Chapter Twelve
Nick made repeated attempts at conversation on the way back to Ernie’s cabin, but Delaney was having none of it. There was no way she was going to reveal her discovery to him. She would handle those men through Clem—once she decided on a strategy for attack. Having Nick Harris poke around her business would be nothing but a nuisance.
“Okay, so thanks again,” Delaney said, walking backwards away from him. She offered a meager wave. “Appreciate everything you did, but I’ve got to get home.”
“Your place up there?” he asked, gesturing toward her cabin on the ridge above.
Startled, Delaney almost didn’t reply. “Uh, yes. It is.”
“Good to know.” His posture relaxed as he tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, shirttails still hanging loose around his waist. “I’m going to hang out tonight, keep an eye on things.”
She nearly stumbled and stopped suddenly. “What?”
Nick casually perused their surroundings and nodded. “I don’t want him coming back and finishing what he started.”
Urgency kicked at her. “That won’t be necessary, I assure you—”
He silenced her protest with a hand. “I believe it is.”
“Mr. Harris, really, there’s no need.”
His expression sobered. All trace of humor vanished. “You had a run in with some pretty unsavory characters, Ms. Wilkins. When a man points a gun at me, I believe he means business. I’m willing to bet that man won’t stop until you give him whatever it is he wants.”
Delaney’s temper re-ignited. He won’t get a thing from me. “I appreciate your offer, but like I said, it won’t be necessary.”
Nick crossed arms over his chest and asked, “Do you know what he’s after?”
“No,” she answered, a tad too quickly. Delaney ran a hand over her head, around the cotton hairband of her ponytail, then dropped it to the strap of her backpack. Catching movement from the corner of her eye, she flashed to Ernie’s cabin to see Albert ambling out onto the porch.
Her grip on the flat strap tightened. Great. Delaney took a step toward her cabin, but then turned back to Nick. With a tip of her head toward the main house, she said, “I think there are enough people around, the man won’t attempt anything here.” It was one thing to fire at her in the woods where there wasn’t a soul around. It was quite another to do so within range of potential witnesses.
“I think you’re underestimating him.” Nick’s gaze tightened on her. “Why?”
“Why?” She dropped her gaze to the ground beneath him, sidestepping his penetrating glare. “Just a hunch.” Besides, she couldn’t imagine the man would have the audacity to seek her out at home.
“Women’s intuition, huh?”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Yeah, something like that.”
Nick smiled. “Just the same, I think I’ll stay.”
“But you have no right!”
“You can always call the police.”
The man knew darn well she didn’t want the police involved.
When she didn’t reply, Nick said, “So it’s settled.”
“No, it’s not settled,” she snapped. But did she have a choice? Delaney checked the sports watch on her wrist. Four o’clock. Clearly, the events of the day had taken their toll. She was hot, tired. It was getting late. She rolled her eyes toward the open section of sky, the late afternoon sun casting a veneer of yellow-gold over blue. Gold.
Delaney heaved a sigh. The prospect was thrilling and complicating at the same time and she needed time to think. She dropped her head back to face Nick, hauled the backpack further up her shoulder and said, “Fine. But will you do me a favor and stay out of sight of my daughter? I don’t want her to get the wrong idea, or anything...” The quick warmth to her cheeks bothered her, as did the smile forming on his lips.
He chuckled. “Wouldn’t think of it.”
Delaney grunted. Trudging off in the direction of her cabin, she focused on the night ahead. The men from the woods didn’t know where she lived. They only knew where her horse had been. Would they contact Clem? A sliver of doubt scampered through her. Would he tell them where to find her? Delaney slowly turned her head for a second look at Nick.
Nick acknowledged her with a slight nod of his head, and Delaney turned away. Maybe having him close by wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Climbing up the hill, Delaney plodded in the front door of her cabin. She flicked the lights on and deposited the backpack onto the kitchen counter. Mentally hitting the rewind button on the day, she recalled how close she came to getting shot. A mild shudder raced up her back. The man had shot at her and his bullet had been close. Too close.
