Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
MILO
Y ou look like hell,” Jack says, not even glancing up as he unloads boxes of canned goods from his truck and onto the wooden porch of the general store.
“I’m not here for compliments,” I mutter. I grab the last box and stack it for him.
He wipes his hands on a rag, squints at me through the late morning sun, and leans against the doorframe. “What got you up and in town so early?”
“I’m looking for work,” I say, getting to the point. “Construction. I’m looking for another job like the last one—not here.”
Jack raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong with Misty Mountain?”
I shake my head. Spilling my personal life with Jack isn’t why I came down to town. “I need a change of scenery.”
“Uh-huh.” He crosses his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Thought you were all settled in and playing house up there with the redhead from the bar.”
My jaw tightens. I’m not interested in talking to Jack about Marilee.
Jack lets the silence hang between us like bait. When I don’t bite, he shrugs. “So…something happen with her?”
“Nothing happened,” I snap, trying to get Jack to drop it.
“Uh-huh,” he says again, with a look on his face that makes me want to punch a wall. “That’s not what it looks like. I already saw her in town this morning, too…before The Rusty Elk was even open.”
That gets my attention, but I’m not giving him anything else. At least she’s still in town. Misty Mountain isn’t big, but it doesn’t mean anyone is easy to find if they don’t want to be found. I know as well as anyone here that if you want to get lost, Misty Mountain is as good a place as any to do so. And it doesn’t take a genius to realize she probably doesn’t want to be found.
I’m still going to find her. If I have any chance at undoing the damage I did last night, I’m sure as hell going to do everything in my power to find that chance and take it like my life depends on it.
Jack turns back to the boxes, grabbing another one off the truck and disappearing into the store without another word. He comes back out a moment later.
“Oh, and to answer your question, it’s getting late in the season for construction work. Though, if you know Leo Swinton down in the Heartland region, you might give him a call. Last I talked to him, business was booming, and he could use more help. You could also track down Costa—don’t know why you didn’t talk to him first.”
I nod. “Thanks. And let me know if you hear of anything.”
There’s a war between my heart and my head. Find Marilee? Or find a new job and hightail it outta town?
I don’t know when I fell asleep that night, but when I woke up, Marilee was gone.
I woke up stiff and cold in the hammock, my scars aching as the sun rose over the trees. I didn’t hear the squeak of the front door. Didn’t hear her car start. I’d been up half the night, tossing and turning, replaying that moment over and over—her body against mine, the kiss that set my soul on fire, the way her eyes lit up when she looked at me like I was everything she wanted.
And then the look in those same eyes when I stopped it. When I stepped back and let fear get the better of me. I curse myself for what’s probably the millionth time in the past twelve hours. As a rule, I don’t let people get close to me. I let people get close, then they die. It’s happened with too many people, not least with my Ranger family. I’m scared of letting people get close, only to lose them, too, so it’s been easier to be a loner.
This hasn’t been a problem. Until Marilee.
I thought she’d be mad. Maybe quiet for a day or two. I didn’t think she’d actually leave.
When I went inside the cabin that morning, it was the kind of quiet that echoes emptiness.
The bedroom was spotless. Sheets in the laundry basket. Blanket folded neatly. Her things gone like she’d never been there at all.
The bathroom barely had a trace of that damn lavender soap–soap I wish was still in my bathroom, along with Marilee.
I head back toward the truck, my boots heavy on the gravel. Jack’s words echo in my ears, but they aren’t louder than the ones already pounding through my head.
You should’ve stopped her.
You should’ve said something.
You wanted her.
I drive aimlessly through town and out onto the highway. I drive out by Whispering Falls and kill the engine. It’s too early for the tourists and lovebirds to be out here, which suits me fine.
I rest my elbows on the steering wheel and drop my head forward. Did I miss my chance with Marilee? Or is there some chance that I can fix this, no matter how tiny? Can everything be fixed?
All I know is I have to try.
The parking lot at The Rusty Elk is mostly empty when I pull in, gravel crunching under the tires. There’s music inside, which means the tourists have finished their day of hiking and fishing.
I tell myself I’m here to see Hank about work.
But what I’m really hoping for is her car. I don’t see her car, but I go in anyway. If anyone knows where Marilee is, it’ll be Hank.
Hank’s at the bar, talking to a supplier who’s holding a clipboard and a bottle of root beer. They’re talking about something, but both of them pause when I step in the door.
I stand there until Hank finishes and looks at me. There isn’t kindness in his eyes when he does. He watches me walk up with that quiet, cold stillness I’ve only ever seen when he’s sizing up a problem he already knows the shape of.
“What the fuck did you do to Marilee?” Hank stands up straight and squares his shoulders at me.
I look past him and out to the parking lot, where a new car—not Marilee’s—is pulling in. “She left.”
His jaw ticks, and his voice is angry when he finally speaks. “And you’re here because why exactly?”
“Is she here?”
He folds his arms, gaze fixed on me like he’s deciding whether I deserve an answer. “No. She’s not here. She was, though. You waited how many days to come searching for her?”
The sharpness of his words find their target, and I wince.
Hank shifts his stance, stepping around the bar and standing in my face. We’re eye to eye now, and I brace myself for a fight.
“I’m not telling you where she is,” he says.
I meet his gaze. There’s steel in it.
“A woman needs space,” he continues, his voice vibrating in the way that it does when he’s about to start yelling. “You give her space. But if you hurt her or make whatever hurt she’s feeling worse? You answer to me. Am I making myself clear?”
I nod once, jaw tight. “Crystal.”
He doesn’t back down. “Because I don’t care how many years you served. I don’t care how many scars you’ve got or the hardships you’ve gone through. That doesn’t excuse treating Marilee so bad that she was practically in tears when I saw her.”
Hank keeps going, angry. “I don’t know what she saw in that grumpy face of yours, but she saw something. And you—” He lets out a slow breath. “You should know better than to mess with a woman like her. She’s the kind of woman you marry, not just have a good time with. If you can’t realize that, then you don’t deserve her.”
That lands like a gut punch. Not because he’s trying to be cruel. But because he’s right.
He turns back toward the bar, then pauses. “Remember what I said. You hurt her again, you and me got a problem.”
I get back into my truck and rest my hands on my knees and dip my head. An image of Marilee driving down the highway, music turned up loud and the wind in her hair as she drives away from Misty Mountain fills my mind. And it hurts like a motherfucker.
She wasn’t just a guest in my house. She made me feel alive again.
She was home.