Chapter Five
She’d made a terrible mistake.
Blisters pinched at the bottoms of her heels with every step.
They’d been walking for miles, unable to follow Sam’s tracks through the dense trees in her van for the past few hours.
Pain flared up her calves and into her hamstrings.
She wasn’t out of shape. Okay. She didn’t think she was this out of shape.
Mobile workouts had done wonders to keep her fit, but hiking?
That was turning out to be another beast entirely.
Yet the increase in elevation or the rapid descent in the landscape didn’t seem to faze Rome in the least. In fact, he’d never looked more in shape with the flex and release of ropes of muscle she didn’t remember him owning six months ago.
Across his back, down the backs of his legs, not to mention the fit of his jeans—
Nope. No. She was not ogling her husband.
Ex-husband. He’d obviously gotten into a routine that worked for him while she could barely keep up, and she should be happy for him.
That was what exes were supposed to do. Be happy for each other.
Except Rome had never shown an interest in any kind of exercise unless it included pulling her through the mountains in Montana or into the woods to shoot things.
What had changed? Her stomach soured. Maybe without a wife he’d found loads of time to focus on himself.
Or found someone worth making an effort for? “Rude.”
“What was that?” He didn’t bother turning around from his position at the head of the two-person line they’d created. More than likely she’d just fallen back due to the never-ending trek that would surely kill her if they didn’t stop soon.
“It’s so pretty here.” No way in hell she’d admit to wondering if he’d started dating since serving her the divorce papers.
Or if there’d been someone else in their marriage she hadn’t known about.
No. No matter how many times her brain tried to fill in that blank space of why he’d done it, Rome wasn’t the type of man to go behind her back.
Despite how cruel his actions, he’d never shown her an ounce of disrespect over the course of their marriage. “You’re sure Sam went this way?”
Translation: When the hell were they going to stop?
His low laugh permeated the frigid air around them.
The temperature had dropped well behind the mountains to the west hiding the horizon, casting the red rock landscape in bruising purples and oranges in sunlit slices through the trees.
But that laugh… It had the power to ignite a furnace that hadn’t been lit in months.
Soothing and rough at the same time, dark and exciting.
Its echoes lived in hundreds of memories.
Along the beach during their honeymoon, hand in hand as Rome pulled her into the Pacific Ocean.
Over the threshold of their first house as he’d hauled her over his shoulder fireman-style then walked straight into the wall in front of him.
Beneath the sheets as he imprisoned her hands against the mattress and claimed her from the inside out in the middle of the night.
That laugh had been a beacon in the storm of her career as a female scientist stepping on the toes of her male counterparts during her master’s and through her PhD.
It was a bright light when she’d succumbed to pneumonia for three weeks straight and wholeheartedly believed she was lying on her deathbed.
It’d held her together when her parents had told her about their divorce during Thanksgiving dinner two years ago and her mother had pulled her aside to advise Lettie to start saving as much cash as she could in case something went wrong between her and Rome.
Wave after wave of trials fighting to break her apart.
But that laugh… It’d somehow taped her back together each and every time.
Not this time.
This time the hollowness in the center of her chest ate up that laugh and destroyed it before it could grab hold. Lettie curled her fingers into the center of her palms to get some of the feeling back into her hands.
“Don’t worry, Dr. Larson. We’re going the right way.” Rome threaded one arm through his pack. “But we’re losing daylight. It’ll be a challenge to keep following your bear’s tracks with just a couple of flashlights. We’ll need to make camp.”
A bucket of ice trickled from the crown of her head to her toes. Dr. Larson. The title she’d worked so hard for—years of sexist comments and disregard and rejected publications and opportunities—sounded wrong coming from his mouth. Then the rest of his words registered. “Camp? Here?”
Lettie surveyed the flat expanse of ground he’d stopped in.
Brittle pine needles crunched beneath her weight in thick layers across the forest floor.
Jutting rocks peeked out from beneath dead twigs and leaves, and her back pinched in response.
She wasn’t sure she could take one more step due to the blisters raging along the bottoms of her feet, but there was a reason she’d outfitted a van to live out in the middle of the wilderness. She didn’t know how to camp.
Swinging his pack free from the very shoulders she’d admired a few minutes ago, Rome dropped to a crouch and detached his rifle from the Velcro carrier fitted to the back.
He swung it up behind one shoulder. A soldier might go out of his way to ensure the American flag was never compromised or disrespected by touching the ground.
A hunter protected his weapons in much the same manner.
In the time she’d known him, there weren’t a whole lot of things Rome Foster went the extra mile to care for since losing the man who’d raised him in Montana, but his guns were high on the list. “Figured you’d be grateful, considering you’ve been dragging your feet the past mile. ”
“I wasn’t dragging my feet.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Though dragging hadn’t helped ease the burning pain in the soles of her feet.
Lettie narrowed her gaze on his efficient movements as he unpacked a foldable sleeping bag and rolled it out as though he’d done it a thousand times before.
