Page 39 of Black Ice
“Check the back room,” she said. “The family stores some personal gear back there.”
He found a sleeping bag and a camp stove with fuel. They could use that instead of a fire to keep warm until the heat system started to make a difference. Past the backroom, there was a kitchenette with canned goods, dishes and a working microwave. At least he could get some hot food into her soon.
“Do I want to know how you know the store code and the personal habits of the Greenbriars?” he asked when he returned, setting the sleeping bag and stove between them.
“Probably not,” she admitted from under the heap of blankets.
“Tell me anyway,” he suggested. Firmly.
“Fine. A few years ago, there was a merger in the works between Cottonwood and Greenbriar. It fell apart and Dad never let me hear the end of it.”
His stomach sank. “What kind of merger?” At her cocked eyebrow he knew. She’d nearly married one of the Greenbriar boys. He bit back a demand to know which one. None of them were good enough for her. No one was. Not even him. But Evie would’ve done her best to make it work. Anything to keep Cottonwood going.
“Your dad’s idea?”
“No.” Her fingers tangled together. “Mine. It was one suggestion he didn’t shoot down outright,” she admitted quietly.
Wyatt surged to his feet, needing some distance. He couldn’t picture Evie with another man without a haze of red blotting out the image. She washis, though he had zero claim on her. He had no right to be this angry.
“I took the Silver Aces job instead,” she said.
He scrubbed at his face and pulled himself together. The close call was news to him, but she’d dealt with all of this alone because he’d stayed away, too afraid to reach out. He lit the camp stove and moved around behind her, stretching out his legs on either side of hers, her back against his chest. She didn’t resist, though her body was stiff for a few minutes.
It was penance, he decided. Holding her close, keeping the contact friendly and proper when his mind raced down far more intimate paths. There were so many things he wanted to say, things he should’ve said eleven years ago.
She relaxed a little at a time as he stroked her hair, until her head was heavy on his shoulder. Her breathing was deep and even and he peeked down to confirm she’d fallen asleep.
“I’ve loved you all my life, Evelyn Cotton. If I could do it differently I would.”
She never would’ve left her parents and the business to follow his Army career. Maybe, if he’d known how things would turn out, he would’ve tried harder to find a solution closer to home. Closer to her.
Maybe.
He’d had to get away from the places and habits that ruined his mother and left behind a wasteland where a family had been. Through the years, his memories of Deadwood had turned into a roiling mass of black clouds full of soul-shaking thunder and jagged lightning strikes. He’d stayed away, so certain he couldn’t survive a visit.
Eleven years was a long time to search for answers that had been right inside him all along. He’d never missed Deadwood much, but he’d never stopped craving Evie. “I’m sorry I was a jerk,” he whispered against her temple. “Then and now.”
Once they were clear of this mess he’d sit down with her and tell her how he felt and what he wanted to do about it. With the compensation the FBI had promised him for the capture of the thieves and recovery of the diamonds, he could invest in her business. And keep her from resorting to a marriage for the sake of business capital.
As she slept, he wondered how he was going to leave her when the time came. Did he have to? Was there a solution here that would suit them both?
Despite all his training and service in the Army, he’d never drummed up the courage to come back to his hometown. To Evie. The awareness shamed him. “I’ll get us out of this, baby. Then we’ll sort out you and me.”
Evie woke up in a rush, disoriented and too warm. It was dark and the wind was howling. She tried to wriggle a foot out of the covers, but her legs were wrapped tightly. The pillow under her cheek was hot and there was a firm pressure all along her spine. Where in the world was she?
“Shh. It’s just me.”
Wyatt. His scent clicked for her even before the words registered. His muscular arm was the hot pillow under her cheek. In some deep part of her Wyatt would always equal safety and comfort, even after he’d broken her heart. The day came back to her and she remembered how he’d rescued her when her body temperature had dropped and she’d run out of fight.
“When did you tuck us into the sleeping bag?”
“Shortly before my feet turned into blocks of ice.” He shifted around and loosened the blankets. “Better?”
“Definitely less like a mummy, yes. Thanks.”
“Hungry?”
“Famished.” Her stomach rumbled, confirming her answer. “You didn’t eat?”
