“None.” Her little huff is adorable. Full of exasperation and a hint of fear. “But shock absorbers would be nice.”
“I’ll buy you a cushion. Pretty sure Old Man Parker stocks those.” Scanning our surroundings, I blow out a breath. The slush is almost pure white. If another vehicle had come and gone, it would be stained with mud.
The bell on the door jingles as we enter, and warm air rushes over us. Half a dozen rows of shelves are filled to overflowing. The General Store doesn’t just sell groceries. The owner, Clarence, stocks most of the basics—frozen bread, powdered milk, eggs—as well as kerosene, candles, batteries, and some seasonally appropriate clothing. When I moved up here, he added dog food to the mix.
Parker’s also has the only working phone for miles. Even internet when the weather’s good. “Let me do the talking, darlin’. Keep the hat on and don’t tell Clarence your name.” With my arm around her waist, I guide her to the front counter.
“Wyatt? What the hell are you doing back here already? It’s only been four days.” The raspy voice carries from the back corner of the store, and Clarence shuffles out from his private office. “And who’s this?”
Hope shrinks against my side, tension vibrating from every muscle.
“Old friend of mine. Came up for a visit and got trapped by that fucking blizzard. We need to use your phone and pick up a few things if that’s okay.”
Clarence looks me up and down. He’s a former Marine, and his gaze lingers at my right hip. Just long enough. He knows I’m carrying. And lying through my teeth. To his credit, he only pauses a beat.
“The office is nice and toasty. Got the space heater running. Let me get my Sudoku book outta there and you can take all the time you need.”
The man has to be well over seventy, and arthritis has stolen his speed, so while he retrieves his book of puzzles, I lead Hope to a shelf with folded t-shirts, sweatshirts, jeans, and a pitiful selection of men’s and women’s underwear. “I don’t know shit about sizes, darlin’. But grab anything you think will fit.”
She peers up at me through her lashes. “You don’t need to buy me anything. I’m…fine.”
“The hell you are. Anyone looks twice at that sweater, they’re going to see the bloodstains. And you can’t tell me you want to keep wearing clothes he bought you.”
My words register like a slap to her face, and she hunches her shoulders. “Okay.”
Fuck me.
“Hope, I’m sorry.” Cupping her cheek, I skate my thumb over the fading bruise under her right eye. “You can wear whatever you want. I just thought you might be more comfortable—and warmer—with some new clothes. I can afford ‘em. You live off the grid, you don’t spend much money.”
By the time Clarence is perched on his stool at the cash register, she has a sweatshirt, a blue and gray flannel shirt, and a pair of dark jeans clutched in her arms, along with a pack of panties and two pairs of socks. We leave the small pile at the counter while we use the phone.
“You’re sure about this?” Hope asks when I close the door behind us. “That you can trust this guy you’re calling?”
Wrapping my arms around her, I relish the way she relaxes into my embrace. I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to let her go, but I have to. “I trust him, darlin’. With my life.”
“Sampson.”
The familiar voice makes the corners of my lips twitch, even as a knot forms in my gut. “It’s Wyatt.”
“What’s wrong?” The former SEAL team leader shifts into threat assessment mode seamlessly, which eases some of the tension gathering between my shoulder blades.
“I need an extraction. Not for me, but for an HVT with intel.”
With every word, Hope’s eyes grow wider. I lean against Clarence’s desk and hold out my free hand until she links our fingers.
“Where?”
“My cabin. She’s staying with me until you come to get her. And if you can’t get here, you better send someone you trust with your life.”
“Her?” The first hint of true surprise colors his tone, and I can practically see his eyebrows shoot up. “You want to tell me who she is and where she came from?”
“Not over an unsecured line, I don’t. She’s safe with me for now, but she won’t be for long unless you can get her into WITSEC or take out the asshole who’s after her. Your call.”
“Hang on.” Muffled conversation follows for a minute, and then he’s back. “Checked the weather report. That storm is going to make it impossible to get there by car until close to noon tomorrow. I can get a bird and drop in—with or without my team—but that makes extraction a hell of a lot harder.”
“Tomorrow’s fine. The cabin’s secure, and if you can’t get here, neither can anyone else. We’ll be waiting for you.” Before he can end the call, I add, “West? I owe you for this, man.”
“Family doesn’t keep track of debts, Wyatt. You know that. See you tomorrow.”