But she hadn’t been hit. She was okay. Retrieving the camera from her pack, Delaney leaned her hip against the counter and scrolled through the photos. As she zoomed in on several, the first release from the trauma began to take hold. She could breathe easy. She could relax. She pressed a button and scrutinized an image. She could decipher the man, his build. She could pick him out of a line up, if she had to. The pictures weren’t great, but they were good enough for visual ID.
Relief streamed through her. The risk had been worth it.
Delaney laid the camera on to the counter. Looking back, she’d known there was an element of danger involved. But peering down at the tiny screen of her camera, she had also known she would get nowhere without photographic evidence. It was her only chance at stopping them, dead in their tracks. Dead in their tracks. The thought hit close to home. Too close.
Suddenly, she remembered the phone call that had sent everything spiraling out of control. She’d never checked her messages. Delaney yanked open the backpack and grabbed the cell phone. A voicemail from Felicity. Her heart leaped. Quickly, she jabbed at images on the screen until she was listening to the message. Delaney closed her eyes. Thank God, it hadn’t been an emergency. Felicity wanted to stay the night at her friend’s house. Under the circumstances, it was perfect timing. Now there would be no need to explain Nick’s presence on the property after dark.
Delaney called her daughter, and after a brief chat, felt almost normal. Only her sweat-stained shirt and filthy jeans remained grim reminders that she needed a hot shower and she needed it now. With only a passing thought to Nick, she strolled into her bedroom, disrobed and stepped into her shower. With warm water streaming over her body, she closed her eyes and breathed in deep and full. Actually, it was kinda nice knowing that Prince Harris was standing guard tonight. Inundated with a spattering of nerves, she grinned. Even if it was a silly, outdated notion, it was nice to know a big strong man was watching out for her.
An hour later, Delaney poured herself a glass of red wine, then walked to the sofa. It was the rare treat she allowed herself when Felicity wasn’t home. She drank in private, not because she was ashamed, but because she wanted to set a good example for her daughter. Jack Foster had been a drinker. He’d been a hard drinker, and it had affected his behavior in undesirable ways. Delaney wasn’t sure if Felicity remembered those days—those awful, violent days—but she wasn’t about to take the chance. There would be no association between her loving mother and her alcoholic father. None.
No sooner had Delaney sat than she abandoned the sofa for the window. She nudged the curtain aside and peered outside. It was dark, a near moonless night. Her porch light was on, cutting her ability to see down the trail to any extent, making for an obscured approach, if one was so inclined. Was Nick there? Did he mean what he said about not leaving her alone?
She closed the curtain. If Clem did have a notion to come after her, she would be ready. Delaney spied the dishcloth, her fully-loaded pistol partially hidden beneath. Inhaling against the sudden fluttering of her heart, she understood that self-preservation came first.
As she idled in the center of the living room, her stomach growled, sharp and lingering. She realized she was famished. When was the last time she ate? Startled by the realization it had been
a single granola bar for breakfast, she went straight to the refrigerator.
Outside, Nick Harris walked the perimeter of Ernie’s cabin before heading up to Delaney’s cabin. A light was on inside, but there was no sound. Was the old man asleep? At nine o’clock, he might be. Didn’t appear he had anything else to do. There was no television antennae attached to his roof and he didn’t strike Nick as a reader. Ernie Ladd was a smoker and a hothead, with little else going for him. Other than this beautiful property. Nick glanced up at Delaney’s cabin. Speaking of beautiful...
Desire stirred in his loins. A beautiful woman was up there alone. Felicity’s car wasn’t parked out front, which meant she wasn’t home. Through the dense cover of trees, Nick could see dots of lights emanating from her cabin. What was she doing? Nick lit the ground with a flashlight he picked up at a hardware store in town and made his way closer. He could hear the creek before he saw it, lifting his light to illuminate the rickety wooden bridge. Wandering over it, fast moving water caught the white beams from his light.
Swiping a quick flash of light around him, he extinguished it. Committing the layout of the terrain to memory, he headed to a large tree—one that marked the way straight up to Delaney’s cabin. Leaning into the rough bark, he settled into the night. The rhythmic vibration of katydids pulsated loudly against a steady stream of higher-pitched crickets, with the occasional frog piping in. Other than nature at work, he detected no sounds, no movement. Nothing. It was a lonesome sound, but it was a sound that called to him. No stranger to the night forest, he used to camp for days at a time in the rugged landscape of the Rocky Mountains with his father and knew the sounds of serenity well. He and his dad would hunt by day, drink whiskey by night, share stories around the flames of a campfire.
