Adam
* * *
Ten years later…
* * *
“What the hell, Asher?” I come to a dead stop as I enter the main house through the back door. “Please explain to me why there’s a woman tied to a chair in our kitchen.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. Ever since the rest of us moved back to Gallant Mountain, Asher has declared himself to be our resident vigilante. He’s been here for five years, and he feels the need to constantly patrol the property on the hunt for trespassers. He’s as mistrustful as they come.
The woman is feisty. She’s going to hurt herself the way she’s flinging her body around, tugging against the ropes Asher used to secure her.
Asher grunts. “Found her snooping around behind the barn. We need to question her. She’s probably been sent to spy on us.”
I take a deep breath and roll my eyes. “Jesus,” I mutter. “We can’t go around snatching up people just because they step over the property line, Asher.”
Suddenly, the young woman stops struggling and tips her head back to look up at me. A wild mane of red curls hangs loose around her shoulders, partially obscuring her face. “Tell him to let me go, Adam,” she shouts.
I gasp, taken aback. How does she know my name? My heart races as memories from my teenage years flood to the surface. Red braids on a lanky child. Giggles and smartass comments. Deep blue eyes. The same eyes and hair on this woman, though she’s not laughing now.
“Firecracker?” I step closer. Could it be her?
She rolls those gorgeous eyes. “I’m a grown woman, Adam. A bit old for that ridiculous nickname.”
“Rebekah?” I add when I recall her real name.
“Are you going to untie me or not?” She jerks against her bonds, which are surely abrading her skin.
Shooting a glare at Asher, I lurch forward, round behind the chair, and loosen the rope until it falls away.
Asher growls. “Are you at least going to question the little thief?”
“Thief?” she shouts. “I’ve never stolen anything in my life.”
Asher smirks. “I bet you’re here to steal information. Who do you report to?”
As she shakes out her arms, she jumps to her feet. “I don’t report to anyone, you fool.” She may be small, but she’s mighty, totally undaunted by our size. I’m a big guy. Six five and broad. With my thick beard and sometimes surly expression, people tend to steer clear of me. But Asher… He’s even larger than me.
Rebekah is probably five two and less than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Though that mane of red curls is probably adding a few pounds. She brushes her hair back from her face and stomps closer to Asher, fists by her sides, face red hot. Apparently, he doesn’t scare her.
Asher smirks at her and shoots me a narrow-eyed look before he turns and leaves through the back door as if I’m a fool for releasing his captive.
Rebekah spins around to face me. She crosses her arms over her chest and cocks out a hip. She’s wearing loose overalls that are huge on her and rolled up at the cuffs. Her shoes are filthy and falling apart. The red tank top is tight and worn as if she’s had it since she was a kid.
It’s her hair that captures my attention. It’s stunning. It always was, even when she was a child. I do a bit of math in my head. She was about ten when I last saw her. She’d be twenty now. She’s small, but her eyes tell a story without words. Rebekah is not a child anymore. She’s a grown woman who’s seen more than most people do in a lifetime, no doubt.
It’s hard for me to keep a straight face with her glaring at me like she is. I’m like a giant bear next to her, but she’s not afraid of me. And she shouldn’t be.
My mind floods with memories of her sneaking onto our land from a young age. Her parents owned the property adjacent to ours, but it’s more than half a mile to the house from here. She trotted through the woods to get to our homestead quite often. The last time I saw her was when I was eighteen, old enough to know that she came from extreme poverty. My parents fed her every time she showed up. She has an older sister, Hannah, but I only met her a few times. She didn’t like to traipse through the forest.
Rebekah was a tomboy. From the looks of things, she still is. I’d say she still doesn’t eat well, either. I can’t take my eyes off her. There’s something about her that calls to me. Perhaps I’m just worried about her welfare. I think it’s more than that, though.
Freckles dance across her nose, more than she had as a kid. Her hair is now a slightly darker red and considerably longer. She used to wear it in two braids behind her ears, and I wonder if she still does, or if she likes it down and wild.
I find myself wanting to touch it.
Shaking away my odd thoughts, I point toward the chair she vacated. “Sit. I’ll get you something to drink.”
