“How’s your head?” Jack asks gruffly, bringing me back to the margarita-deficient desert.
“You sure make a habit of ignoring my questions.” I scowl, standing up to unclip my tent from the bottom of Marigold, and he surprises me by turning to face me.
“That wasn’t a question, and I’m not arguing with you over this. Just ‘cause you don’tthinkyou need protection doesn’t change the fact that you do. That ambush in the tunnel was no accident. Now, for whatever reason, you’re on someone’s radar.”
He’s so close—the heavy rise of his chest is within inches of my body. His eyebrows draw together, pinning me in place, and his next words come out gravelly and pained. “I’m not ignoring my gut, Willow.”
A look of regret flashes over his eyes, the wordsnot againsilently clinging to the end of his statement.
He may as well have revealed a giant dagger sticking out of his chest, because everything in me is screamingyou can heal him!
“Okay.” I nod, unable to fight this man. There’s a reason he’s wrapped in such spiky barbs, why his default is set tosnarl.
And I’m making it my mission to figure outwhy, so I can start unwrapping that armor. I might get hurt in the process, but I can’t ignore the pull to see him living his fullest life, and what are a few nicks here and there if it means I can help him? After all, he’s already managed to help me.
It’s the same reason I’m gripped by the power of color and style. I can tell when someone is hiding in the wrong colors, too much makeup, or ill-fitting clothes, casting themselves in a role that doesn’t belong to them. Every authentic outfit is a chance to step forward as the leading character in one’s own story in lieu of fading forgettably into the background.
I can already tell that Jack’s been wearing emotional armor for too long, and I need to help him swap it for something that actually lets the light in.
He can follow his gut and play the bodyguard, but I’ll be following my own convictions. Who knows—maybe focusing on someone else’s wounds will help heal my own. I just need to make sure his drive to solve that mystery and his compulsion to keep me safe don’t hijack this trip from me. At least he seems to have abandoned the ridiculous notion that I’m involved in something illegal.
Jack finishes setting up his tent inhumanely fast and perches on a log, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded, watching me from under his brow. He lazily taps his hat on his thigh, a hint of a smirk dances on his lips while I wrestle my tent into submission.
“Need any help?”
“I need to do this by myself,” I growl.
That lady from the blog said to practice, but I laughed at her.
I have regrets.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sticky and ready to punch someone, but my tent is up. The no-showering part of this wholething wasn’t an issue when I thought I’d be doing this alone. But now a stupidly hot man has made himself my bodyguard, and I’m thinking of a fundraiser to get showers installed within one of those rest areas.
“I’ll see what I can get us from the canteen for an early dinner. Stay here,” Jack commands.
“So bossy.” I narrow my eyes. “You were military, weren’t you?”
“Law enforcement,” he mutters and struts away.
I consider calling out an objection to being ordered tostay, like a dog, but I could actually use the reprieve to apply some deodorant. It’s also nice watching him walk away.
Unhooking Marigold from the anti-critter pole is a fun experience in which I ironically sound and look like an animal under attack.
If I survive the next few days, I’m buying dumbbells.
A suffocating, warm air hangs in the tent when I pull Marigold inside. The noise of the zipper is like a protest against shutting out the only hint of a breeze. Sweating has officially commenced. If Jack has even a smidgeon of attraction to me now or after this, there’s no way he’s getting away.
A man who can look past the disaster that is my hair and the lack of feminine fragrance should not be taken for granted. Doesn’t hurt that he’s sexy as hell, too. I’ve dated attractive guys, but something about Jack has awakened a part of me I assumed was broken. I actuallywantto pursue a man for once.
Hayley would be thrilled.
I ignore the urge to unpack. It’s pointless to take out more than I need since we’ll only be here one night. But I end up diving to the bottom of my bag, anyway, because those body wipes I packed are now my favorite item in the world. I use them to freshen up before reapplying deodorant, and a groanescapes as I pull off my shoes and lie back on my sorry excuse for a sleep mat.
It’ll be a miracle if I get any rest tonight. Although, with how tired my body feels, it might not be an issue. The silence, the heat, and the lack of air are like a lullaby, coaxing my eyes closed.
Just for a few minutes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
