I can see her just ahead, blonde hair flowing down her back as she crouches near the undergrowth, phone out, oblivious to her surroundings or that I'm even here.
“Don’t touch that,” I shout, her hand reaching out to pluck one of the tiny flowers she’s looking at.
“Jesus fucking christ!” she yells, tumbling forward on her knees, one hand still clasping her phone while the other is now wrist deep in the flowers. Her panicked eyes dart around, relaxing when they lock on me. “Why would you scare me like that. Could you just say ‘hey neighbor’ like a normal person?” she huffs.
Helping her stand, “Do I look like I say ‘hey neighbor’ to anyone, let alone someone creeping alongside our fenceline?”
“I wasn't creeping.”
Taking her wrist, I inspect it, seeing the faint red tinge of the stinging nettle rash already starting. She doesn't make a sound, but I can see her jaw tense as I inspect it. “Come on, we're going to have to wash this before it gets worse.” Guiding her in front of me, she starts walking, stepping inside the fence gate and standing awkwardly while I secure it.
“Relax, baby,” I purr. “We will sort your hand, and I'll take you back to Jovie. Unless she's still out there?” Panic flares as I think of her lost in the forest. It can be dense in places, and it's easy to lose direction if you're not familiar with the area, which is why no one strays from the bloody trail.
“No, she's fine. She’s with Sarah back at the bar. I wanted to explore a little while I had the time.” My chest un-tightens, and I take a deep breath, releasing the tension I didn't realize I was holding. She doesn't know how close I was to calling every member of the Belial Skulls M.C. back to the compound to search for her.
“She doing that wishing jar thing?” My voice a little rough.
We could go back to the kitchen where the rest of the guys are, but I don't want to deal with them staring at everything I do, let alone the ribbing that will no doubt follow when Brynn leaves.
“Yeah,” she laughs. “She was excited for all the glitter.”
I love my brothers as if they're my blood family, but they can be assholes, and I'm not in the mood for their shit. Leading her away from the industrial-looking building, my cabin soon comes into view. Warm, inviting, my perfect sanctuary.
Mumbling, “You can leave your shoes on.” I unlock the front door, opening it wide as she steps past me, gasping as she enters.
“Grizz. This is amazing.”
Standing in the doorway, I rub my hand over the back of my neck. I've never had a woman in my cabin. I've never wanted the space tainted with the presence of another person.
I don’t want the chairs at my small table left out or askew, have to explain why I don’t have any cushions on the sofa, or why I have an old horseshoe hanging over the door. In my little house, everything has its place. But the anxiety I should be feeling, that tightness in my chest, it's nowhere to be seen.
Her fingers drag over the wooden table as she looks around. Along the kitchen bench, the back of the sofa, the bookshelf overflowing with stories that let me escape. Every surface painstakingly handcrafted.
The realization that I wouldn't last if I had to sleep in the clubhouse came quickly. Thankfully, it was summer when I first started construction, so by the time the cooler weather rolled around, I had a wood burner and a bedroll inside four sturdy walls, and I continued to carve and design everything else I needed to live comfortably.
“It's not much, but it's home,” I say, closing the door and walking to put a log on the remaining embers in the fire.
“Did you restore it? I never would have guessed something so quaint would be back here.” She doesn't look at me as sheexplores, absentmindedly conversing as I watch her move about my space. A space she looks perfectly at home in.
“I built it.” Walking over to the kitchen sink, I grab a cloth, baking soda, and get out my first aid kit. It pays to be prepared when you never know what you could encounter out in the mountains. “After… after I got out of prison, I needed somewhere quiet.”
I've heard the other guys talk about it occasionally, the moment the lady they're talking to realizes they might be getting in deeper than they can handle. I don’t want to look at her face when her eyes lose that fire and turn to fear. When she realizes I've hurt people before. Do I justify it and say they were bad? That the world was better off without them living in it. Or will she say the same thing about me because of what I've done? You don't spend almost twenty years in prison for a parking ticket.
I see her body stop in the reflection of the window, and I close my eyes, anticipating the latch on the door clicking as she walks out of my life before I've even thought about starting something. From what I can see, she's a damm good mother, one who should be packing up and getting the hell out of dodge before the big bad wolf sinks his teeth into her.
Dipping my head, I focus on relaxing my shoulders and neck when a small, warm hand rests on my forearm. My eyes flare open, turning to search her face as she looks up at me. Her body so close to mine I can feel the heat radiating off her, the way my skin comes alive under her touch.
“You don't scare me, Grizz.”
Her smile radiates, and I could laugh at the random turn of events.
She hasn't run away.
She stayed.
“Do you think the baking soda will actually work, or is it more of an old wives' tale? It's really starting to sting now.”
Dipping my brow, “Um?”
