Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The two guys arguing with Everett and Sepp take off. I cut eyes at the one who grabbed Meg, but he’s too busy sneering at some distant point ahead to give me any special attention. Good. One move from him and he’d be eating the fucking sidewalk.
That alone should scare me because I don’t fight anymore.
Everett walks over, his face tense. “You okay?” he asks Meg.
“Yeah.”
Ev glances at Quinn, who crosses her arms, like she’s offended. Though at the two jerks, or at us for rescuing her and Meg? Either way, I kind of admire her spirit, though this is not the time to share.
“Fine,” Quinn says in a huff.
While Everett takes down their information, I release a shaky breath at the starry sky.
Talk about a cluster of an evening. It was hard enough being inside a crowded bar tonight.
I volunteered when Everett said Vivian’s sister needed help, but I’d been twitchy from the minute I stepped inside.
Then I see some jerk in cowboy boots that have never seen a barn forcing himself on Meg.
Everett slips his phone back into his pocket, then shoots me a questioning glance, but I don’t feel like talking .
I turn to the girls and nod toward the back of The Limelight. “I parked in the bank’s lot.”
The three of us start walking.
Quinn slides her arm across Meg’s shoulders. She’s tall and reedy, with straight dark hair. Meg’s more of a short stack, with knockout curves. The kind begging to be worshipped. She also has long, wavy blonde hair. Perfect for sinking my fingers into. Gathering in my fist.
I run a hand along the back of my neck and purge the memory of holding Meg against me while she caught her breath. It’s been a long time since I’ve had my arms around a woman. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but right now, I feel like a snail without a shell.
“Fucking asshole,” Quinn mutters, giving the two guys now across the street another scathing glance.
“Someone you know?” I ask.
Quinn locks eyes with Meg for a moment before she says, “We work with him.”
“He’s my ex,” Meg adds with a sigh.
Shit . “Flight attendants?” I ask as we cross the street.
“Pilots.”
I shake my head, but it doesn’t make the pieces fit together.
Never seen the pilots before, but I recognized Trina and Stacy.
I haven’t seen Trina in years. We didn’t know each other growing up, but our pasts overlap.
We don’t talk about it, and we never will.
Stacy works as a clerk slash maid at the Pinedale Motel.
Both like to party, meaning they were hanging with the two pale-faced pilots for whatever fun they supplied.
I don’t know what’s worse—that Meg’s ex is in Finn River—hanging out with a drug addict, no less, or that Trina’s back in town.
When we reach the lot, I head for my truck parked at the end of the row. “I’ll get you some gauze for that cut,” I say, and reach behind my seat for the first aid kit.
“It’s fine,” Meg says, not looking at me.
“Not gonna have you bleeding all over my seats.”
She huffs.
I set the big metal kit on the bench seat and unclasp the lid.
After tearing open a package of gauze, I hand the stack of them to her.
In the streetlights, her pale blue eyes look defeated.
My chest pinches. Maybe I should have given this ex of hers a parting gift, like a broken nose.
Meg might think I’m her nemesis, but I’m not going to stand by while some jerkface brings her down or tries to hurt her.
“Thank you,” Meg says, pressing the layers of gauze to her knuckle.
I put the kit away and Meg climbs into the truck, followed by Quinn.
“Wow. This is a classic,” Quinn says, giving the interior an appreciative scan. “Do you fix up cars, too?”
“I had some help.” My truck is from a bygone era with a bench seat I rebuilt, stick shift, and an engine I refurbished with the help of a good friend. Greta calls it my geezer truck because it’s older than I am. Barely.
I make sure the girls are settled before I shut the door and cross to my side.
When I climb behind the wheel, my thigh just touches Meg’s. Her muscles tense and she shifts, putting an inch between us. But not before a pulse of heat slams through me.
I check that everyone’s buckled before I coax the engine to life and cruise to the exit, rolling my window down.
Quinn does the same on her side, letting the dry alpine air fill the cab.
Under normal circumstances, the cool breeze and the quiet would work the tension from my shoulders but sitting this close to Meg while I know she’s hurting only makes the knots in my gut multiply.
“I thought he was in San Diego?” Quinn says under her breath, resting her arm on the windowsill.
“Probably in town for a charter flight,” Meg replies with a shrug, the breeze teasing loose one of her long curls. I force my eyes back to the road, but her perfume is making concentration difficult. It’s like lemongrass, or spicy grapefruit and I like it way too much.
“If he files charges, we’ll file a few of our own,” Quinn says, giving Meg an encouraging smile.
