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She reached out and palmed the soft head. “Hey, Dolly.”
Dolly snorted and sleep towed Grace under.
9
Caleb lay awake on the couch, watching the dance of the fire grow dimmer.
Dolly wasn’t in her usual place at his feet. She’d scaled the steps he’d built for her and joined Grace in the loft. He hadn’t stopped her. It comforted him to know Dolly was at her side when he couldn’t be. Perhaps she sensed what Grace had been through and wanted to make sure she was safe. Seeing the marks on Grace’s cheeks, the tremble in her hands when he offered her help, it wouldn’t have surprised him if Dolly sensed a kindred spirit, one who had survived the wars and lived to tell the tale.
As the clock on the mantle ticked onward, his restlessness grew. Sleep eluded him, his mind plagued by the events of the evening. With a sigh, he rose from the couch, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. Dressing, he retrieved his rifle from his gun safe and stepped out into the chilly night.
Outside, the night enveloped his cabin like a shroud, the air heavy with the scent of pine and the distant murmur of the forest. Dolly’s absence at his feet was a subtle reminder of Grace’s presence upstairs.
The moon hung like a silver coin in the sky as he moved with silent purpose, his senses heightened as he conducted a perimeter check around the house. The rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl—every sound seemed magnified in the night's stillness.
His thoughts drifted to Grace, and the fear that had lingered in her eyes. Whatever she was running from, it wasn’t ordinary. He’d seen fear like that in people’s eyes too often during his time as a SEAL. Memories of dusty villages in Afghanistan flooded his mind, the haunted expressions of the women and children etched forever in his memory. It had driven his retirement from the forces. You couldn’t look at that kind of fear every day without it corroding your soul.
Returning to the warmth of his cabin, relief washed over him. For now, they were safe. He secured the door and reactivated the alarm before retreating to the couch. Fully dressed, his gun within reach, he wrapped himself in a blanket.
A semblance of peace swathed him.
Whatever challenges the morning might bring, he was ready.
10
Grace jolted awake with a gasp, her heart battering her ribs. She was in a sunlit room she didn’t recognize, alone in a king sized bed.
Breathe.
She hissed out a slow breath as fragments of the previous night fell back into place in her sleep-disordered mind. Caleb. Dolly. The looming threat of Alex and his men. Safety. Her fingers dug into the softness of the red comforter.
A shrill shriek pierced the wash of golden morning light. Grace jackknifed upright and tumbled out of bed. She landed heavily on one knee and knocked her injured wrist.
Hell. She clutched her hand to her chest, sucking in short gulps of air as she waited for the sickening pain to lessen. It was most likely a sprain, but impossible to tell without an X-ray. Well, that’s not happening.
A loud crash sent a wave of dread coursing through her veins. Alex is here.
Heart still thudding, she cast a glance around the room, searching for a weapon. Knife. She scooted across the wooden floor, pulled her boot toward her and retrieved the sheathed blade, calmed by its familiar weight. She exhaled slowly, willing her pulse to slow.
Another crash echoed from downstairs and her pulse jacked higher.
What the hell?
She should have known better. She shouldn’t have accepted his help. Caleb had offered her sanctuary and in return, she’d brought only trouble to his door. She had to help him. Summoning every ounce of courage, she crept to the edge of the loft floor, her heart pounding in her ears like a drumbeat of impending doom. She peeked over the edge. She could only see the kitchen, and it was empty. No sign of anything untoward.
Nothing else for it. She would have to go down.
Okay. It’s okay. I can do this.
Her thoughts rattled in her head as she turned, placing her bare feet on the rungs, uncomfortably aware of the fact that her back was to the room. With a shaky breath, she descended, muscles tensed for confrontation.
Just past halfway down, a piercing scream shattered the silence, causing her to jerk. Her fingers slipped free, and she windmilled like crazy, then pain exploded through her body as she hit the floor. Fiery agony licked the length of her left arm. God. She curled into a ball, her vision foggy with tears.
Heavy boots thudded toward her. “Grace? What the fuck?”
Caleb.
One strong arm looped around her waist while the other gripped her good forearm and lifted her to her tiptoes with a powerful tug that brought her snug against his chest, The length of her body fitted perfectly to the hardness of his, his breath kissing the top of her hair.
