Protecting Her Secrets (Mountain Men of Culver Springs #1)

Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Walker

With my head on a swivel and my ears perked, listening for the rumble of a motorcycle engine, I pull out the key to Skylar’s apartment.

“What the fuck?” Wilder spits out and I look up to see the door to her apartment is kicked in, barely hanging on its hinges. I rush to get inside, but Wilder stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Let me do a sweep first.”

“Yeah, okay.” The last thing I want to do is stand outside like a goddamn pussy, so I allow him to go in first but follow close behind.

A rock forms in my gut as I take in the ruin. She’ll be heartbroken when she learns everything she owns has been destroyed, either broken or defamed in some way. Her sofa is tagged with the word “whore” in red spray paint, her coffee table has been kicked in, leaving the planks of wood cracked, and the TV that had been mounted on the wall now hangs by cords, the screen cracked down the middle.

In her kitchen, the cupboards and drawers are empty. Everything that can be shattered has been thrown to the ground, and everything else—like her silverware—is bent or broken. Her spices and baking supplies are dumped all over the counters and floor, and her fridge is open, the meager contents no doubt spoiled. There’s nothing to be salvaged, not even a single spoon.

“I’m calling this in,” Wilder says, pulling his phone out.

He steps outside while I proceed down a short hallway. Straight ahead is a bathroom, and after flipping on a light, a wave of defeat washes over me. Not only are the contents of every single beauty item she owns destroyed, but “You can’t hide, bitch” is tagged in the same red paint across her shower curtain.

I did this. I forced her to agree to leave him before I’d thought out a plan. She warned me how nasty he was, and I didn’t listen. All I could think about was getting her back. It was selfish and childish.

“Fuck!” I curse, picking up a makeup compact and chucking it to the ground. Why didn’t I think this through? We shouldn’t have let on that she was leaving until her stuff was secure.

The last thing I want to do is see what they did to her bedroom, but since this is my fault, I deserve to see whatever comes next. My boots crunch on glass as I walk into the only remaining room. What I find has me closing my eyes and taking a few calming breaths.

“Jesus,” Wilder drawls out, pushing past me. “I think Ridge was right when he said you’re fucking fucked.”

“Not helpful.” I open my eyes to find my best friend holding up half a pink lacy bra.

“Nice.”

“This isn’t funny,” I say, ripping it from his hand and throwing it back on the ground. It’s safe to assume every last item of clothing she owns has been shredded, so I won’t waste my time sifting through the piles of fabric.

“That’s fucking disturbing.” Wilder points to the puddle of white, viscous fluid puddled in the middle of her comforter.

“Think it’s real?” I ask.

“Doubt it. They wouldn’t leave DNA behind.”

“I think that’s a safe bet.”

We hear the cops call out from the front door and Wilder gives my shoulder a shake. “It’ll be okay. All this shit can be repurchased. What’s important is that your wife is safe.”

My wife . He’s right. She is mine. Mine to love and protect. I haven’t done a good job at either over the last fifteen years. I knew her dad was a sexist asshole, that he wanted to marry her off to someone in the club, and I knew she wouldn’t have left me if there wasn’t a good reason, but I didn’t bother seeking her out and talking to her about it. My feelings were hurt, so I tucked tail and ran.

Well, not anymore. I don’t care what it takes; that woman won’t know a day of danger or fear from now on, and that extends to the baby she’s growing. My baby . Any asshole who would do something like this to the woman he’s planning to marry doesn’t deserve access to his child. Me and my conscience will sleep like a baby knowing the two most important people in my life are protected.

“Thanks for coming with me, even if it was a wasted trip,” I say, hopping out of Wilder’s truck.

“No problem. Sorry about everything and don’t worry. Everyone in the department knows about the situation. If they pull into town, we’ll know long before they can get to her.”

“Thanks.”

