” Rory dropped to his knees and opened a duffel bag of medical supplies. Sheriff Crow knelt, and both men helped me pull his wet shirt down.

  “Just a scratch.” Garrett didn’t open his eyes.

  Rory pressed his fingers to Garrett’s neck and stilled. “Shit, pulse is slow. Too slow.”

  I pulled the gauze away from Garrett’s bullet hole beneath his clavicle. “There.”

  Sheriff Crow leaned Garrett forward and stared at the exit wound. “Came out clean, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “I had enough of a first aid kit to douse it with alcohol and pack the gauze, but I couldn’t stop the bleed. And the rattle in his lungs has gotten worse.” I tucked Garrett’s hair behind his ear.

  He leaned into my touch. “Red.”

  “Red?” Sheriff Crow asked.

  “That’s what he calls me.” I began pulling the damp shirt the rest of the way off, but lost my balance and hit the floor next to Garrett.

  Sheriff Crow grabbed my elbow and peered into my eyes. “Rory, get her upstairs and warmed up. She looks like she might fall over herself.”

  “No, I’m fine.” I shook my head and reached for Garrett’s hand.

  “No, you aren’t fine.” Worry creased around the sheriff’s eyes. “Rory, get on it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll wait for the ambulance. I expect it here soon.” Sheriff Crow rooted around in the duffel bag as Rory helped me to my feet. “Until then, I’ll check his wound. He’s going to be okay.”