Chapter 3

chapter

three

"I don't like that guy."

At Brooke's voice. Rhiannon looked up from Michael. She'd finally calmed the boy enough, and he'd fallen into a restless sleep curled up beside Raszta, who took his job as nanny very seriously. She smiled at the dog and rubbed a hand over his lopsided ponytail, then followed Brooke's gaze to where Pierce and some of the men were gathering supplies from what remained of the store's shelves. At first, she thought the girl was talking about Pierce and frowned. Sure, Pierce St. James was a little intense—okay, a lot intense—and she could see how someone as young as Brooke would find him intimidating. Pierce was a towering figure, even when he wasn't trying to be imposing, his intensity overwhelming, his silence louder than words.

But Rhiannon found him fascinating. She wanted to know more about him, more than just what little her brother had told her. What made him tick? What haunted him so deeply that his scars seemed more than just physical? What had caused the panic attack that had forced him to pull off the road at this rest stop? Where had he been going before he stopped? It was clear he carried a great burden, one that made her heart ache for him.

But then she realized Brooke was staring at Dean, who was shoving packets of snacks into a backpack with more force than necessary.

Rhiannon turned back to the girl. "Dean?"

"Yeah. He's just... scary," Brooke said, her voice dropping to a whisper as if afraid he'd hear them talking. "He was on the tour bus, too, and I kept feeling him looking at me. And it wasn't like he was checking me out. I know what that feels like."

Of course she would. Brooke was classically beautiful with that small-town girl-next-door charm, all sunny smiles and sun-kissed hair that made it impossible for anyone not to notice her. She was the kind of girl Rhiannon had always wanted to be growing up. The kind of girl who seemed to move through life effortlessly, who never had anything bad happen to her. The kind of girl who didn't talk with her hands and needed hearing aids.

Rhiannon shook off the unwanted prickle of old envy. She'd learned long ago she was more than any perceived limitations and had stopped comparing herself to others. And she was happier for it. "What did it feel like then?"

"It was more like…" Brooke trailed off and exhaled hard. "I don't know. It made me feel like he was… sizing me up or something. Like maybe I was a problem he needed to figure out how to handle. It was creepy, and now he keeps looking around like he's expecting something to happen."

Rhiannon followed Brooke's gaze again, trying to see Dean through the girl's eyes. He did have a restless energy about him, his glances darting from shadow to shadow. There was a hardness in his movements, a deliberate force that spoke of barely contained frustration. His actions painted him as someone always on edge, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. The sense of anger he broadcast was palpable, completely at odds with the calm efficiency Pierce exuded as he organized their supplies.

Dread whispered through Rhiannon. She'd always had a good sense for people and Brooke was right—Dean was trouble.

Pierce suddenly turned his head, and their eyes met across the cramped space of the cluttered gift shop. Even at a distance, she could feel the tacit warning in his gaze, cautioning her to be alert but not alarmed. His stoic face hardly moved, but she read an entire conversation in that brief eye contact.

He was watching Dean, too, and Rhiannon felt a stab of worry. If Pierce was concerned, there was good reason to be vigilant. He didn't strike her as the type of guy to overreact or jump at shadows.

Brooke leaned closer, her voice tinged with both curiosity and fear. "Do you think he's dangerous?"

"I don't know, but stay close to me and Pierce, okay?"

Brooke winced. "He scares me, too. Not in a creepy way like Dean, but… he's intense."

"I know, but I promise he's one of the good guys."

Brooke's eyes widened. "You knew him before all this?"

"Kind of. I've never met him in person until now, but he's friends with my brother, and Ry wouldn't trust just anyone. Pierce is... complicated, but he's on our side."

Brooke nodded slowly, though it was clear she still held reservations. She bit her lip, looking back toward Dean, who remained oblivious to their scrutiny, his attention now fixated on Pierce with a deep scowl.