I walk across the police station parking lot where we met up this morning and hop into my truck. Wilder insisted we take his, since mine is old as mud and just as reliable. Pulling out my phone, I text Skylar and let her know I’ll be there to pick her up soon. She texted me multiple times today asking how it was going, and I was intentionally vague. I felt guilty, but it didn’t feel like anything I should tell her over the phone.

Once my engine’s warmed up, I head straight to Ridge’s place. We’re getting back a lot later than I planned, but it took over two hours to report the break-in and vandalism. While we waited for them to catalog the apartment and take pictures, a few of Bakersfield’s finest questioned Skylar’s neighbors, and it was no surprise that none of them heard a thing. My guess is the club keeps the neighborhood on a tight leash because it would’ve been impossible for someone not to hear what was going on.

After the cops left, we had to meet with the apartment’s management and break Skylar’s lease. Surprisingly, they didn’t charge a fee for the damage or for moving out early. Apparently, they wanted her gone as much as she wanted to be gone because they were worried about escalation.

As I pull up Ridge’s driveway, I look up to find him sitting on the couch with Skylar across the coffee table from him, sitting on the floor. They each have a set of cards in their hands and smiles on their faces. I shouldn’t be surprised Skylar charmed the elusive Ridge, but he’s a hard nut to crack.

I don’t bother knocking, since I know they saw me park. A smile creeps up on me when I hear Skylar’s raucous laughter and Ridge’s pissed-off curses.

“Your woman cheats, Walker,” Ridge calls out.

“I do not. Your friend just sucks at gin rummy.” Skylar tosses the cards onto the coffee table and jumps to her feet, hurrying over to greet me. “I missed you, babe.”

Babe . Fuck, I like that.

“Missed you too.” I open my arms, and she’s right there, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Ready to go?”

“Just let me grab my coat.”

After she dashes off to god knows where to retrieve her coat, Ridge pins me with a look. “Wilder told me what happened. I’m taking it you haven’t told her?”

“Nah, I will over dinner.”

“Just be nice about it. She’s been through a lot.”

I take a step back, my eyes going wide. “Have I stepped into an alternate universe where Ridge cares about someone?”

“Shut the fuck up. I like her for you. She’s sweet and, despite everything that’s happened, she has an innocence about her that makes her curious about the world. It’s inspiring.”

“You’re going to paint her, aren’t you?” I ask.

“That’s why she’s going downstairs to get her coat. I had her pose for me.”

I point a finger at him. “You better not sell that shit to anyone but me.”

Ridge laughs as Skylar reappears. “Thanks for such a fun day, Ridge. I know babysitting duty wasn’t how you wanted to spend your day, but I’m glad you gave in.”

“No problem,” he says as Skylar wraps him in a hug. I have to cover my laugh when he awkwardly pats her back, as if he has no clue what she’s doing. “I had fun too.”

“Come on, sweetheart. I wanna take you to dinner.” I pull her away from my friend and give him a wave as we leave.

“Where are we going for dinner?”

“There are exactly two places to eat in this town: the diner or Mr. Chang’s Donut House.”

“Eh, I’m not really in the mood for donuts, so maybe the diner?”

I chuckle as I help her into the passenger seat and take the liberty of buckling her in. She clucks her tongue but allows it. “Mr. Chang retired ten years ago and they don’t actually serve donuts anymore. A guy named Lance bought it, and he serves Greek food. The Donut House has been there since the town was founded in the 1950s though, and it felt too much like a local landmark to change the name.”

“That’s not confusing at all.”

I pull out of the driveway. “Not for us, but it does confuse the tourists.”

She looks back at the empty bed of my truck. “Did you already take my stuff to your house?”

“I need to talk to you about that.” I take her hand across the bench seat.

Her tone turns instantly suspicious. “What?”

She remains stoic as I explain the situation. Even after we’re parked in front of the diner and we both take our seatbelts off so we can face each other, she shows no emotion. I hold back on a few details that will do her no good to know, like the graffiti, but I tell her everything else.

