Chapter 8

8

He has a dog.

He had to be a good person, right? Grace closed her eyes, grappling with the weight of her newfound criteria for trust. Was this what she had descended to, deciding if someone was good based on whether they had a dog? Because a dog would only choose to live with a good person, wouldn't it?

His gaze remained fixed on the road, occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror to check for any signs of pursuit. Black ink flexed on his muscled forearms as he drove. He had shown her nothing but kindness and protection. Made sense. He was a Coast Guard—a protector—and if he'd wanted to, it would have been easy to give her up to Alex, but he hadn't.

Maybe, just maybe, there were still good men in the world, despite the darkness she had endured with Richard.

Hot air from the heater soon permeated her chilled bones, and combined with the rhythmic hum of tires on the road, Grace found herself fighting the pull of sleep. It had been over twenty-four hours since she last slept, and now, on the road, moving, where no one could hurt her, sleep didn't beckon. It dragged her under.

She had lost sense of time when rough motion jolted her awake. They were on an unsurfaced track, with trees on both sides like silent sentinels. A sliver of moonlight barely penetrated the darkness, casting eerie shadows.

"This isn't a garage." She laced her fingers together so their tremble wouldn't give her away.

Caleb glanced at the chunky watch on his wrist. "It's almost two a.m. You planning on waking up Mitch and asking him to work on your car in the middle of the night? Mind you, he'll probably be awake. His ulcer keeps him up most nights. He won't be cranky at all if you knock on his door at this hour." He pulled on the handbrake. "It's your funeral." Long fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Frustration or patience. She couldn't tell.

When she didn't answer, he killed the engine, plunging them into a sleek silence that pressed against her ears, amplifying her sense of solitude.

"You could have taken me to a motel." Her heart raced with a mixture of gratitude and doubt. She sounded ungrateful. This man had shielded her from Richard's men, but the reality was she still didn't know who the hell he was. And in her experience, men were not to be trusted. They came from a place of darkness and pain—a place she had fought so hard to escape.

A wet nose nudged her hand. Dolly. Grace tentatively reached out, her fingers sinking into soft fur. Did serial killers own dogs that enjoyed ear scratches?

He hissed air between his clenched teeth as he side eyed her. "You can have the bed. Or you can sleep in here. Your call." With that, he jumped out of the cab and slammed the door so hard it made her teeth connect with a snap.

He showed her the impossible width of his back and stalked on powerful legs toward a painted two-story cabin with steps that led to a wrap-around porch. Lights clicked on as he opened the front door, illuminating a painted rocker and a dog basket on the porch. In different circumstances, she might have described it as idyllic, but right now…

Dolly nuzzled her hand, disturbing her reverie.

"Hey girl. Sorry, no treats." Grace patted Dolly's head absentmindedly.

She reached down to her boot, searching for the hilt of her knife. Her fingertips brushed the cool metal. Still there. Caleb had left the front door open, inviting her inside with a cozy, yellow light.

Grace took a deep breath and opened the truck door. Dolly hopped down, waiting patiently for Grace to join her.

"I'm trusting your judgment in men, Dolly," Grace muttered, as she followed the dog toward the house.

Dolly gave a soft woof of agreement.

Okay. Dolly says he's trustworthy.

Grace approached the house, night air crisp in her lungs as she stepped onto the porch. The moon bathed everything in a soft, luminous light. The porch rocker was weathered, the paint peeling in spots. Someone had folded a soft-looking blanket on the chair along with a book. Woodworking for Beginners. She skirted around the chair, but her leg caught the arm, causing a small wooden ornament to tumble to the floor. Grace picked it up, examining it closely. It looked like some kind of animal, but unlike anything she had ever seen before. Definitely not from this universe.

"Grace."

She started. Caleb's muscular form filled the doorway, his gaze fixed on the ornament in her hand.

Quickly, she placed it back on the chair. "Do you do a lot of woodworking? It's a lovely…." God. What the hell was it?

Caleb's expression could have leveled buildings. "It's a dog."

Dog? Grace forced herself not to look again at the strange creature. "Of course. It's a lovely dog. Your dog. Dolly, right?" God, she was blabbering, exhaustion and anxiety unraveling her tongue to epic proportions.

"Close the door," Caleb instructed, turning to head inside.

Grace complied, closing the door behind her. "I didn't know it was you, Dolly. You could have said something," she whispered.

Dolly tilted her head, her expression quizzical.

The tension in Grace's shoulders eased a notch as she entered the welcoming interior of Caleb's home. He was across the room, tending to the dying embers of a wood-burning stove, his back to her. Grace took a moment to absorb her surroundings: a sparse kitchen to her right, a ladder leading up to a loft that she assumed must be the bedroom, cozy snug on her left, bordered with shelves groaning with books. Caleb liked to read.

But where was the bathroom? Nature called, and she hadn't dared to risk a bathroom break while being pursued by Alex and his men.

"Um. Caleb, can I use your bathroom?"

Caleb pointed to the ladder without turning around. Upstairs. Okay.

"Thanks." Grace climbed the ladder, which led her to a spacious loft. A king-size bed with a thick, red comforter dominated the space. Windows in the ceiling offered an uninterrupted view of the night sky, bright with the moon's milky glow.

She also spotted rough-hewn shelves built into the wall, providing a gradual stepped ascent. She assumed they would allow Dolly to easily reach the loft from the floor below.

He really cares for his dog. That's good, right?

The loft had two closed doors. The first led to Caleb's wardrobe, filled with folded checked shirts. The second opened to the bathroom.