His father’s stories usually centered on his own youth, a litany of his adventures and without fail he wound a history lesson into the mix. Indians, pioneers, trains, industry titans... Pleasure rolled through Nick. Those were good days. Simple joys for a simple time in his life. His horizons didn’t expand until after he built his first hotel, one he built outside his hometown.
Nick recalled the days and nights spent designing, building, dreaming up new ways to work his masterpiece into the mountainous land that was a part of him. Living at one with nature had been ingrained in his mindset from the beginning. His mother worked a summer garden every year, and he worked right alongside her. From seed to harvest, he learned every step of the process, could identify plants based on their leaf shape, their smell—even count the days to corn harvest from the first sign of yellow-green silk. His mom used to laugh at him, calling him a perfectionist in the making.
Fond feelings washed through him. She was right. He was a perfectionist. His father taught him a different side of the land. With the right tools and a tree, Nick could craft the finest piece of furniture, throw up a structure from floor to roof, with enough wood left over to make a fire in the hearth. The backyard shed had been his first solo project and the thing stood to this day. Quality came from basic materials and sturdy construction. It was a lesson that stuck with him. Build it right the first time and you won’t have to mess with it again. From day one, Nick demanded the finest in materials be used to construct his properties. He expected his staff to deliver top-notch service to his guests. And his women...
He rolled an eye upward through the black of night. He only spent time with the most beautiful, intelligent creatures on the Planet Earth. Made no sense to waste time with anything less. Though “obstinate” was a new trait for his roster. He’d dated headstrong women before, independent thinkers with a definite mind of their own, and he enjoyed them, enjoyed the challenge they presented. But obstinate?
Nick laughed softly. Delaney Wilkins was obstinate to a damn near fault! She was almost foolhardy, the way she dismissed his protection. His senses sharpened. The woman was in danger, there was no mistaking it. Convincing her of the same was proving to be the challenge.
Making his way up the trail toward her cabin, Nick kept his footsteps light. If trouble showed up tonight, he wanted no distance between himself and Delaney. The man on the trail this afternoon had a decidedly determined look in his eye. He wanted something and Nick would bet his life Delaney knew what that something was. She was no innocent in the matter, he was sure of it. And where she seemed to have recovered from her harrowing experience—whatever it might be—she refused to share the cause with him.
But it was exactly that cause which put her life in danger.
Nick hiked the steep path. Emerging from the forest at the top, he paused to catch his breath. One thing about city life, it robbed the body of physical fitness. Venturing out onto the open trail, he assessed Delaney’s cabin to be a one-room floor plan, perhaps with the addition of a loft—certainly no bigger than a two-car garage. He marveled at the diminutive size. The two of them lived there?
The scent of cornbread tickled his nose. Pleasure coursed through him. She cooks. Add another plus for the lady in the knockout jeans. A quick vision of her jean-clad rear end rose sharp in his mind’s eye. Low, hip-hugging jeans that hugged her curves, caressed her every movement took center stage in his brain. From what he’d seen, it’s all she seemed to wear. But Delaney would receive no complaints from him. He liked her in jeans. He’d like her out of them, too.
A ripple moved through his groin and he chastised himself. This would not do. Lusting after her while on guard would only distract him. His intention was to protect her tonight, not seduce her. Desire coiled around his thoughts. Hopefully there would be a time for that little feat later.
Pleasantly full, Delaney rinsed the last dish and poured herself a half glass of wine. The cornbread and leftover fried chicken had definitely hit the spot. Tilting the bottle away from her, she read the label. She had no idea if it was a good year or not, no idea if it was from a good vintage. She relied on Ashley for that. That woman was the closest thing to a connoisseur Delaney had when it came to wine selection, claiming she drank for her heart, to keep the “pipes” clean. Delaney suspected Ashley enjoyed her wine more than for health reasons, but it wasn’t her place to judge.
