Page 22 of Peril in Piney Woods

“That’s not what I meant.” He laid the forks on the plates without taking his eyes off hers. “How in the world did you disable two men all by yourself?”

“I told you about the self-defense classes.” Was it her imagination, or was he standing purposefully closer, searching her eyes a little more intently?

He moved his head slowly side to side. “This was more than self-defense classes. Ernie says you put both down without a weapon. That one guy was huge. I couldn’t have put him down. Not without some sort of advantage.” His eyes narrowed. “What kind of advantage did you have?”

“The cash register,” she said, struggling to prod answers from her brain. She’d foolishly lapsed into some trancelike state prompted by nothing more than Griff’s nearness and his eyes. “I slammed it over his head after I kicked him...well, you know where.”

Griff winced. “And what was the other guy doing during all this?”

“Watching, I think.” She allowed the events to play out in her head. “He waved his gun at me, but the big guy got up and knocked him over. It was a total accident but really worked to my advantage.”

This time Griff frowned. “I’m not following.”

“When the big guy first went down, the skinny guy jumped to stand over him.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe it was some sort of couldn’t-get-it-right ninja move to protect his friend and at the same time confront me. Then things got a little chaotic. I dove for the floor. The gun went off.” She shrugged. “I found the bat the skinny one had brought in with him and used it on the big guy. He went down again. But the skinny guy jumped up.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to recall the precise chain of events. “Next thing I knew, he had me by the throat and I punched him in his throat.” She looked at her right hand. Her knuckles were swollen and her fingers were a little blue. “Hurt like hell, but it hurt him worse.”

Griff took her hand in his and rubbed his fingers over hers. “You need something for that?”

She watched his fingers on hers, savored the feel of her hand in his. “It’s okay. I’ve suffered worse, believe—” She caught herself too late, squeezed her eyes shut for a second. “I mean, I was in an accident once and broke my arm. That hurt a whole lot worse. I’ve had a...”

He was watching her so intently that she couldn’t continue speaking. She wanted to, told herself to, but the words would not come.

“It feels like there are things you need to tell me,” he said softly. “Things that are relevant to how you can take down two men all alone. How you can stop a man carrying a gun with nothing but your wits and a knife.”

“Self-defense classes.” The lie was sounding weaker all the time.

“You can tell me anything,” he said, his gaze pressing hers with an insistence that made her weak. “You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I do. We’re friends.”

“Then why aren’t you telling me?”

The images of him being tied to a chair and tortured then shot loomed in her mind. She drew her hand from his and steadied herself. Not an easy feat.

“You’re overthinking this.” She manufactured a smile that no doubt looked as fake as it felt. “I just got lucky. Those guys weren’t nearly as tough as they work at appearing. The younger guy got all his moves from thug TV, I think.”

The microwave dinged, and she had never been so thankful for Rhianna Glen’s casserole.

Griff hesitated but then finally turned to take the casserole from the microwave. He placed it on the counter, then tossed the oven mitts aside and searched for a serving spoon.

Meg grabbed a couple of napkins from the holder next to the salt and pepper shakers and placed them on the table. “What’re we drinking?”

“I have beer, tea, water,” he replied as he placed their plates on the table. “Take your pick.”

Though she rarely allowed anything that might alter her ability to think clearly, Meg decided she deserved a beer. Like last night, this had been a hell of a day. “I’ll take a beer. How about you?”

“Sounds good,” he agreed.

She grabbed the beers from the fridge and settled at the table. For a while, they ate and chatted about the dogs. The casserole was actually very good. They both laughed at the idea that Rhianna likely wouldn’t appreciate him sharing her dish with another woman. Then they cleaned up, grabbed another beer and headed into the living room. Meg relaxed a little and decided that maybe he was going to let the whole issue go.

Deputy Battles hadn’t really given her much trouble when she gave her statement. No doubt he had been a little shocked by the scene and the fact that she’d been the only one left standing but chose to overlook it, considering the two men had invaded her shop and had done considerable damage. After all, she had been lucky to survive. But time had cleared his head, and judging by the questions Griff had asked, he and Ernie had discussed what went down in her store. The more they talked, the more questions came to mind.

Now, obviously, they were both suspicious. And who wouldn’t be? The question was, could she alleviate their concerns?

The ways she might accomplish that goal twisted inside her. Just another reason the life she had built here was in all probability over. Even if her past didn’t find her, this would haunt her. No one would be able to just feel grateful she’d survived. There would always be questions just because she had come through unscathed, not one but two close calls. It was human nature. People were curious. They needed reasonable explanations and her explanations had not been anywhere near reasonable enough.

The quiet went on for longer than was comfortable. Guilt heaped heavier onto her shoulders and Meg struggled with something to say. She didn’t like that her closest friend—and Griff was that and, if she were totally honest, more—was disappointed in her or whatever it was he felt.

But she could not go down that path with him. His life would be changed in ways he couldn’t possibly understand, and she refused to be responsible for altering his entire existence to that degree.

---