Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
T he next morning, Schwartz woke up grumpy.
He heard the cheerful, imaginary echo of his brother’s voice in the back of his head. Don’t you wake up grumpy every morning?
“Shut up, Grant,” he muttered out loud. Rolling over, he punched his pillow as his chest clenched tight.
Dammit, he missed the bastard. He hadn’t realized how much until Grant had shown up in his life and in his kitchen, sharing bad coffee and a plan to drag him into a mission that was a matter of life and death for someone who clearly mattered a whole lot to their family.
And now she mattered to him.
He didn’t need this right now. Schwartz rolled again and stared out the window. The sun was just starting to light up the tamaracks, staining the sky a soft purplish red. A western meadowlark flitted from branch to branch on a fir tree.
Another beautiful morning on this, the twenty-ninth day of September.
He rolled the date around in his mind like someone poking at a bad tooth with the tip of his tongue. Ten years ago today, he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. It was the day he’d ruined everything, disappointed his family, and lost his place in the world. He closed his eyes and smelled the tang of gunpowder again, heard the shrill hiss of the rocket and the screams of dying men.
Your fault. All your fault. You deserve to be alone.
A rustling sound on the other side of the wall made him open his eyes.
He wasn’t alone. Not by a long shot.
Janelle.
He rolled over again and punched the stupid hot dog pillow. What the hell had he been thinking last night? Talking to her that way, urging her to pleasure herself while he followed suit on the other side of the wall. He pictured her touching her body, those small hands caressing soft, luscious breasts as his palms moved down the side of her body and under her waistband until?—
Okay, so he hadn’t actually touched her. That was something. His judgment was a little fuzzy, but at least he hadn’t ruined it completely. He could still stay objective here, still keep her safe without the threat of hormones or affection or anything else clouding his thoughts. He could still do this.
He could still prove himself, even if it meant keeping his hands off her for good.
With a sigh, Schwartz threw back the covers and swung his legs out of the bed. It was chilly in the cabin, and he tugged on a pair of worn jeans and an old sweatshirt before lumbering into the living room. He got to work gathering wood and feeding Sherman, throwing himself into mundane tasks so he wouldn’t think about rockets or family or pale blue eyes flashing up at him with laughter.
He got the fire blazing again, and was sitting on the floor in front of it rubbing Sherman’s belly when Janelle walked in. He saw her out of the corner of his eye as she stumbled sleepily into the living room, pulling his old sweatshirt over her head as she moved. She bent down and tugged on a pair of wooly socks with pink and orange polka dots.
“Morning,” he said.
“Good morning.” Was it his imagination, or did she blush when she looked at him? He only dared to glance at her from his peripheral vision, so he couldn’t be sure. Her hair looked rumpled and her cheeks flushed rosy and all he could think about was how urgently he wanted to watch her pleasure herself the way she’d done it last night.
Hell, that was a lie. He wanted to be the one pleasuring her.
He turned away completely, making sure he couldn’t even see her shadow. He concentrated on watching the fire, on scratching the happy spot at the center of Sherman’s chest. The dog gave a low groan, oblivious to his master’s surly mood.
“You’ve got it nice and toasty in here,” she said, and he heard her sock-clad shuffling across the wood floor behind him. “Thank you.”
He grunted in reply, hand still on his dog’s chest, eyes still on the fire. He’d be okay if he didn’t look at her. He could feel her moving behind him, drifting toward the door, her gaze on the back of his head.
Still, he said nothing.
She cleared her throat. “Last night was?—”
“So how’s that espresso machine working out for you?”
The silence stretched out behind him. When she answered, her voice sounded stiff. “Fine. Just fine.”
“Good.”
He kept rubbing his dog’s belly, but Sherman raised his head and pricked his ears, sensing the tension between them. Schwartz stayed silent, hating the tight feeling in his chest, the wish that he could just give in and touch her. Devour her. Love her.
Love? What the actual fuck?
“You know, Schwartz, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if we slept together.”
He closed his eyes, hating the hurt in her voice almost as much as he hated himself.
Hating that he was about to make it worse.
“I see,” he said. “And you’re qualified to know that would be such a great idea because your last relationship worked out so well?”
He had his back to her, so he didn’t see the blow coming. One minute he was sitting there peacefully rubbing the dog’s belly, and the next he was marveling at how such a tiny woman could deliver a kick to rival that of an angry moose.
