Chapter 22

22

Grace jolted awake as the rattle of the engine sputtered into abrupt silence. Blinking away the lingering fog of exhaustion, she peered through the windshield at the unfamiliar landscape. A vaulted sky stretched in a vast expanse of ink, broken only by the spark of stars.

"Where are we?" She fumbled with her seatbelt, her fingers clumsy with fatigue.

Caleb swung down from his seat and a blast of frigid air rushed the cab in his absence. In a few long strides, he rounded the hood and opened her door. "This is my brother's place." He extended one hand to help her down.

"Ryder?"

He shook his head. "Older brother. Wyatt." His breath fogged in the icy night, mingling with her own ragged exhales. He must have read the worry on her face. "Don't worry. He's not around." His lips twitched in the ghost of a reassuring smile. "He's helping our folks with some…" His gaze cut away as he searched for the right word. "Renovations."

Grace dropped to the frozen ground, pristine snow beneath her boots. A violent shiver wracked her frame, the events of the night heavy on her shoulders. It was too late to pull back now. After tonight? Caleb was involved.

Panic skated through her. Everything was threatening to fall apart.

She hugged her arms around herself, trying in vain to conserve what little warmth remained. The adrenalin that had sustained her during their frantic flight had long since burned away, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. She was almost too tired to feel fear any longer. Did that happen? Could you run so long that eventually your body stopped reacting?

They were high above Aurora Cove. Dense forest blanketed the mountainside, the snow-laden boughs of evergreens stretching as far as she could see. "Won't he mind us being here?"

Caleb hefted the weathered duffle bag he'd tossed in the truck bed earlier, slinging it over one broad shoulder. "Wyatt won't mind. He keeps a small place down in Aurora proper, but this..." He gestured at the sprawling timber and glass structure behind him. "This is his bolt hole."

Grace fell into step beside him as he strode toward the front door, her shorter legs struggling to match his ground-eating pace. "Do you have a key?"

Caleb raised one hand in a vague wave.

What the heck did that mean?

"Caleb—"

"Wait." He mounted the shallow porch steps and pressed his palm flat against a small silver panel set into the wall. A bright blue light flashed, followed by the muffled thunk of heavy deadbolts retracting.

"Oh." Understanding dawned, and with it, a flicker of unease. Just what sort of place was this?

"Wyatt's always been a bit of a recluse. Likes his privacy." Caleb shrugged, a twist to his lips.

As if to underscore his point, the massive front door swung inward on silent hinges, revealing only shadows. Grace hung back, uncertain. But Caleb's hand settled at the small of her back, his fingers spreading across her hip in a touch that burned right through her jeans. "I've got you."

As they crossed the threshold, the interior sprang to life, warm golden light chasing away the shadows reflecting off the floor. She took a deep breath of air scented with a hint of polish. Under her dirty boots, the floor gleamed.She untied them and followed Caleb, boots in her hand.

The hallway was immense, its white walls adorned with a riot of vivid canvasses. The art was vibrant with bold strokes suggesting a raw kinetic energy.

"Your brother is an art collector?"

"No. More of an artist. These are all his."

"Wow. Really?" Richard had collected art for its monetary value only, but she'd taken the time to learn a little, to appreciate what beauty she could in her restricted life. "He's talented."

They reached the end of the hall and entered a spacious living area, the far wall dominated by a breathtaking expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, the snow-capped peaks of the surrounding mountains framed the inky sky, now softening to the first blush of predawn. She could only imagine the magnificent view that would unfold once true daylight spilled across the landscape.

Caleb crossed to the massive kitchen that occupied one side of the room, his duffle bag hitting polished hardwood with a muted thump. He tugged out an old blanket and tossed it on one of the oversized couches. Dolly jumped up, circled, and laid her head down with a sigh.

The kitchen was a vision of sleek modernity—all polished chrome and black marble shot through with veins of silver. The freestanding island was expansive enough to accommodate a small army of chefs. What kind of man lived here?

"You hungry?" His question brought her back to reality.

"Um, no. I don't think I could eat." Her stomach clenched. Even the idea of eating made her feel nauseous.

"Tea? Something to warm you up?"

"Tea would be great." The house was warm, but it didn't seem to assuage the bone-deep chill in her bones brought on by the night's events.

With a nod, Caleb retrieved an electric kettle from a hidden alcove, filling it with water before clicking it on to boil. The small ritual soothed her tattered edges, a reminder of normalcy amidst the chaos. All over the world, people were doing normal things, minute by minute.

"C'mon." Caleb held out one large hand, his expression softening as she slipped her icy fingers into his warm grip. "Let's get you settled."

He led her back up the enormous hall, shouldering open a door midway down its length. Her breath caught as she stepped into the bedroom, struck momentarily mute by the sheer opulence. A massive bed dominated the space, swathed in linen the color of the ocean. She trailed her fingertips across the fabric. Gorgeously soft. The far wall boasted an array of pale wooden doors—a closet large enough to house wardrobes for an entire family.

Plush sheepskin rugs dotted the floor, their dense fibers a sensual pleasure against the soles of her feet. She curled her toes into the luxurious softness, craving the simple comfort. What would it be like to just be, to live your life and soak up simple pleasures like this?

She hovered at the foot of the bed. "Won't your brother mind us taking over his bedroom like this?"

Caleb glanced up from where he was tugging the heavy drapes closed, the pale gray fabric falling into place with a soft swoosh. "Believe it or not, this is the smallest of the guest rooms."

He crossed to the far wall, pulling open one of the many doors to reveal a walk-in closet filled with rows of crisp shirts in varying shades of white and blue. Below, stacks of folded linen sat in tidy piles. With an assessing glance at her bedraggled form, Caleb plucked a few items from the shelves, draping them across the foot of the bed.

"These are Sarah's pajamas." The sheriff. "She keeps some things here for when she stays over." He nodded toward the pile of soft, pale blue fabric. "Why don't you change into these and I'll fix you that tea?" He stroked his hand down her upper arm, sending sparks flying across her skin. Before meeting Caleb, she'd given up on ever feeling anything for a man ever again, but she was tumbling head over heels for this sexy protector.A fall she no longer wanted to stop.

Gesturing to a door set into the opposite wall, Caleb added, "Bathroom's through there if you want to get cleaned up."

"Caleb."

"Yes?" He faced her, his eyes searching hers.

"Thank you." She met his gaze, hoping her face did not betray the true depth of her emotions.

The shock from their hasty escape and the terror of the fight in the darkness still flowed through her veins, but there was something more—a connection she'd never experienced with anyone before. As if an invisible force drew her to him, an intense desire that threatened to consume her.

A sensible woman would walk away. Getting involved with him could only lead to more complications. Yet, standing there in his presence, she couldn't deny the rightness of it all. She longed to be with him, to explore the unspoken promise that hung in the air between them.

He paused at the door, his hand resting on the knob. "For you? Anything."