I turn into the lakeshore neighborhood. “What he did was wrong. You had every right to defend yourself.” I’m just sorry I didn’t get there sooner.
Meg cradles her hand against her chest. “Nothing like that has ever happened to me.”
Not sure if she means decking someone or feeling threatened like that. “We’ll get you some ice.”
I turn onto Agate Beach Drive. At this time of night, my neighborhood is dark and quiet, the lake a black mirror expanding toward the gently sloping foothills to the west.
When I pull into my driveway, Meg shoots me a questioning glance. What, she thinks I’m just gonna drop her off and let her fend for herself? I tighten my grip on the wheel.
“I have ice,” she says.
“Mine’s better,” I say.
She scowls, and it’s so cute I have to press my lips together to keep from smiling. Last thing I need is for her to deck me next.
“And I want to clean that cut,” I add.
“Won’t we wake Greta?” she asks.
Like I’d leave my kid alone this late? “She’s with her mom tonight,” I reply.
Once I’ve parked, I hop down and get to the other side just as Quinn swings the door open. I offer her my hand to help her down, and she takes it, her slender fingers cool in mine. Then I reach for Meg, who has scooted to the edge of the seat but is giving my palm a skeptical glance.
I arch my eyebrow. “Can’t have you twisting an ankle. ”
She rolls her eyes.
Because of the way Meg’s holding her hand against her chest, I decide to lift her down.
When I reach in and cradle her sides, she sucks in a breath.
The fabric of her shirt is buttery soft against my calloused hands.
Beneath it, the outline of her rib cage presses back. And the underside of her breasts.
I set her down and yank my hands back. Shit. I hadn’t meant to touch her like…that. God, that’s the last thing she needs right now.
Trying to play it cool, I close the truck door and jog up my two steps to let them inside.
I flip on the light and continue to my kitchen, which takes up the right side of the main room.
“Wow,” Quinn says behind me. “How come the wood, like, glows?”
“The beams are refinished old growth Douglas Fir.” I flip on the main light before heading for the freezer.
I crack open the ice tray and drop half of the cubes into a clean kitchen towel on the counter, then turn on the faucet to get the water warm.
From under the sink I pull out another first aid kit and assemble my supplies.
“Who took these pictures?” Quinn says, still in the hallway. “They’re gorgeous. Is this your daughter?”
She must be looking at the black and white portrait of Greta riding Gypsy. I took it the summer she turned ten. “Yeah.”
Quinn wanders into the living area, then glances up to the second level. “Stripping off the old paint must have been quite the chore.”
I don’t think Meg’s A-frame has been renovated, so it likely still has the same paint job mine came with. “Worth it though. It was like a cave in here.”
“Can I go look upstairs?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say, and coax Meg’s knuckles under the faucet .
“I know first aid,” Meg complains, wincing when the water soaks the gauze.
I peel the gauze from the wound, going slow. “I’m overdue for a refresher in wound care. You’re doing me a favor.”
She narrows her eyes. “Does that mean I get one in return?”
I arch an eyebrow. “Depends on what you come up with.”
“No more snakes.”
I chuckle. “Bro. Little word of advice? I’ll let this slide because you obviously didn’t grow up with brothers, but don’t ever admit what you’re scared of. It’s practically an invitation.”
She scoffs. “That’s just cruel.”
Maybe, but the torment from my brothers is a love language all its own. “You were really scared?”
She looks away, her mouth drawn into a tight line.
Is this a sign my teasing has gone too far? “You grew up here, right? So I thought the scare would only last a second. Then you’d get mad and if I was lucky, maybe you’d even laugh a little.” I give her an exaggerated cringe for good measure. “Sorry.”
Her lip quivers. She wipes the edge of her eye and glances away. “It’s fine. On any other day, that might have worked.”
I use the wet gauze to clean the excess blood from around her wound. She’s got a deep split across her middle knuckle. It’s pulpy and probably hurts a lot more than she’s letting on. The neighboring knuckles are scored with abrasions.
“What’s different about today?” I try to keep my voice casual, so she doesn’t see how much I want this answer.
She releases a heavy sigh. “My divorce got finalized. I should feel…I don’t know. Good, I guess? Free? But it still—” Her eyes stay focused on where I’m washing her wounds with a bit of soap “I’m still feeling things I shouldn’t.”
“It sucks.”
She glances up at me, her pale blue eyes tense with heartache. “You too, huh? ”
“Yep.”
“How long did you feel totally used up and spit out? Like it was your fault?”