“Ow!” he growled, jumping up from his spot on the floor. He spun to face her, rubbing his tailbone. “What the hell?”
“You’re acting like a jerk,” she snapped, eyes flashing with fury as she folded her arms over her chest.
“That fucking hurt!”
“Acting like a jerk is different from actually being a jerk. You might think you can fool everyone into thinking you’re this curmudgeonly, surly bastard who doesn’t like being around people, but I know better, Schwartz.”
“When did you put on your goddamn boots?” he growled, focusing on the ache in his ass so he wouldn’t have to focus on the truth in her words.
“You’re a cream puff,” she snapped. “A sweetheart. A nice guy who buys thoughtful gifts and rescues helpless animals and does favors for family members he hasn’t seen in a decade.”
“Seriously, I think you dislocated my tailbone.” Not really, but complaining distracted him from admitting she might have a point.
“You want people to think you’re this big, scary grump who hates everyone,” she said, not winding down in the slightest. “But I saw you smiling in the café with all those people around you yesterday. I hear you singing to Sherman when you pick burrs out of his ears. I watched your whole face light up when you saw Grant’s number flash on your caller ID yesterday. You are a nice guy who cares about others, and that scares the hell out of you for some reason.”
“You couldn’t have aimed a little higher, maybe taken out a kidney?”
Janelle propped both hands on her hips. “Even though you’re standing there pretending you don’t give a damn about what’s been happening between us, I know it’s all an act.”
Gritting his teeth, he prayed she couldn’t see how her words found their mark. “Who the hell puts pointy toes on snow boots?”
“I know you like me, Schwartz.” She took a step closer, so close he could feel the heat from her bare legs. “And I like you, too, despite the fact that you’re acting like a bastard right now.”
He swallowed hard, pushing down the urge to reach out and grab her around the waist, pulling her to him. Instead, he rubbed his tailbone again. “I can already feel the bruise forming.”
She glared at him, her frustration making her even more beautiful than she already was. “I want you and you want me, and I really don’t see how it’s going to hurt anything if we enjoy each other’s company while we have the opportunity.”
“Was that some special kick my mom taught you, or just a lucky shot?”
She glared at him for a moment, then shook her head in disgust. “Good talk, Schwartz.”
She stomped off to the bathroom, hair trailing behind her, boots thudding on the wood floor, her legs bare and beautiful beneath the hem of his sweatshirt
He waited until the door closed to let the big, stupid smile spread across his face.
All morning long, Janelle felt guilty about the things she’d said to Schwartz. Okay, so most of it was true. That didn’t mean she had a right to say it out loud. Not when she was a guest in his home and a grateful recipient of his gruff brand of personal protection. Hurling accusations at a guy who was saving her ass was probably not the best way to show gratitude.
They worked in silence in the office, their laptops on opposite ends of the desk, the air around them crackling with energy.
At noon, she got up and made grilled cheese sandwiches, using extra butter the way she knew he liked it. She cut an apple into thick slices and dunked the ends in peanut butter, something he’d done a few days earlier. She arranged half the apples on each plate, pulled two Pop-Tarts out of the toaster, and carted the whole mess into the office using a baking sheet as a tray.
“Here,” she said, thrusting a plate at him. “A peace offering.”
He turned and looked up at her with wary gray eyes. “What for?”
She sighed and sat down in the other chair, pulling her plate onto the desk beside her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”
He studied her for a moment, then looked down at his sandwich. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not fine. I was rude and I apologize.”
“You were right and I accept.” He picked up the sandwich and took a bit. “It’s okay, Janelle. You had a point. I was being a dick this morning.”
“I didn’t use that word, exactly.”
“That’s right, we’re avoiding dicks around here.”
She felt the heat creep into her cheeks and looked away, intent on rearranging the apple slices on her plate. “Be that as it may, I had no right to talk to you like that. You’re inconveniencing yourself to protect me, and I appreciate that.”
He set his plate on the desk with a clatter and reached out to grab her hands. The unexpected contact sent an arc of electricity to her, a feeling that ran counter to her renewed pledge to respect his wishes and keep things platonic.
But she didn’t pull back. She let him grip her knuckles between his massive palms, his eyes searching hers as he held her with more than his hands.