"I guess you're right," Brooke finally murmured. "Pierce does seem like he knows what he's doing. More than Dean, anyway."

Rhiannon smiled faintly. "Definitely more than Dean."

A sudden crash from the other side of the shop drew their attention. Raszta barked loudly, his ears perked up as he stood protectively over Michael's sleeping form. Everyone froze for a split second before Pierce commanded the space with a few long strides toward the noise.

"What happened?" Pierce signed, and Rhiannon translated for him.

Then she added, "Is everyone okay?" and earned a scowl from him. She scowled right back. If he didn't realize all these people were counting on him and needed reassurance from him, then he wasn't as smart as she gave him credit for.

One of the survivors stood frozen beside a toppled display of travel mugs and postcards. The father of the twins—Alex or Alan or something. Rhiannon hadn't caught his name. His hands were raised slightly as if to show he hadn't meant any harm. The look on his face was one of sheer panic.

"I… I just tripped," he stammered.

Pierce surveyed the scene with a sharp gaze, his body tense as though preparing for something more sinister than an accidental spill. Finally, he gestured sharply, directing the man back to the task at hand. The tension didn't dissipate, though. It hung heavily in the air, like a storm cloud ready to burst.

"I need you," Pierce signed to her and butterflies jittered through her belly. He didn't mean it sexually. She knew that. But still, the words resonated deeper than they should have, stirring something she hadn't anticipated. She'd never before experienced anything like the lightning strike of attraction that jolted through her nerves whenever Pierce was near. It was unnerving, compelling, and entirely inappropriate, given the circumstances.

"Dorothy?" she called to the older woman. "Can you keep an eye on Michael?"

"Please, call me Dottie. And yes, I've got him. Go see what your tall, dark, and silent friend needs," Dottie replied with a sly smile.

Walking over to Pierce, she kept her gaze focused on him, ignoring the smiles from Brooke and Dottie behind her. The heat of a blush crept up her neck.

It was ridiculous, really, but still, she had to consciously stop herself from smoothing down her hair or straightening her shirt. It wasn't like this was a date. Now was not the time for indulging in romantic fantasies. They were in a crisis.

Pierce's scowl deepened as he noticed her hesitation. "Is there a problem?"

"Nope. No problem," she said a little too brightly. Ugh. She had to rein in her hormones around him and focus. "What do you need?"

He held her gaze with a steadiness that made her heartbeat quicken. His jaw was clenched so tightly that she could see the strain in his neck and feel the tension radiating off of him.

"I need you to translate," he finally signed. "We need to keep everyone calm and focused and set some ground rules. Nerves are too frayed, and things could devolve into chaos fast if we don't."

"Everyone, please gather around." She signed and spoke simultaneously, ensuring everyone, regardless of their hearing ability, understood. The group slowly congregated, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anxiety.

Pierce stood at the front, his stature and presence commanding immediate attention despite his silence. Rhiannon positioned herself slightly to the side, ready to bridge the gap between his signs and their spoken words.

"Pierce has some important points to share with us all. Please, let's stay calm and focus on working together."

"We need to maintain order," Pierce signed. "We can't afford mistakes or panic. We'll assign roles and keep a schedule. It's important everyone contributes and stays vigilant."

"How long do you think we'll be stuck here?" someone asked, and a murmur of unease went through the group.

Pierce's gaze swept the group, measuring their anxiety before he answered.

Rhiannon translated his signs with a steady voice, though her own heart thudded unevenly. "We don't know how long exactly. It depends on how much damage the quake caused. Help will go to major population centers first. Checking highway rest stops will be a low priority, so we need to be prepared for the long haul."

"Oh, my God," someone whispered. "We're going to die here."

"We're not going to die here," Pierce signed. "We need a plan for food, water ? —"

"The water in the bathrooms is still working," one of the teenage gift shop workers—Hailey, according to her nametag—spoke up. "But it's a mess back there. Part of the hallway collapsed."

