Page 4 of Claiming Ours
After stretching out the ache in my hamstrings and calves, I turned, putting the pristine water behind me, and started down the trail. In and out, each deep, even breath brushed past my slightly parted lips as I made my way along the winding path back toward Anchor Bay. Frustration at the leash our deputy sheriff put on the women of our town to keep them safe built within me, making me grind my back teeth.
I understood why, but damn, did it suck. Sure, I didn’t want to end up like those unfortunate hikers. Most still hadn’t been found, their pictures hanging in Uplift’s meeting room a haunting reminder of the unknown danger lurking in the shadows.
Where had they gone?
What happened to them?
Who was behind their disappearances and the murders of a few of the missing women’s male companions?
I grimaced when the soft dirt shifted to hard, unforgiving pavement as I jogged through the trailhead’s small parking lot heading toward downtown Anchor Bay. A small smile pulled at my lips as the weathered, painted buildings came into view. The caw of a bird sounded above me as the scent of salt water and dead fish filled my nose. Soon the pavement shifted to worn wooden boards beneath my feet as I jogged through the heart of town.
Passing Sips, our local and tasty coffee shop, I waved through the glass windows to the owner, Paul McGravey, who was too busy pulling chairs off the few tables to notice. Instead of stopping to grab a cup of coffee, I kept going, smirking to myself as I passed the best bar in town. I slammed a loose fist against the closed wooden door of Dave’s in our usual morning hello when I passed on my way home from a run. A group of men outfitted in fishing gear chatting near the entrance of the docks nodded in greeting as I passed, making a genuine grin spread across my face despite my heavy breathing and exhausted legs.
Barely over a year in the quaint town of Anchor Bay, and I already knew every local. Though that had less to do with my morning runs and more about me being the only vet in a two-hundred-mile radius. It was the perfect place to put the past behind me and move on from the soul-eating grief that threatened to kill me daily.
And fuck did I try to move forward. I wanted to live in the moment and cherish every second I had with the amazing people in my small community and in Anchor Bay. Two years after Dean’s death, it was getting easier, though there were still bad days where it felt like too much, like today. Which was why as soon as I woke up and felt that weight on my chest and the tears in my eyes, I knew a long run was the only thing that would ease that pain.
I couldn’t just stay in bed all day, lost in my grief, when I was needed. Knowing the community depended on me and loving every single one of the sweet animals I treated made every day I pushed myself to keep going worth it. There had always been a bond with animals that comforted me. Their unconditional love drew me in as a child and made me want to grow up to be a veterinarian. And now my career was the one aspect of my life I didn’t question or doubt these days.
Feeling another text come through, the vibrations tickling my sweat-slick skin along my wrist, I pushed myself to quicken my strides as I exited Anchor Bay and turned toward the small community where I lived. It wasn’t much, but it had everything our group needed and had truly become home to me and so many others.
The self-sustaining, unique setup was started by Brandon Taylor, founder and owner of Uplift Adventure and Rescue, and constructed just outside Anchor Bay, which gave us privacy but was close enough that downtown trails and The Nest, where most of the company’s excursion bookings came through, were quick and easy to get to. Privacy was a big one since everyone who worked for Brandon was former military or connected in some way, like me, and dealt with trauma and scars from their past. I never served but was no different in that sense.
Brandon also wanted space and privacy so he and his wife and romantic partner could live in peace. Thankfully, most of the locals didn’t care that Brandon and most of his team favored less monogamous relationships, preferring multiple partners. No matter the reason, I was thankful that Brandon, Carl, and Amy built their home here and put a lot of planning and effort into making the community somewhere that fostered a found-family type of atmosphere that most of us here desperately needed.
Once inside our little compound, one main street split two rows of small one- or two-bedroom cabins that then led to ageneral store at one end, where Brandon’s wife, Amy, and their third, Carl, sold farm-fresh produce and ready-made meals. Being a small Alaskan village, we depended on what we could grow and raise to ensure we had enough fresh food to support those in our group.
Every single man and woman here was kind, supportive, and protective—everything that I desperately needed while I healed from my tragic loss.
Sprinting the last bit, I rounded the corner of my one-bedroom cabin, not surprised to find Liam leaning against a solid wooden post waiting for my return.
I forced myself not to grimace, knowing he wasn’t happy that I’d gone off running on my own. Not that he’d ever show or voice his frustration at my so-called lack of self-preservation. He wasn’t really angry at me or the situation, more worried about my safety. Even before we started dating, or whatever we were doing now, Liam was overly attentive and protective of me. At first, I thought it had to do with our size difference, him being around six foot three and me being about a foot under that, or the fact that these days it was possible that a strong breeze could blow me over. Whatever the reason, he fixated on me initially and still waited patiently for me to figure things out at my slow pace. I loved it—it made me feel wanted and special, precious even.
Approaching the porch steps, fingers interlaced behind my head, I worked to slow my rapid breaths while walking out my jelly-like legs. Liam’s observant gaze never deviated as I paced, attempting to cool down from the punishing run, so I did the same to him. The soft red plaid material of his open button-up shirt stretched around his massive biceps that flexed as he crossed both arms over his chest. The tight white undershirt hugged his defined pecs and displayed the ripples of abs thatcame from all the hard labor he put in with the horses and farm side of our community.
“Baylee.”
I jerked my gaze up from the exposed tattoos decorating his lower arms to his gray eyes, finding a spark of humor there at my obvious ogling. How could I not, though, with a man like him standing right in front of me? I was still grieving, not blind.
“Hey, Liam,” I panted, though it wasn’t all from the run. Heat that had nothing to do with the workout warmed my cheeks. Fingers wrapped around the wooden railing that lined the porch, I steadied myself and lifted a heel to my ass. A pitiful groan escaped at the glorious pain that radiated from my tired muscles. “What’s up?” I asked in my lame attempt to play it off like I had no idea why he was here looking all grouchy-hot like an overprotective brown bear.
“What’s up?” He shifted to lean a shoulder against a thick post and glared down at me, though there was absolutely zero heat to it. “Woman,” he groaned, like I tried what little patience he had left. “Where have you been?”
I released my hold around my foot and gestured to my running gear with a raised brow. A minuscule twitch curved the corners of his lips before he schooled his features back to the stern“You’re in deep trouble, Baylee”expression.
“You know what I meant. Where did you run, Baylee?”
I sealed my lips shut and avoided his probing gaze.
He grumbled a string of curses under his breath. “You ran the trail, didn’t you?”
Not wanting to lie, I nodded as I adjusted my stance to stretch the other leg.
“Little Bit,” he growled in that way that made my heart flutter and breath catch. “What if something had happened to you?”
“I was fine. See, here in one piece,” I offered, my light tone meant to ease his worry even though I knew it wouldn’t work.His perfectly plump lips parted, but I cut him off by gesturing to the sharp-as-hell knife strapped around my calf. “I ran with a weapon and”—I raised my wrist and inclined my head to the smart watch—“a way to contact you if something happened, plus a GPS. You worry too much. I needed to run, so I went on a run.”
His frustrated groan vibrated through the covered porch. Liam ran a wide palm down his face in sheer exasperation, grumbling under his breath about frustrating women.