“You were right to call me on it,” he said. “I was having a bad morning, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
“A bad morning?”
“Yeah.”
She bit her lip, hesitating. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“Not really.”
“Okay.” She looked down at the apples again, wondering if she should have used more peanut butter.
“But I will.”
She looked up from her plate to see those gray eyes looking haunted again. She felt an overpowering urge to reach up and smooth a hand over his cheek and tell him everything would be okay.
But he held onto her hands, so she shut up and waited for him to continue.
“How much do you know about my military service?” he asked.
The question took her by surprise, and she had to think for a moment. “I know you were the first person in your family to join the Army. Everyone else was a Marine.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. I know you got hurt in Iraq. Badly.” She swallowed, not certain how much to reveal, but knowing she couldn’t lie with those eyes searching hers the way they were. “Your mom and Sheri—when we were in Kauai organizing your sister’s wedding? They told us some things.”
“Like what?”
His voice was surprisingly gentle, so she took a breath and kept going. “They said your Humvee was hit by some sort of explosive. That you were the only one who survived. That you were in a coma for three months, and when you woke up, you were never the same again.”
She saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but he recovered quickly. He nodded once, his hands tensing around hers. “Yes. That’s all true. And the date that happened was September twenty-ninth.”
Janelle swallowed again, nodding. She’d lost track of dates out here, but she didn’t have to consult a calendar to understand what he was telling her. “That’s today.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly ten years ago.”
“Correct.”
“That’s why you’re upset. It’s been on your mind all week.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you haven’t been sleeping and now you have those big dark circles under your eyes.”
A flicker of amusement changed the color of his eyes from storm gray to dove gray, and he squeezed her hands between his. “Thank you for the astute observation on my subpar beauty regimen.”
“I can help you,” she said, standing up without letting go of his hands. She used them to pull him up, though he was a whole lot heavier than she expected. She still wasn’t used to the sheer size of him, and it probably helped that he came willingly.
He stood up, all six feet five inches of him towering over her. She let go of his hands as he gazed down at her with a look somewhere between confusion and humor.
“You can help me?” he asked.
“Yes! Come on.”
“Are we going to watch The View and talk about our feelings?”
“Better! Come on, get your boots on.”
“Can we at least finish lunch?”
She frowned. “How long will that take?”
“Less time than it takes you to get ready to leave the house.”
“All right. I’ll go get my coat.”
Thirty minutes later, Janelle stooped down at the edge of the creek, getting elbow-deep in grayish-brown goop. Schwartz stood a few feet behind, looking at her like she’d lost her mind and he was deciding whether to help retrieve it.
“Care to tell me how a bag full of mud is going to turn my day around?” he asked.
She grinned, feeling a twinge of satisfaction at the note of good humor she heard in his voice.
“Nope. It’s a surprise.”
Sherman stood knee-deep in the water, pausing every now and then to paw at a leaf or a stick floating past. He barked once, then trotted around the bend in the creek, his massive tail wagging behind him.
“Are we going to throw mud at someone?” Schwartz asked.
She looked back at him to see he was still watching her with a bemused expression. She smiled and scooped up another handful of goop, dropping it into the gallon-sized Ziploc bag she’d brought with her. “No, though that isn’t a bad idea.”
“Mudslinging makes everyone feel better. Or maybe that only works for politicians.”
“It isn’t mud, it’s bentonite clay.”
“What?”
“I did a little research when you let me get online the other day. Don’t worry, it was all encrypted and protected and all that jazz.”
“You used an encrypted web connection to research mud?”
“It’s clay. And it’s for that infographic I was telling you about. The one about natural beauty remedies?”
She stood up and pinched the top of the bag shut, then clutched it to her chest. The squishy contents felt chilly even through her coat and gloves, and Schwartz was staring at her like she’d gone insane. Or maybe he was just looking at her boobs, though that was probably tough through her thick down jacket.
“Beauty remedies,” he repeated.
“Yes. Bentonite clay is very good for your skin. It’s ancient volcanic ash that’s been washed for years and years by running water. It makes an excellent facial mask, and it’s great for pulling out toxins to make your skin beautiful and fresh.”
