“Adjustment to civvy life can be hard.” Shane to the rescue, her never quite dormant counselor persona bossed forward, the assertive do-gooder she couldn’t exorcise. “Is Colt Wilder why you are in Marietta? You served with him?” She knew Colt. Well, knew his family. One of his sisters-in-law was her bestie, and his wife volunteered her vet services at the shelter where Shane volunteered.
“Colt Wilder,” he echoed, stopping.
“If we’re going to talk and walk, we might as well do it together,” Shane said, practically. She didn’t want to raise her voice in her sleeping neighborhood.
“It’s late. I want you to feel safe.” His expression was stubborn. Of course it was.
That was it. She did feel safe. And she shouldn’t, but she’d always trusted her instincts—too much so. Temptation had stopped whispering and nudging. It now yelled and kicked.
A sexual connection with a man had been off the table for so long. One-night stands in a small town could be fraught with social complications—the men wanting her number, wanting more. So she’d kept herself aloof, but even though her body had betrayed her, she couldn’t quite turn it off the way she wanted. But this man shouted one booted foot already out the door, keys jingling, cell phone already tucked in his pocket, back turned, gaze on the open road.
Should I?
“Why did you think I would come to town for someone named Colt Wilder?” There was reluctant curiosity in his voice.
“You’re not local. Lewis-McChord is a joint base for Army Rangers and Green Berets. Colt was a Ranger who left the service a handful of years ago to move home to Marietta, and he and a few locals help vets settle in, find jobs, receive services if they need them.”
And she’d said no to helping his program over and over. But Colt, typical special forces soldier, never gave up. He just came at her a different way.
“Don’t know him.”
“Typical badass. Keep it tight,” she teased. “Name and rank only.”
“I knew a kid named Colt long time ago in Marietta’s elementary school. He was a few years younger. He joined the Rangers. We ran a few missions, but he wasn’t Colt Wilder.”
“Oh, duh.” Shane laughed, nearly slapping her head. “That’s right. He discovered his birth mother a few years ago. And he has a twin and two half-brothers. He took the family name when he married and adopted his wife’s son, Parker. He’s Colt Wilder now.”
“You seem to know a lot of people in town.” His voice held a slight edge of speculation, and Shane’s radar zinged. She turned around at the entrance to her street, stood in the middle, hands on her hips, like she could block him from going further.
“Cut to the chase, Remington Cross. Who are you looking for and why?”
Chapter Three
“How do you know I’m not looking for a what?” he dodged.
By her unimpressed expression and the wait time that tick-tocked while the rain fell steadily, he learned more about Shane Knight than he would have learned in an hour of conversation at a bar. Not that he’d ever done that. He knew his strengths. Chitchat and closed rooms with a lot of people would never make the cut.
Her lips that he’d been battling to kill a fierce fantasy of being stretched around his painfully swollen cock, tipped up in a smile. “Tell me what you’re doing in town, and maybe we can…talk about it at my place.”
“You have no sense of self-preservation.” He heard the disbelief and outrage in his voice. “Anyone with a brain can tell I’m dangerous,” he practically growled that last line. The ex-major could send someone else after her and the watch. He’d not been able to think of much else while he waited for her to finish her shift.
“I’m not proposing,” she said. “You got a place to stay?”
This was not how he’d envisioned his first night in Marietta playing out. He knew he’d arrived too late to visit Alex Holt at his workplace—the community center—so he’d planned to camp along the river tonight and touch base with Alex tomorrow morning after he got a coffee and finally something to eat.
She looked at him, hands on her hips. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m not a quivering Regency-era heroine. I grew up with a badass firefighter dad, his work buddies and add in my bush firefighting uncles in Australia and that’s a lot of chest-thumping testosterone I’ve had to wade through.”
“I stand here. You walk home.”
“I don’t even think you want to intimidate me,” she said thoughtfully. “But you think you should. That would feel safer.”
He nearly choked on his spit at her bold spirit and the way Shane looked at him. He felt like for the first time in what felt like forever, someone was really seeing him. All of him. He had to fight the urge to get on his bike and ride. But he was stuck. He had to carry out his vow to Jace. And now there was Shane to protect and convince to return the watch.
“I know you’re a badass, Remy, but I’ve been raised to trust my instincts. I can tell you can be dangerous, but it’s training for you. Not your core, and you’re not cruel or violent to women unless they are a threat.”
She was the biggest female threat he’d ever faced—and he’d twice had a female assassin make a run at him.
“You may not want to tell me why you’re here. I respect your privacy, but the end of summer rains can be fierce, and often have thunder-boomers, though the storms are usually short. I’ve got a covered area in my backyard and a gas firepit. My dad helped me build it when I bought the house this past spring. You can sit out the storm and dry off and warm up. I’ve got tea, coffee, fresh-squeezed juice or water.”
A wave of…something washed over him. Exhaustion made sense. He didn’t want to dig any further.
“Stay until the storm passes,” she urged, her voice a soft caress in his ears, and her expression more welcoming than any he could remember. What would it feel like to belong, to have someone waiting for him—not just his results?
Cross was not usually given to useless self-reflection. It brought an ache to his sternum that he hated. All the more reason to get on his bike and ride.
And yet, duty. Guilt. Both effective manacles.
He looked into her eyes. She was fearless. And dangerous because the pull she had over him was already a force of nature.
He should say no. Stick to the shadows and his mission—all he was good at. How the hell was he going to play godfather? Cross felt like his skin was curling off his body. He was the last man suited in his unit to draw that task, and yet the rules—no switches, no complaining, no failure.
But he was tired of his thoughts, of his aloneness, of his life so far on the fringes. And cold. Shane Knight made him feel how iced over he was as a man. He inclined his head yes, and followed her down the pretty, treelined street. Small houses. Simple. Some craftsman style with wide covered front porches where a family could sit after dinner and chat, play games, read bedtime stories. His stomach twisted.
Shane was quiet as she walked beside him.
“Where’s home originally?” Maybe her father was local. He could warn him she might be in some trouble before he left town.