"Okay, good to know," Pierce signed. "We'll clear a path, and that will solve our bathroom problem. We can use the toilets, but I wouldn't trust the water to drink unless we can somehow boil it."

"There's a small camping supplies section in the corner, across from the bathrooms," Dottie said, nodding toward the back of the store. "Last I knew, we had at least one tabletop camp stove in stock and propane tanks for it. We also should have water filters and purification tablets."

"Great, that's a start," Pierce signed. His expression didn't change, but somehow Rhiannon could tell he was relieved by the news. "Our priority is water. Gather all the unbroken bottles from the coolers that you can find and bring them over here to the registers. This will be our base camp. Juices, too, but avoid the sodas and teas for now. They're better than nothing, but they can dehydrate. Also, if you're thirsty, drink what you need. Don't sip. It's easier to stay hydrated than it is to rehydrate, and hopefully, we won't be here long enough to worry about running out of food and water. We have plenty."

"There's also cold storage in the back… if we can get to it," Dottie said. "We have more drinks in there and pallets of water."

"Then we may not even need the filters and purification tablets. But, for now, we'll focus on what's right here and easily accessible. Let's gather food too. Anything cold, we'll eat first before it spoils."

"What about the coolers? We have some knock-off Yetis in stock," the young male worker spoke up. His nametag read Will. "We can fill them with ice before it melts and keep stuff cold longer."

Pierce nodded. "You be in charge of that, then."

The kid's chest puffed, and Rhiannon suddenly realized what Pierce was doing—he was assigning them more than tasks and responsibilities; he was giving them a sense of purpose and control.

Brooke shyly raised her hand, the freckles on her cheeks standing out starkly against her pale skin. "I can help Will with the food."

"You do that," Pierce signed and then faced the group again. " Cell phones should be kept off to preserve the batteries. The network is down now, but when it comes back, we might be able to reach out for help. Is there a landline?" he asked Dottie.

"It's dead," she said with a frown that deepened the smoker's lines around her mouth. "I already checked after the earthquake. I can check it again, but I'm betting the landslide took out whatever was left of the lines."

"Anyone have a radio?"

"My sons have walkie-talkies," one woman said after Rhiannon translated.

"Mom," one of the pre-teen boys complained as she took them from her sons.

She hushed him and offered the radios. "They're just toys, but if they'll help, you can have them."

Pierce accepted them. "They'll work if rescuers are nearby. Thank you."

"There's an old AM/FM radio behind the register," Dottie added. "Won't let us talk to anyone, but maybe we can hear something about the outside world if any stations are still broadcasting."

"Good idea," Pierce signed, his face maintaining its stoic composure. "We'll set up a communication hub near the front of the store with the walkie-talkies and the radio. We also need to think about securing the premises. We can't be sure what the repercussions of this quake might be—both structurally and socially."

"Socially?" one man called out, his brow furrowed as Rhiannon translated.

"Yes. If this quake was as big as I think it was, it's likely chaos out there. People will be desperate, scared... and that can often lead to dangerous situations." Pierce scanned the group, his gaze lingering on Dean, who stood with his arms crossed and looked more agitated than concerned.

Dean sneered. "What? Does he think I'm gonna start looting or something?"

Pierce returned Dean's contempt with a steady, unflinching gaze. Rhiannon felt the tension spike between them, the air thick with unspoken threats.

Before she could intervene, Pierce took a step closer to Dean, his movements slow and deliberate. He raised his hands to sign, and even though Rhiannon hadn't yet translated, everyone in the room could feel the weight of his silent words. "We're all in this together. Survival depends on cooperation, not conflict. You'd do well to remember that."

Dean's sneer faltered, replaced by a flash of uncertainty. He opened his mouth to retort, but whatever he was going to say died in his throat. Pierce's calm, controlled demeanor was more intimidating than any overt threat.

Pierce turned his back on Dean, dismissing him entirely as he moved toward the entrance of the shop. "How far is the nearest town?"