A loud rap sounded at her door. Panic ripped through her heart. Jerking the wine bottle upright, Delaney snatched her gun. But sizing up the figure through the door glass, she blew out her breath. Large man was fat. Clem and second guy were scrawny. The white shirt cinched it. Pulse pounding, she slid the gun beneath the towel, calming her breath. It was only Nick.
Briefly checking her attire for appropriateness, she decided the loose, heavy weave T-shirt and long cotton pants weren’t overly revealing. She was presentable. Her pulse scattered through her veins, as she wondered what he wanted. Had he seen something? She opened the door quickly. “What’s up?” She looked past him, but it was pitch black. She wouldn’t be able to see a man if was standing ten feet off the porch. She gazed up at him. “Is someone here?”
Nick smiled, openly giving her the once over. “No.” He peered over her head and said, “I smelled cornbread.”
Delaney pulled back, her surprise complete. “Cornbread?”
He gave a sheepish nod. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was until the air filled with the sweet scent of home cooking. My nose doesn’t deceive me, does it? You are baking cornbread, right?”
Cornbread? The man had scared the be-jeepers out of her for cornbread?
“Well, yeah...” she said. “About an hour ago.”
He waggled his thick brow. “Any left?”
Delaney laughed at the easy sparkle dancing in his black eyes.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, feigning offense.
Allowing the humor to loosen the knot in her chest, she shook her head. “My bodyguard is hungry.” She looked up at him and saw that he, too, thought it a bit silly. Sharing the absurdity of the moment, she added, “My first Sir Galahad and what do I get?” She rolled her eyes. “I have to feed him.”
“If you recall”—he cocked his head toward her, with
a slight lift to his brow—“this wasn’t a planned assignment.”
“And then he blames me for his penchant for damsels in distress. Go figure!”
Amused by her remark, Nick flashed a dimpled smile. Still dressed as she had left him, it appeared he hadn’t left since their escapade, and deciding there was no harm, she allowed him in. Felicity wasn’t home, and besides, she owed him one. The man with the gun could be outside. Delaney stepped aside and swept a hand for him to enter. “Might as well come in.”
Nick strolled in, arced a glance around the interior, and she wondered what he thought of the humble abode she called home. Exposed beams, rough-hewn log siding, wide plank floors and only the barest of necessities in furniture, it was all she and Felicity needed. The only thing she had updated since moving in was the floor. Unable to tolerate the natural surface of the wood beneath her feet, Delaney had sanded and refinished them herself. Barefoot living was a must in her world.
“Nice little place you have here.” He nodded in approval. “It’s rustic.”
Delaney closed and locked the door behind him. “Rustic is a kind word, wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s nice, really.”
“Thanks.” Delaney walked around him and into the kitchen where she adjusted the dishtowel so it fully concealed her pistol. She didn’t need Nick all worked up over the fact she intended to take care of things herself tonight. He’d probably dole out some sort of lecture about how it wasn’t safe for a woman to handle a weapon.
As if on cue, he asked, “Are you scared?”
Delaney peeled back the foil and plucked one of the mini loaves from the white plate. Conscious of his gaze on her, she set the bread on a napkin. She certainly didn’t want to feel scared. “Not really,” she replied, and reached for the butter knife.
Storm clouds gathered in his eyes, making them appear both dark and menacing, sending a shiver up her spine. “You need to take that man seriously, you know.”
The bread and paper grew moist within her palm. She swiped a hunk of butter from the dish, slathered it over the top of the loaf and handed it over to him. “I get it. A lot of whackos running around...”
“Dangerous whackos,” he said, and took the bread from her. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That’s quite a bit of butter you serve up.”
“Can’t eat cornbread without butter,” she informed him. “Not in these parts, anyway.”
He smiled. “Fine with me. I’m only surprised someone in your fine shape can eat the stuff.”
“Hiking.”
“Works well,” he said, a brazen glance to her lower body. “Where’s Felicity?”
“She’s staying at a friend’s house tonight.”
“Good. She doesn’t need to be exposed to this.”
Her sentiments exactly.
Nick inhaled half the loaf and groaned aloud.
