Wildfire Omens (Wildwood #1)

Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rhett

I tossed and turned for hours. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing. When I had seen the sheriff, I’d flashed back to that night in the bar. Nothing I didn’t already know—just the parts where I got into it with Thomas. But it played like a film strip, nagging at me like I was forgetting something important. Something had happened that night that I needed to know.

And if that hadn’t been bad enough, Cheyenne’s pity made me feel ten times worse.

I wanted to stay with her and make a go of things. But I didn’t want her letting me stay because she felt sorry for me. Sure as hell didn’t want her to take me back into her heart and her bed because I was a broken shell of a man she needed to take care of.

I’d leave again before doing that to her.

I wanted her to love me again. But not out of pity. Because of who I was.

The way I loved her.

Because I did. I knew that now. The flashback earlier wasn’t the only thing haunting me. All day long, I’d had this weird feeling that this was almost exactly what life would be like if I’d stayed. That I had been dead wrong about things blowing up the way they had with Travis and Missy—that Chey and I were different.

It was the damndest thing. I’d always thought leaving was the right thing for both of us. But I was starting to wonder if I had been wrong about that. I couldn’t regret the lives we’d built apart. Life alone had helped me grow up. And she’d blossomed into the strongest woman I’d ever known. But part of me wondered if maybe we could have done that growing together and still ended up in a good place. I’d left because I wanted to live a life with no regrets. But all of a sudden, I had some.

Worse, I was getting addicted to living here with her. Oh, I wanted to make some tweaks. Wanted to move into her bed instead of this one. Wanted my old strength back. Wanted her to look at me the way she used to instead of with that damn pity in her eyes.

More than anything, I wanted to be able to call her mine.

When the sun was getting low in the sky, I finally pulled myself out of bed, realizing I’d dozed right through lunch. My rumbling stomach let me know that at least one part of me was working fully and I needed to get something to eat. I stopped off at the bathroom, muttering in the mirror about how I looked like hell. Still had cuts and scrapes on my face, and the bruises were turning a nasty yellow color. It wasn’t an ideal look for winning a woman’s heart, that was for sure.

“Not much you can do about that,” I told my reflection before heading to the kitchen.

Cheyenne was sitting at the table, eating something that smelled delicious.

“I didn’t cook,” she said, her voice flat without a trace of pity in it. “Your mom brought over enough food to feed an army. There’s three kinds of leftovers in there: spaghetti and meatballs, chili with cornbread, and some sort of casserole thing with chicken and rice. I’d offer to heat you up something, but I figure you’d rather do it yourself.”

I opened the fridge and peered inside, choosing the casserole dish. “Was I an ass earlier?”

She was quiet for a moment. “No. I actually get it. I don’t like pity, either, and I’m sorry for making you feel that way.”

“You’ve got no reason to apologize,” I said, my voice coming out in a growl.

“You’re right. I really don’t,” she said, laughing.

I turned to look at her and saw a smirk on her face. It was exactly what I needed to lighten the heavy feeling in my chest.

“Sorry for how I acted,” I said.

“You’ve got no reason to apologize, either.” She gave me a friendly smile. “I understand how you feel. I’d feel the same way. And … since the neurologist said it was okay, I can offer you a whiskey to go with that casserole. Consider it a peace offering.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Hardly.” She laughed again and stood, getting out two whiskey glasses and pulling a bottle from a lower cabinet. “It’s not top-shelf by any means. But it’s not bad.”

I eyed the label. “Not bad at all. I’m a big fan of rye whiskey.”

“Me too.” She poured a glass and handed it to me. “Remember when we stole a bottle from your dad?”

“Yep.” I groaned. “I paid for that in so many ways. First, the vomiting. So much vomiting. Had a headache the next day that was almost as bad as the one ol’ Thomas gave me. Then Dad found out what I’d done and I paid for it all over again.”

She grinned. “Did he know I was involved?”

“Never. You know I’d never rat you out.”

“Probably good. He might not have hired me if you had.” She poured a small glass for herself and touched it to mine. “Cheers. To your recovering health.”

“I’ll toast to that.” I took a sip and groaned again, this time in pleasure. “That’s good.”

“It is. I like to keep a bottle around for—” She cut off as Ash let out a low growl. “What in the world?”

Ash stood at the back door, her nose pointed toward it and her body on alert as she growled, low and fierce.

Cheyenne moved to the window and looked out. “I wonder if there’s a bear out there. Or a wolf.”

I took another sip. “Probably a bear. Seems like if it was a wolf she’d be a little friendlier, seeing as it’s one of her own kind.”

Cheyenne rolled her eyes. “She’s not a wolf.”

“So you keep saying.”

Ash’s growl grew louder.

Chey stared at her with a worried expression. “That’s not like her,” she said.

“You worried about it?”

“A little.” Cheyenne moved to a closet and pulled out a rifle.

“Whoa, Annie Oakley,” I said, holding up my hands.

“I’m going to take a look.”

“Don’t you think you should just wait, let whatever it is move on?”

She gave me an impatient look. “I have a horse out there. If there’s a predator on my property, I need to protect it.”

“Then let me.” I reached to take the rifle out of her hands, but she stepped back.

“No way. This is my gun. I don’t even know if you still know how to shoot.”

I rolled my eyes. “Some things are like riding a bike.”

“Even so, the answer is no. My gun. My property. My rules.”

I gritted my teeth. “You’re as stubborn as you were at nineteen.”

“Oh, I’m way more stubborn than I was then.” She chambered a round and headed for the door.

“Well, I am too, and I’m going with you.”

Cheyenne walked out onto the back porch, watching carefully, with a finger up to tell me to be quiet. Ash let out a low growl as she stared toward the back of the property.

“Go find it,” Cheyenne said quietly to the dog.

Ash bounded off the porch and headed straight for the tree line, sniffing the ground in a path that only made sense to her.

“It’s not near the barn,” Cheyenne said softly.

“And Wildfire is okay,” I said, matching her low tone as I pointed toward the dark silhouette of the horse in the pasture.

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Probably an animal.”

But I was starting to wonder. “Does Ash alert to animals often?”

“Not unless they’re threatening us.”

“Hmm.”

Thomas was in jail, I reminded myself. Couldn’t get to me or Cheyenne.

But the cold sweat pouring down my back said a different story.

“You okay?” Cheyenne asked, looking at me with an odd look.

“I’m good.” The words were forced, but saying them reminded me it was true. Thomas was in jail, I was here with Cheyenne, and everything was fine.

But the air felt heavy with an unseen presence.

We waited until Ash relaxed and came back, wagging her tail.

“Whatever it is seems to be gone,” Cheyenne murmured.

“Yep. Still think it was an animal?”

“What else would it be?” She shot me a questioning look.

I didn’t answer. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched—and that the predator waiting for us was of the human variety.