Page 15 of Guarded from Treachery

“Oh,” I reply inanely. “Well. That’s good.”

That’s good? Augh. What am I saying?

As Matt ducks his head, I catch the quickest glimpse of a smile. Then he says quickly, “I’ll go make that sandwich for you. And get some water. I’ll be right back.”

And as he heads out of the room, I bury my heated face in my hands.

That’sgood? Have I lost my mind?

And is it crazy to be this happy about his answer?

4

MATT

“That was a great sandwich, Matt.”

As Isla sets her empty plate on the coffee table, she rewards me with a sweet smile that lights up her face. She has color in her cheeks again, and some of the strain around her eyes and mouth is gone. Her hands are steadier, not trembling like they were before, and her gaze isn’t quite as haunted as it was when she got here.

It’s a relief, because for a minute there, I was really worried.

Actually, I was worried already. I have been since she called this afternoon. In the hours between then and now, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Isla, wondering what happened to make her so scared.

Did she see that man again? Did he come after her? Was she hurt?

But then, why wouldn’t the police have helped? Why did Isla say no one believed her? And why is she all alone in this? Doesn’t she have someone to support her?

Why was she so adamant about coming here today, going as far as to risk her own health to do it?

Even though I couldn’t have gone to Dallas today—not without leaving the ranch unprotected, which wasn’t an option—I can’t help feeling guilty. I keep thinking about Isla driving all the way from Dallas to here, alone, tired, scared, and on the verge of collapse, not even taking the time to eat properly.

And then the worst part—when she almost fainted right in front of me. If I hadn’t been there to catch her, Isla could have been seriously hurt. She could have hit her head on the coffee table and suffered a head injury or broken a bone as she crashed to the ground.

I’ve seen a lot of scary things in my lifetime, especially during my time in the Army, but watching as Isla’s face went ghost-white and her gaze went vacant was pretty damn frightening. And holding her limp body in my arms, her head lolling on my shoulder, not knowing if she was okay…

Shit.

If I’d only been able to go to Dallas, she wouldn’t have had to put herself through that.

And I can’t help wondering, what if I’d just called Isla instead of hesitating? Would she have shared her fears with me? Could I have helped before it got to this point?

Fortunately, she seems okay now, though I’d still prefer to have Jade take a look at her. Make sure it was just fatigue or low blood sugar like Isla said, instead of something more serious. But Isla insisted she’d be fine after eating something, and I’m not really in the position to push her to do more.

Still. I’m worried.

How long has she had those bluish shadows under her eyes? How long since she had a good night’s sleep? Days? Weeks? Since the day she was attacked?

And she looks thinner than I remember. Not to the point of gauntness, but there’s a fragility to her that wasn’t there before—her collarbones sharper, and a slight hollowness to her cheeks. Even her wrists seem more delicate and breakable.

Not that she isn’t still beautiful. I thought it when I saw her the first time, and my opinion hasn’t changed. Isla is without question the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.

Her heart-shaped face is complimented by full lips with a hint of a curve, like she’s always on the verge of a smile. Dark brows wing up over those gorgeous violet eyes, which on closer inspection, the color definitely looks real. And her hair falls in glossy waves over her shoulders, a rich chestnut shade with hints of copper and bronze running through it. She’s petite, at least eight inches shorter than me, with soft curves that I tried to ignore when I held her.

Yes, I’m more attracted to Isla than I’ve been to a woman in a very long time. And if the circumstances were different, I might even ask her out. But she’s here as a prospective client, a frightened and vulnerable one at that, so my feelings towards her aren’t relevant.

What matters is finding out why she’s here, and if Blade and Arrow can help.

So I set my meandering thoughts aside—I wasn’t kidding when I told Isla about the detours my mind can take—and shift my focus to the purpose of her visit.

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