Which he probably had. “I was…marking the trail in case we needed to follow it back to the scene.”
That laugh again. Only this time she caught a hint of a smile to go along with it, and her stomach flipped in response.
Traitor. Taking a seat on his sleeping bag, Rome hauled one knee closer to his chest before setting his weapon along the edge of the slippery material.
She’d thought his laugh could do damage.
She hadn’t prepared herself for that smile.
Like a punch straight to the chest. When was the last time she’d seen it?
How long had it taken her to notice it’d started showing up less and less every time she came home from work?
The answer was already right there in her body’s reaction. Too long. “How bad are the blisters?”
Lettie maneuvered a good distance—six to seven feet opposite—to the other side of the clearing and crossed her ankles before taking a seat on the uneven and hard ground.
Her jeans did little to protect her from the sharp edges of rock and prickling needles, but she wouldn’t ever admit it.
The pressure off her feet almost dragged a sigh from her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
“All right. It’s too dry to build a fire.
These trees haven’t seen a good rain in too long.
One hint of a breeze and they’ll light up faster than your dad’s fried turkey, so we’ll have to layer up to keep warm tonight.
I assume you brought enough clothing.” Pulling what looked like a protein bar and his water bottle from the depths of his pack, Rome leaned back on one hand while he downed his dinner with the other.
She remembered that fried turkey. It’d been the same Thanksgiving her parents had informed her about their divorce after more than thirty years of what she’d assumed had been marital bliss.
Her father had tried to jump on the fried turkey craze.
Only problem was, he hadn’t let the turkey thaw completely before dropping it into a vat of peanut oil.
Frozen meat and boiling oil did not mix.
The entire bird had caught fire before nearly taking down the rest of the garage.
Rome had dragged her away from the fireball and put himself between her and the flames to protect her.
She could still feel the heat against her face.
And he’d taken the brunt of it so she wouldn’t have to.
Her stomach rumbled loud enough to help her discard the memory.
“I’ve been living out here for five months. You don’t have to worry about me.”
In an insulated van, but he didn’t need to know that. If he could survive in the middle of nowhere, raw to the elements, how hard could it be?
Dragging her gear from her back, she unpacked her rationed food supply and stripped the casing from a piece of beef jerky before tearing into it as ferociously as Sam might tear into salmon.
She didn’t realize how hungry she’d gotten over the past few hours, too focused on keeping up with Rome, until the jerky was gone and there was nothing left to distract herself from the man across the clearing.
He’d shifted onto his back, staring up at the stars without a care in the freaking world as her head spun with the fact this was her first time seeing him in six months.
That he’d served her with divorce papers without a single word.
That he’d destroyed ten years of her life by leaving his wedding ring on the kitchen table.
The dozens of questions that’d haunted her since she’d walked into the house after work that night to find his things gone bubbled to the surface.
But she didn’t have the energy to voice them.
Did the answers matter? He’d wanted out of their marriage.
He’d gotten what he’d wanted at the expense of breaking her heart.
For the first time in hours, she didn’t have anything to distract her but the glimmer of stars above, the slight bite to the air and the subtle shift of the man across from her.
It was too quiet. Too still. Images of blood and tissue and claw marks infiltrated past the barrier she’d constructed since leaving the scene of the latest hiker death.
She was a scientist. She developed tracking devices that wouldn’t harm the subjects she studied.
She knew everything there was about the wildlife and ecosystems in Zion.
She didn’t… She’d never… Blood drained from her face and neck in a rush that left her dizzy.
Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs, too fast, too loud.
“Lettie.” Rome was suddenly right there, dark eyes on her. When had he crossed the clearing? How hadn’t she seen him coming? His hand threaded into the hair at the base of her neck. “Look at me.”
The memories were still there. She’d swallowed the rush of acid in the face of seeing that hiker spread out across the tarp, but now it was returning tenfold. Her stomach pitched, and she couldn’t focus on Rome. There was just…whatever was left of that man.
Rome tugged at her hair. “Look at me.”
Somehow she managed to pull herself together enough to pin her gaze to his.
“Good. Keep looking at me.” His voice softened, and the tension across her scalp eased. “Now breathe in for four counts and hold it. Just like that. You’ve got it.”
Her chin wobbled. Tears burned in her eyes. “That hiker…”
Nausea twisted through her.
“Eyes on me, baby.” Baby. That single word felt foreign and comforting at the same time.
It dug through layers of indifference and apathy and struck her where it hurt the most. He shouldn’t call her that.
He’d lost the right to call her that. “You’re not there.
You’re here. Breathe in again and hold it. Exhale for four counts. Again.”
Rome followed along with her for exaggerated breaths, his shoulders rising and falling in time with hers until her heart rate settled and she could see clearly. Disentangling his hand from her hair, he sat back. “Better?”
She nodded. Not entirely sure how else to respond. Her ex-husband—was he her ex?—had helped her through an encroaching panic attack. Breathed with her. Guided her back to reality. Touched her.
And she’d liked it.