“It’s all gone?” she asks after I’m done.

“Yeah.” I sigh. “There wasn’t one thing we could salvage.”

“Okay, well, I have some money saved up, so for now, at least I can replace the essentials.” She hops out of the truck, and I meet her on the other side.

“That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“I just told you everything you own is destroyed.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I hold the door open to the diner, where Lavanya is right there to welcome us with a beaming smile. The short, plump Indian woman has her black hair pulled back into a tight bun and is wearing a traditional dress in blue and cream. She and her husband, August, an old white hippie who smokes too much dope, have owned the diner since I’ve been here, though I’m certain it has been much longer than that. They’re an unusual match but real down-to-earth and welcoming.

“Who do you have here, Walker?” Lavanya asks in her thick Indian accent.

“This is Skylar.” I haven’t thought about how I’d introduce her to people, but since I’m not known for my charming personality, no one expects me to be open with information.

“I’m his wife.” Skylar steps up to the old woman and offers her hand.

“Wife?” Lavanya stares me down as she steps around the hostess stand. “I’m a hugger and if you’re married to this grumpy guy, that makes you family.”

“I’m a hugger too.” Skylar grins as they embrace.

“When was the wedding? August and I didn’t see an invite, but you know Atticus has a habit of delivering to the wrong address, so maybe?—”

“We’ve been married for fifteen years. I didn’t even know you then,” I say.

“And why is this the first time I’m meeting her?” She folds her arms.

“We’ve been estranged,” I mumble.

Her eyes close briefly, and she shakes her head. “Well, you should be glad she’s here now. I was worried you’d end up like Gargoyle, growing old up on your hill by yourself.”

“I’m only thirty-six.” The words have me frozen in place. I’m not ancient, but when the hell did I get this old? And Skylar is the same age and she’s pregnant. I wonder if there are risks to that. I’ll have to read about it tonight.

“Exactly,” Lavanya says, grabbing menus and leading us to a booth. “Harper will be right over to serve you.”

“Thanks, La.” Instead of sitting opposite Skylar, I slide in after her.

Lavanya pops me in the back of the head. “That’s for not telling me you were married.”

“Hey!” I grouse.

Her tight expression morphs into a smile as she turns her attention to Skylar. “Welcome to Culver Springs, Skylar. If this idiot makes you mad, you come see me. I’ll put him in his place.”

Skylar swallows her laughter. “I’ll do that.”

“I don’t understand why everyone picks on me.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re the town grump,” Skylar says, her eyes dancing with humor. “And what did she mean by Gargoyle?”

“There’s a guy who lives on one of the hills. No one knows him or even his name. He only comes to town a couple times a year to stock up on supplies before disappearing again.”

“That’s sad.”

“Anyway, since we don’t know his name, we call him Gargoyle.”

One of the waitresses, Harper, approaches with her head down. She’s a shy, mousy girl who has only been in town a couple months. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I’m good with water. Sky?”

“Do you have shakes?”

Harper peers up at her through her glasses. “Chocolate, cookies and cream, vanilla, or strawberry.”

“Cookies and cream, please. Oh, and extra whipped cream if you have it?”

“I can do that.”

Harper walks away, and I wrap my arm around Sky. “We’re not done talking about your shit being destroyed.”

She pulls a napkin from the stack and begins shredding it as she thinks of what to say. “It sucks, but I’m not surprised. He doesn’t get mad; he gets even.”

“You’re handling it better than I did. I guess I thought you’d cry and be upset.”

“Despite the amount of waterworks I’ve displayed the last couple of days, I’m not a crier. And obviously, I don’t want to spend my savings on new clothes and toiletries, but I’m starting over.” She motions between us. “And we’re starting over. So buying new stuff just fits with the theme.”

I pull her in and kiss her forehead. “I got you, sweetheart. You’re not alone anymore.”