“You’re going to make me beautiful?”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, grinning as she eyed his rugged features. “Beautiful” was not a word that would ever describe Schwartz Patton. Handsome, maybe. Striking, yes. Drop-dead, crawl-on-the-floor-with-your-tongue-dragging-under-your-knees-sexy, perhaps.
She shoved the bag of clay into the little backpack she’d brought with her, zipping it tight before slinging it over her shoulder again. She pointed to a small plant growing under a fern near his feet.
“What kind of moss is that?”
He looked down at it and shook his head. “That’s devil’s club. Why?”
“Just wondering if it would be a good thing to use for exfoliation.”
“Devil’s club would be a good way to end up writhing on the ground in pain. Stings like hell if you touch it. What part of my body were you planning to rub it on?”
She grinned and stepped back, looking at the foliage around them. “Okay, fine. How about wild raspberry leaf?”
“What’s that for?”
“Tea. It’s supposed to be really good for anxiety.”
“You want to sip raspberry tea together and give each other mud masks?”
“Is this not how you imagined your day going?”
He shook his head, though she couldn’t tell if it was a negative response or a gesture of bemusement. He started walking away from her, headed uphill away from the creek. Janelle fell into step behind him, wondering if he was leading her to a spot where he intended to leave her for dead. She stopped and sneezed, then scrambled to catch up.
“Bless you,” he said over his shoulder.
“Thanks.” She sneezed again, glad he couldn’t see her wiping her nose on the sleeve of her jacket.
“Bless you again.”
“Thanks. You know, it’s really not necessary to bless me for each sneeze.”
“Sure it is. Haven’t you heard the soul leaves the body any time someone sneezes?”
“No.”
“I’m making sure your soul is in good shape in case it doesn’t find its way back.”
She grinned, admiring the broadness of his back as he trudged two feet ahead of her. “You’re worried about my soul?”
“Among other parts.”
“Well, my soul and I appreciate it.”
Sherman trotted ahead of them, still dripping water from the creek as he gripped a stick in his jaws and shook it fiercely. He was going to be a filthy mess later, but she already knew he didn’t mind getting a bath.
Janelle sneezed again.
“Bless you.”
She giggled. “You really believe that? The thing about the souls?”
“No. But there’s no sense in taking an unnecessary risk, is there?”
“Right.”
He pointed to a pale greenish-gray tuft sprouting from the bark of a tree. “That’s elk horn lichen. The one you asked about earlier?”
“It looks like a Muppet having a bad hair day.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re sure that’s the same thing as usnea lichen?”
“Positive.”
“Wow, there’s a ton of it.”
She bent down to pluck a few handfuls near the base of the tree, shoving them into another Ziploc bag. It felt soft and springy, and she brushed some over the back of her hand, enjoying the feel of it.
“You know, this is supposed to be great for pain relief,” she said.
“I’ll have to bend over and rub my ass on it where you kicked me this morning.”
She laughed and grabbed another fistful, shoving it in the bag before sliding her fingertips along the top to seal it shut. She tucked the whole mess into her backpack, wondering if she’d grabbed enough willow bark at their first stop to make a good facial cleanser.
She sneezed again, then zipped the backpack shut.
It dawned on her Schwartz hadn’t blessed her that time.
She looked up to see him staring down at her with narrowed eyes. A chill snaked down her arms, and she clutched her little backpack tighter.
“What?” she asked, still crouched on the ground. “What’s wrong?”
His face darkened in a frown. “Are you getting sick?”
“No, I don’t think so. Why?”
He looked away from her, his eyes scanning the dense clusters of trees that surrounded him. His whole body had gone rigid, his legs coiled as though ready to spring. He turned once, looking east, then pivoted again to survey the north.
His gaze slid to the tree closest to them. He reached out and plucked something off the bark, holding it between two fingers as he studied it.
Then he looked at her. “Does this feel like an allergy attack?”
“What?”
“An allergy attack. You keep sneezing.” His voice was clipped and urgent, and Janelle tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
“I—I guess. But why?—”
“Get up!” He barked. “Get to your feet right this minute.”
He dropped whatever he’d ben holding and grabbed her arm with one hand, yanking her up before she had a chance to ask why. The backpack banged against her ribs as Schwartz gripped her tight around her biceps, his gaze scanning the trees again as he pulled her closer.
His free hand slid into his jacket.
When it reemerged, Schwartz held a pistol.