Even with his eyes closed he was sensitive to every sound she made. The quiet rustling of her sleeping bag when she shifted. Every little sigh. But as the minutes wore on those sounds slowed and then stopped altogether.
He checked on her and watched the slow rise and fall of her chest. The feathery shadow of her lashes against her cheeks. He felt gratified somehow that she was at rest.
She was having better luck than he was. It was hard to sleep when he knew bad things could happen, even out here. When he might be the only one able to offer her protection. He touched his Glock, making sure it was still in its holster.
A moment later he slipped quietly out of his bag and went to switch out the overflowing water bottle. Afterward he lay down again, the smell of wood smoke on his clothes taking him right back to that night. Now, alone in his thoughts, he allowed them to come. Some of them. Just the parts before Gordon Kimball showed up.
He thought of the way they’d toasted marshmallows using sticks and the way she’d laughed when he told her about his last day of school. He’d always looked forward to summer at the lake, but it was the camping he liked most. His mom could dress up and impress his dad’s political peers, but she was most comfortable in jeans, planting flowers around their summer home, puttering around the grounds.
Even all these years later the ache in Wyatt’s gut yawned wide. He still missed her. Trying to shake the hollow feeling, he got up againand added the last of the sticks to the fire. The second water bottle wasn’t quite full, but he changed it out anyway.
Grace was still sleeping peacefully when he returned.
He lay back down, ears straining for extraneous sounds. That summer night so long ago weighed on him like a lead blanket, smothering him with heat, making his skin break out in a sweat.
He had to redirect his thoughts. If he was going to keep up with Grace tomorrow, he needed some sleep. He lay there a long time, the day’s tension gradually seeping from his muscles, his breaths slowing.
She was something. He’d learned a lot about her on this trip, and the more he knew about her, the more he liked and respected her. It seemed inconceivable that he’d only met her three days ago. He let his thoughts wander to Grace’s picture of her future in Bluebell. And it induced a feeling so peaceful it was almost intoxicating. The cozy cottage, a gravel driveway, kids playing on a backyard swing set, the dog loping across a green lawn.
He had no idea what time it was when finally he succumbed to the lulling patter of rain.
His mom cried out, snatching him from the oblivion of sleep. Wyatt opened his eyes, but it was dark. So dark. A shadow hovered inside their small tent. A shadow so big Wyatt scurried to the corner.
“Run, Wyatt!” his mother screamed.
But he couldn’t move. The shadow was wrestling with her. Wyatt could hear their movements in the dark, hear his mom grunting with effort.
The man called his mom a foul name. “Stop it, or I’ll shoot the boy. How’d you like that, huh?”
In the sudden silence he heard the cock of a gun’s hammer.
“No, please! I’ll—I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone.”
His heart was about to explode from his chest. Fear pasted his tongueto the roof of his mouth. He had to do something. But what? The man was so muchbiggerand he had a gun.
A scuffling ensued as the man dragged his mom through the tent opening. Mom! his heart screamed, but his tongue was frozen.
Wyatt heard their footsteps outside through the grass and decaying leaves. The low pleading sound of his mother’s voice. All of it fading into the distance.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. Please, God. Please, God. Please, God.
Chapter Nineteen
Something tugged Grace from slumber. She turned onto her stomach but kept her eyes closed, reaching for sleep. The hard ground beneath her reminded her where she was. The quiet patter of rain continued but was lighter now. The chill in the air made her huddle deeper into her sleeping bag.
A sudden movement beside her pulled her eyes open. Wyatt. His restlessness was what had woken her.
The fire had died out, the ashes glowing orange now but putting off no apparent heat. She recalled her conversation earlier with Wyatt. To that moment when she’d thought he was going to kiss her. Her lips had tingled with wanting. She’d never been one to move quickly, and she’d only known Wyatt three days. Yet she never wanted a kiss so badly.
When he’d turned away, the disappointment had been deflating. Was she that inferior to the women he’d dated? ToLauren?Did he still see Grace as a child even after all their conversation, after this backwoods adventure? She thought she’d proven that she was independent and capable. A grown-up at the very least!
But when viewed through the scope of his difficult past, her little crush paled in comparison. He was still mourning his mother. How awful that she’d died in some kind of camping accident, and he was still trying to find closure all these years later.
Grace understood all too well. But she’d had some things working for her in that department. Continuing to live in her parents’ house after their deaths helped. Having her siblings grieve alongside her was a comfort. Bringing their parents’ dream of the inn alive had been healing too.
But Wyatt had had none of those things. It saddened her that he was still trying to cope with his mom’s death. When he’d disclosed his loss, she’d wanted to comfort him somehow. To mother him a bit. And that was so unlike her. That was Molly’s way, not hers.
And yet, there it was. He brought a part of her to life—a part she hadn’t even known about.
