Page 74 of Her Remarkable Protector

After dinner, I suggest she take the wheel, hoping the act of steering the boat might distract her, might unknot whatever’s tightening her up inside. “Want to drive us to a good spot to anchor for the night?”

To my surprise, she steps up. I stand beside her, my hand brushing hers as I guide her through the controls, keeping my tone light. “All right, here’s the throttle. Easy does it.”

I study her for a moment, the way her hands settle on the wheel. It doesn’t take long before I’m just standing there, watching. “You know,” I say with a teasing grin, “you’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“Well,” she says, her hands steady on the wheel, “I learned a thing or two about boats from my dad.”

“There you go!” I say with a grin. “I’d like to meet him.”

Her hands freeze, and she snaps, “He’s dead.”

The words hit like a gut punch, and I feel my grin falter. “Oh. Gee, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, too quickly to be convincing. She focuses on the compass, her jaw tight, and we lapse into silence.

“Am I still on the right track?” she asks.

“Absolutely, skipper,” I reply.

Out of nowhere, she huffs, lets go of the wheel, and bolts to the back of the yacht. My heart lurches as I watch her go, her shoulders shaking.

“Honor!” I throttle back the engine until the boat slows to a stop.

I stride to the back of the yacht where she’s leaning against the railing, her arms wrapped tight around herself. “What’s going on? Did I say something? Do something? Just tell me.”

She shakes her head, her gaze fixed on the horizon like it holds some kind of answer. The sound of the waves slapping against the hull fills the void.

“I can’t, Chase.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” I press, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. “If this is about the ‘love’ thing, then I’m sorry. Maybe I rushed it. You can forget I even said it.”

She releases a hard breath, her knuckles whitening as she grips the rail. “That’s not it.” Then she shakes her head, changing her mind, “Well, it is. But how can I forget you ever said it?”

“Sorry, Honor. It was stupid of me. Please. I swear, I’ll keep it to myself, never bring it up again, and treat you like I’ve always had. I’d rather do that than to lose you.”

“Okay, then. Let’s just stick to you being my hired muscle.”

Anger and disbelief surge in equal measure. “Honor,” I say, my voice low but firm, “Am I just that to you? A hired muscle? Not even a friend?”

“I want to go back,” she says flatly.

“Fine,” I reply, my mind scrambling. “We’ll turn back to San Diego. If that’s what you want?—”

“No,” she cuts me off, her voice trembling. “Well, we pick up Laramie, and then—I want to go back to Montana.”

Her words hit hard, like she’s trying to put a continent between us. Her eyes are blazing with something I can’t name but feel in my own bones—pain, guilt, rage. She doesn’t even try to bury it.

27

HONOR

Back in Montana, Chase pulls up to a quiet, secluded house. I’ve been trying to shake the memory of yesterday’s fiasco—the nausea, the grilled mahi mahi lingering like regret in my stomach. The fish didn’t remind me of Dad, the herbs didn’t remind me of Mom’s cooking. It was the whole thing! Being with Chase on Santa Sophia was nothing like I’d imagined.

“This is our safe house for now,” he announces.

“We have separate bedrooms, I presume?” I say, stepping out of the car.

Chase slams the door harder than necessary. “Separate rooms? At my mother’s, Honor, you’d have had your own damn cottage. But you asked me to stay with you. You. Asked. Me.”

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