Satisfaction swelled in her breast. It was her own recipe. Using the cornmeal Ashley ground for her from her garden corn, she made the bread once or twice a week.
“This is really good,” he said and plopped the remainder into his mouth.
As he chewed, Delaney took pride in watching him enjoy her food. It gave her a sense of purpose, reward. Felicity raved about her cooking, but it was nice to hear it from a stranger. Her heart skipped a beat. And Nick Harris was a stranger—in her house—eating her food.
“It’s incredibly moist. Sweet, too.”
“It’s my secret. I add pudding to the mix.”
“Pudding?”
She nodded, though if her mother ever saw her put pudding into the cornbread mix, she would not have approved. Susannah Ladd Wilkins did not believe in tinkering with tradition.
“Can I have another?” he asked.
“Sure.” Delaney reached for a separate napkin and fumbled a bit as she placed the golden loaf in the center. “They’re better fresh from the oven,” she said. Smearing another heap of butter over top, she thrust it toward him.
Accepting it, he winked. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day.”
Was he flirting with her? Delaney felt a warm flush, probably from the wine in her system. She glanced over the counter. Where was her glass?
“That wine looks good, too.” He hitched his chin toward the counter behind her. “But that will have to wait for another day. No drinking on duty.”
Delaney swallowed back her embarrassment. What did he think of her drinking alone? She collected her glass from the counter, a slight tremble to her grip. “I’m not a drinker.”
“No?”
The could-have-fooled-me look rubbed her the wrong way. “I mean, I rarely drink. Only when Felicity’s not home.”
Nick raised a brow in question.
“Her father was an alcoholic,” Delaney stated bluntly.
The revelation knocked the humor from his face. “Was?”
“Is,” she corrected, growing flustered with the personal nature of the conversation. “I like to keep it away from her. The alcohol.”
Nick nodded that he understood, but Delaney wondered if he could. Did he have experience with an alcoholic? Did he know what it was like to suffer the alcohol-induced outbursts? The scathing tongue? She shoved the memories from her mind and took a swallow of wine. Jack was a thing of the past and Delaney would allow him no power in her life.
When Nick finished the second loaf, awkwardness settled between them. She could feel him looking at her, curiosity swimming in the depths of his dark eyes. Was he thinking about the men, or was his mind delving into a more intimate realm? The realm of man and woman, attraction, desire...
Delaney hadn’t played that game in a very long time, but she could recognize the signs. Men around town made advances, sniffed around like hound dogs for cues she was willing to engage with them. A few had been interesting, but none memorable, none worthy of her time. She was committed to Felicity. Whatever her daughter needed, she would have. They were a team, a unit. They were a family. Delaney regretted that her marriage hadn’t work out, because it meant Felicity had to grow up without a father, without a man in the house to demonstrate what real male love looked like, how it treated a woman. How it respected a woman.
Morton Parker had filled in like the ace father he was, his boys stellar examples of how young men should behave. In fact, Delaney trusted Felicity with Travis and Troy without question. She only wished Felicity had her own father, all to herself. A man to guide her, to love her. But Jack wasn’t that man.
Nick crumpled the napkin in hand. “Guess I’d better be heading out.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, and blushed at the self-assured pleasure moving into his expression. She plunked the wine down. “I mean, it’s okay if you want to, I’m fine on my own.” Delaney fortified her diaphragm and added solidly, “I can handle things on my own, is what I meant to say.”
“I’m sure you can,” he replied, the sardonic gleam returning to his eyes. He scratched the back of his head and made a half-grimace. “But how about I hang around as backup?”
“Whatever,” she replied casually, replacing the foil over the bread plate. She didn’t’ want him to think she wanted him here. On second thought, she paused. “Would you like the last piece to go?”
A sweeping smile overtook his features, landing square in his dimples. “I’d rather come back for it later.”
Delaney hastily sealed the foil back in place, tamping back a quick flight of nerves. A quiet noise hit the rear of her cabin. Her heart stopped. Nick whipped his head toward her bedroom, pressed a finger to his lips. His gaze became a heat-seeking missile, scanning the back wall. Her heart thudded like a locomotive. Was someone trying to get in?
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