Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Warrick
A window shattered from a loose rock lifted by the wind mere moments before I heard Zara scream over the thunder.
“Warrick! Help me—” I flung the blanket off and darted to the bedroom. “Warrick!”
I yanked the door open and found her half sitting on the floor, her legs tangled in the bed sheets. Her hands were scrambling, nails scraping on the floorboards until I lurched forward and grabbed her.
Hauling her up, I winced when her nails sunk into my skin. Jesus, this girl was really afraid of thunderstorms, wasn’t she?
“Easy,” I said calmly while lightning flashed out the window, “it's all right. You’re fine, Zara. You’re safe.”
While I lifted her to the bed, her left side pressed into mine, and I felt her heart hammering against her breastbone. When I got her on the bed and against the pillows, her face was deathly bloodless with fear. Her fingers were gripping the sheets, her chest heaved, and her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth.
I tried to get a hold of her eyes—but failed.
“Are you all right?” I asked, knowing damn well she was not all right. No one screamed like that if they were all right, not even if they were mildly scared. Zara was scared stiff. “What happened?”
“I—” She looked everywhere but at me. “—had a nightmare. I’m sorry I frightened you. I-I don’t do well with storms.”
In the end, her voice was weak and trembling, and I was not sure if she could hold up for the rest of the night. This storm was a big one and it was going to last the night. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
She sucked in a breath. “Actually, if you don’t mind, can I stay with you for the rest of this storm? I-I-”
“May have another panic attack,” I finished for her.
Zara nodded numbly. Her hands brushed across her throat, and I wondered if she wanted to vomit as well. She looked so lost, so tiny…a protective surge rose in my gut. “C’mon, then,” I stood and took her blankets. “Let’s go. I’ll make you another cup of tea, too.”
She let out a strangled sound. “You have anything stronger? Whisky, rum, moonshine strong enough to strip paint from a wall?”
“Sorry,” I replied. “I don’t make it a habit of keeping strong alcohol around. There are times I have to take medication, and booze and pain pills do not mix—well, not if you want to be functional the next day.”
I kept a hand on her, not sure if her knees would get out from under her or if she would faint. Then I remembered the broken window: “Don’t go near the kitchen barefoot. The wind flung a rock into the window, and it’s all in pieces.”
She blinked. “I thought I’d heard something shatter. Was—was that it?”
“Yes,” I gestured to the pullout bed Laura had graciously given me. “I can take the couch again.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s fine; I know the couch makes you stiff, so I’ll take it.”
I looked over to her while filling the kettle. “You noticed that?”
She shrugged and curled up on the couch, making herself into a ball and covering her tiny frame with her blanket. “Well, I mean, I don’t think you realized it, but every time you got off the couch, you rolled your shoulder and twisted your back. Is the?—”
Thunder boomed, and she jumped.
Swallowing, she continued. “—old injury acting up after sleeping here?”
“At times,” I replied while taking down a cup. “It’s why I scrimped and saved for months to buy myself one of those pillowtop beds that give good lumbar support. It hurts like hell when my sciatic nerve gets pinched.”
“Then I’ll take the couch,” she said, eyes flying to the window.
Why is she so scared? I’ve never seen someone this scared by a thunderstorm.
Her scream about going to fucking die made me wonder why she had chosen those words. She’d said she had a nightmare, so she could have been reacting to that. I’d had some visceral nightmares myself and woken up wondering where the line between the dream and reality was.
I handed her the cup and sat near her. “Did something happen when you were young to make you scared of thunderstorms?”
“No,” she shook her head. “It’s not that.”
My brows dipped. “What is it then?”
Cradling the cup, she kept her eyes down. “I’m just not fond of loud cracking noises,” she murmured and unconsciously licked her lips, her gaze darting away. “I get nervous easily.”
Why do I think that is half the story?
I don’t know what was happening, but I did wrap an arm around her shoulders. I wanted to comfort her and tell her that whatever had happened, it would be okay.
My gaze dropped to her wide mouth. The bottom lip was fuller, and just made to be sucked on. I wonder how swollen her lips would look after I kiss her…
My head jerked back; where did that thought come from?
She tipped her head up until there was an inch of space between us, and her warm breath washed over my face…and a sudden, unexpected need pinged through my gut. Temptation warred with common sense in my head. We could kiss, and it would be scintillating…but I knew how three seconds could wreck one’s life.
Things were already strange between us. No need to make it worse.
Turning away, I cleared my throat, “Are you going to be all right?”
She nodded and looked down. “I’ll be fine when this damned storm stops.”
I hoped the lights would stay on even with this raging storm and went over to slip between the sheets. Turning my back to her, I closed my eyes and forced my thoughts away from that almost moment we’d had to what stress I’d face by morning.
The fairgrounds were bound to be flooded, the equipment damaged, and God knows what I’d find when this storm passed. Hopefully, those lightning rods would do their job and redirect any devastating strike away from anything expensive.
Those thoughts sobered my blood, and I slipped to sleep, not willing to see what would meet me the next day.
The morning was wet, and while the town’s businesses had weathered the storm, the fairgrounds were soddened and dreary. My boots sunk three inches in the oversaturated ground, and while I plodded on, Zara struggled behind me. Never having navigated wet terrain like this, she inched her way around.