"I don't know. Maybe ten miles down the highway?" Dottie said. "Why?"

Pierce didn't answer the question and instead signed, "Structurally, there might be damage we haven't seen yet that aftershocks could make worse. We need to reinforce any weak spots we find on the ceiling or walls and keep a close watch for any changes. This is our shelter, and besides water, shelter is the one other thing you need to stay alive in a survival situation."

When Rhiannon finished translating, the room fell into a tense silence. Everyone watched him, waiting for his next move. Even Raszta, who had been lying calmly beside Michael, lifted his head, his sharp eyes tracking Pierce's every step.

A knot of anxiety settled in Rhiannon's stomach as she watched him study the walls. She anxiously twisted a strand of her hair around her finger—an old, hated habit she had never quite managed to shake off. He suddenly stopped moving and stared out at the landscape that was barely visible through the piles of rocks blocking the cracked, dusty windows. His posture was rigid, his fists clenched at his sides.

"What is it?" she asked softly.

He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he slowly lifted his hand and pointed toward the distant horizon. She stood on her toes and squinted, trying to make out what had caught his attention. At first, she saw nothing but the darkened sky and the jagged outline of the mountains. Then, she saw it—a thick plume of smoke rising into the air, far off in the distance.

Her stomach dropped. "That's... that's not good, is it?"

Pierce shook his head, his expression grim. "That's Steam Valley."

She stared at him in horror, then looked back toward the smoke. A lump rose hot and hard in her throat. "Rylan."

"I'm sure he's okay. He's with the team. They'll have his back. They're all okay." He seemed to be trying to convince himself as much as her, but she could see the worry in his eyes. His gaze never left the plume of smoke rising ominously into the sky. Those hard hazel eyes of his seemed to darken as he watched the smoke billow into the air, and his stoic facade cracked ever so slightly.

He felt guilty for not being there to help his friends.

She got the feeling he was a man who carried more than his fair share of guilt.

She placed a comforting hand on his arm, her fingers barely brushing over the fabric of his shirt. He didn't flinch or pull away; instead, his gaze flicked briefly toward her before returning to the distant smoke. In his eyes, she saw a deep well of vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to glimpse. It was as if the disaster had peeled back a layer of his carefully constructed armor to expose the raw edge underneath. And she wanted to comfort him.

"Rylan told me every man on your team is smart and resourceful," she said. "They know how to take care of themselves."

Pierce nodded but didn't reply.

Feeling a sudden rush of protectiveness, she reached up and gently touched his face, drawing his gaze back to her. His eyes met hers, and for several long moments, they simply looked at each other.

The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself moving closer, her hand instinctively curling around the back of his neck, just below the prominent scar that marked his skin. His breath hitched in response, and he closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch.

"Your friends are strong," she said softly. "They'll get through this."

His eyes fluttered open at her words, and the furrow between his brows softened as he looked at her. Slowly, he nodded, a grim acceptance in his expression as he pulled away. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned back to survey the group inside the gift shop.

She exhaled softly. Being so close to him, with those intense eyes focused on her, she hadn't been able to breathe properly. She was all too aware of the lingering warmth on her palm from where she'd touched him and the swarm of butterflies in her stomach. It wasn't appropriate, given their circumstances, but she couldn't deny that she was attracted to the man.

She watched him stride back to the group, moving like a man who was comfortable shouldering responsibility. His calm decisiveness steadied the room, and she could almost see the anxiety in people's faces lessen as he took control.

She translated as he discussed routine checks of the building's structure and a system for rationing food and water. Still, her attention was divided between keeping up with Pierce's commanding presence and monitoring Dean's reaction. He had slipped to the back of the crowd, his arms folded tightly over his chest, his face a mask of barely concealed resentment. She couldn't put a finger on it, but something about Dean made her uneasy.

Brooke was right. That guy was trouble.