She washed her hands afterwards with the bar of white soap in the dish at the sink. The mirror was one of those cabinets that concealed shelving. She stared at her reflection as warm water sluiced the suds from her hands.

Respect his privacy. Don't, Grace.

Yes, but if he's a secret maniac, I have to know, now.

She opened his cabinet, rolling her shoulders back with the moral rightness of checking out if he was a serial killer or not.

She'd never seen such an empty cabinet.

A bottle of Advil.

She took two with a sip of water for the building ache in her wrist.

What else? A paper wrapped bar of soap. A razor and a shaving brush.

Nothing else. No serial killer kit. No evidence of another woman.

Grace shook her head at her own ridiculous thoughts.

She closed the mirrored cabinet and stared at her unruly hair. She retrieved a hairband from her pocket and pulled her hair back, then splashed water on her face, before dabbing at the cut on her forehead. It had stopped bleeding and wasn't too deep, thankfully.

She smoothed down her clothes and made her way back to the main room. Dolly lay half-curled in front of the fire, her snores filling the space with a comforting rhythm. Caleb was busy in the kitchen nook.

"Sit." His command was firm, pointing to the stool tucked under the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room.

"Are you always this bossy?" The words were out before she could censor them.

"Only with unexpected guests."

"Did I say that out loud?" She clamped a hand over her mouth as heat bloomed in her cheeks, embarrassment washing over her like a tidal wave.

He slid a steaming bowl toward her, and a smile ticked at the corner of his mouth. "I guess you did." His face was less imposing in the soft light of the room, the harsh shadows of the forest replaced by the warm glow of the fire. There were lines etched at the corners of his eyes, evidence of a life lived with purpose. So different to Richard, with his soft skin and perfect grooming.

She wrapped her hands around the bowl, brimming with a thick vegetable soup.

"Eat." He handed her a spoon.

Her stomach cramped with exhaustion. "I'm not hungry."

"Don't think I asked that. Eat."

Jeez. She glared at him as he leaned back against the counter on the other side and sipped from an earthenware mug.

She glanced down at the soup, still sure she wasn't hungry and ready to protest, but the aroma of thyme and rosemary filled her senses. There were hearty chunks of potato, slivers of translucent onion. Her mouth watered. Homemade. Not like the sterile, chef-catered meals she had grown accustomed to over the years. Richard hadn't wanted her to cook, preferring instead to hire a professional chef to cater for his every whim. Richard had closely controlled her calorie intake. He hated women who, in his opinion, ‘let themselves slide.' Their meals had been artistic arrangements, not sustenance.

She took a tentative mouthful, the warmth spreading through her body as she savored the flavors. God, she was starving and the soup, whatever it was, tasted like the most delicious thing she had eaten in years.

In less than five minutes, she had devoured the entire bowl, along with the thick slice of bread Caleb provided, slathered in golden butter so thick her teeth had left tiny dents. A small, satisfied sigh escaped her, a warm glow spreading from her stomach to the rest of her body.

She stuffed the last delicious piece of bread crust in her mouth and then wiped crumbs from the plate with her fingers. When had she last eaten a proper meal? Her life recently was a blur of takeaway burgers and packaged microwave dinners.

"Better?" Caleb's tone was gruff, but his eyes were kind. Concerned.

"God. Yes, that was amazing."

He studied her as he placed his coffee mug on the counter. "Why has your ex sent men after you?"

Grace shook her head, her thoughts racing. If this man, who had shown her nothing but kindness, got involved in her messy life, it could only lead to trouble. "It's better that we don't go there."

"Is that in case I get hurt?" Caleb's question pulled her attention back to him.

He crossed his legs, accentuating the trimness of his hips. Without his jacket, she could appreciate the curve of impressive biceps, evidence of a man who knew how to take care of himself.

She sighed, weariness weighing on her. "Trust me. It's complicated."

"Try me." His voice was soft, but determined.

Grace shook her head, her resolve faltering. Fatigue threatened to overwhelm her, pulling her into the depths of sleep right there and then. She couldn't do it. Caleb had already taken care of her, and she couldn't bear to drag him into the chaos that surrounded her. She couldn't risk endangering anyone else. It wouldn't be fair.

He must have seen the conflict in her eyes, for his stern expression softened. Without waiting for an answer, he gathered up her dishes and deposited them in the sink filled with soapy water. "You need to rest."

She slipped off the stool onto leaden legs. "I'll be fine on the couch."

"No, you won't. You know where the bedroom is." He moved to the couch where he shook out the blanket laid over the couch back.

Grace crossed her arms, a stubbornness creeping into her stance. "Please, take the bed?—"

Before she could finish her protest, Caleb reached for his waist and peeled off his shirt. Grace's breath caught in her throat, her heart racing at the sudden intimacy of the moment.

Holy crap, he's undressing right in front of me.

He tossed the shirt onto the well-worn arm of the couch, his eyes snapping in her direction. "Are you still here?"

His question hung in the air as Grace bolted for the ladder, scaling it faster than she thought possible. Her cheeks blazed hot. The image of his ripped abdomen and the way the firelight had licked at his stacked musculature seared her mind.

Upstairs, she pulled off her boots and climbed into bed fully dressed. The fabric, soft and imbued with Caleb's scent, cocooned her in a comforting embrace, wrapping her in the protection of the man who'd provided an unexpected refuge.

Sleep called to her like a drug. The last thing she remembered was the snuffle of a dog and the weight of a body settling next to hers.

She reached out and palmed the soft head. "Hey, Dolly."

Dolly snorted and sleep towed Grace under.