Some of the stall owners were there assessing the damage, but by some fluke of luck, there was not much structural damage. A few things needed to be replaced here and there, but nothing much; needless to say, we would have to wait it out a few days to start the festival.
“It’s not pretty, is it?” Gregory Treeve, the mayor, said as he strode to me, the tops of his blue jeans wet with runoff. “But we can work with this.”
“We’ve got a few days to let this dry out,” I said, looking around. “But the best thing is no damage.”
“Excuse me,” Zara said, her eyes shifting between us. “I am sorry to interrupt, but a few of the vendors who moved some produce here are wondering what their next move is going to be.”
“Christ on a cracker,” Gregory rubbed his face. “I’ll go talk to them.”
“Before you go, mayor,” I nodded to Zara, “Zara Harrington is my new PA. Miss Harrington, the mayor of Silver Ridge, Mr Gregory Treeve.”
Sticking out a hand, he said, “Pleased to meet you. I hope you can keep up with this guy here. He is a surly one.”
She gave a slight smile. “I’ll do my best, Sir.”
For the first time since we got up, I took a good look at her; there were dark circles under her eyes, but she didn’t look too worse for wear. I was starkly aware that I had fucked up twice with her, and the almost kiss last night was probably souring her impression of me that much more.
Another thing I had to apologize for.
I was not ticking off the boxes on this boss card, was I?
“I guess this pushes our timeline in the town back a couple of days,” she said, while smoothing her hair from her face.
“It does,” I held back a sigh. “But the good thing is nothing was too destroyed. We can work with this…” I eyed her. “…as for last night, I?—”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she said, giving me a side-eye. “Any of it.”
“Noted,” I replied. “Well, let’s do what we came here for.”
An hour and about forty minutes later, we were done with the round, and I was thankfully heading back to the truck. Hopping inside, I paused, the skin at the back of my neck pricking with unwanted tension.
I needed a way to get this tension away for good.
It was like a revolving door. It would come, then pass for a couple of hours, and then spring back up all over again. “Remember when I said I was heading to Helena? I am going now. Do you want to come with me and get that cell you so dearly need?”
She looked up, her gaze guarded. “Um, sure. Thank you.”
“Hop in then,” I nodded.
The normal ten-minute drive to Helena was stretched into fifteen because I was paranoid about the water on the road and driving us into a ditch.
Silence. It was thick and loaded with tension.
“Are you enjoying Silver Ridge?” I finally asked.
Pushing a few dark strands behind her ear, Zara looked out the window. “It's okay, I suppose. I haven’t seen much of it yet, to be honest. I suppose it would be different for someone living here all their lives.”
“Most of it, yes,” I replied. “I suppose small-town living and small-town country living can't compare with the big-city hustle, huh?"
“I’d agree, if you're old."
Oddly, I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing. “That I am.”
“Oh please,” she scoffed, teasing. “You’re what, forty-one going on seventy?”
“I’m thirty-four, whippersnapper ,” I mumbled. “I’m hardly over the hill.”
“Huh, you don’t look like it,” she said.
“Your cushy city life has softened you.”
“I wouldn’t call the hours I kept cushy,” Zara mumbled, then swiveled her eyes to me. “Don’t ask.”
So, I didn’t, and soon enough, the spattering of buildings on the outskirts of the city grew to the large concrete jungle of the city. Traffic was light, and I called my accountant, asking him if he had the latest numbers ready and if I could just run in and get them.
“Sure,” Edgar said. “It’s all printed out.”
I turned onto Prospect Ave, glad there was a café down the street where I sorely needed a cup of coffee—or three. I found a parking spot and shut the truck down. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She nodded curtly and looked down at the notebook on her lap. She was avoiding me—again. With Zara, I felt like I was running an obstacle course, with an eyepatch covering one eye, blinding me, and a cast on the other leg, dragging me down, but I still had to jump over hurdles.
What the fuck was I doing wrong with her?
I was attracted to her.
The attraction wasn’t mutual.
She was city.
I was country.
I needed a country girl by my side.
She probably wanted an executive to wine and dine her.
Not to mention, I’d make the mistake of wanting to kiss her in the middle of her panic attack.
Sleezeball alert.
I hopped out of the car, more confused than a blind fox in a chicken coop or a chameleon in a bag of Skittles. I got into the office, said a few words to Edgar, grabbed my thick file, and, with a few parting words, left again.
She blinked, “That was quick.”
“I didn’t need to linger,” I handed her the file. “Now, do you want to go to the phone store or get a coffee? I don’t know if you need one, but I need four.”
I gunned the truck on as I looked over to her, and she slowly turned my way. The instant our eyes locked, it was me, her, and nothing else. It was just her sharp green gaze burning into mine. And burn it did.
The heat in my veins made my skin feel too tight. Almost too tight. The beat in my head and under my ribcage was like a caged animal trying to make its escape. It’d been years.
Seven years, for shit’s sake. And still, she was the only woman who could evoke such a visceral reaction in me. Not that she knew. Judging by the way her beautiful mouth pressed into tight, thin lines, the feeling most definitely wasn’t mutual.
But then she licked her lips.
And I wondered if I was wrong.
“I’d like to get the cell first,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“The store it is,” I replied.