Laurel was teetering on a ledge. On the one hand, she hadn’t really talked to an actual person in a social setting in almost three years since the very early days of the ordeal. And conversation with Griff came as easily as breathing. Her talks with Mrs. Brubaker were a lifeline and mainly centered around the older woman, her past, and the amazing life she’d lived. They were also work related. Laurel had to check on her patients and see how they were doing, but Laurel rarely ever shared anything personal and never spoke of her past. In a way, having to be secret about something so traumatic made her feel victimized all over again. She didn’t even feel safe seeking counseling even though she was well aware of patient-therapist confidentiality. There was always that lingering doubt if the counselor would know someone from the family and word would somehow get back to them of Laurel’s whereabouts. The thought of the harassment starting all over again caused the air in the room to thin and her chest to squeeze.
Cory Stapleton, her lawyer, had advised her to keep quiet after an assault that had had her fighting for her own life. She had yet to unpack the trauma caused by being alone in a room with a man after. And yet, here she was inviting Griff inside her cabin, not wanting him to leave.
During the trial, a judge had ordered her to only speak to her attorney and a counselor about the details of the high-profile case. The assault wouldn’t have made national news, and yet it had been huge in the area she lived.
After the trial and her acquittal, no one would talk to her except her best friend, Marissa Jones. Her friend had young twins and no family help. As much as Marissa had wanted to be there for Laurel for every step, life got in the way. There was no way Laurel would ask to come first over her godbabies.
Then there was the fact Laurel had a difficult time looking at, much less speaking with, anyone in law enforcement after the way she’d been treated. On some level, she realized how unfair it was to blame Griff Quinn for sins he didn’t commit. There were good and bad people in every job, every walk of life, and every neighborhood. After having her trust violated to the degree she’d experienced, trusting anyone with a badge was going to be difficult.
Griff was tall, muscled, and looked like he could take care of himself and anyone else around in the process. He had sandy-blond hair, a chiseled from granite jawline, and the most incredible pair of honey-brown eyes. The man was perfection.
There was something about the sheriff’s demeanor that put her at ease.
It was difficult to explain and even harder to understand given what she’d been through. He had an air of honor and fairness that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. There was so much confidence in the way he carried himself. It probably didn’t hurt that he was from Texas, and the knowledge he’d been brought up in a ranching family where values like honor and keeping someone’s word still meant something to people.
Cattle ranchers were some of the hardest workers and most humble people she’d ever met. Was it the fact they took care of animals and the land that caused them to be so down to earth? Was it the constant knowledge they were at the whim of Mother Nature that made them never forget how little control they had in life? Or was it the combination of all those things stirred in one big pot that seemed to turn out more good people than not?
“Can I ask you a question?” Griff cut into her thoughts. There was a spark in his coffee-colored eyes that drew her toward him and made her want to lean into him.
She nodded.
“What are you doing for the rest of today?” he asked, the moment of uncertainty in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings.
Should she answer him honestly? Half an hour ago she’d been certain she would be packed and on the road before her third cup of coffee had time to kick in. Now? She didn’t want to leave Gunner forever without stopping by to say goodbye to Mrs. Brubaker. It didn’t seem right to leave this way, slinking out of town like she was the criminal. She still had no real evidence anyone had broken into her home in Chicago to set a trap for her, except that she knew.
“I should probably clean house,” she said, basically code for gather the rest of her things and get out while she was still alive. But then no one had moved from behind the tree when she could have sworn she’d seen a shadow earlier. Was her imagination playing tricks on her?
Between the shadow, Henry, and the snake, Laurel’s nerves were fried. Except Griff Quinn had a calming effect on her. Would it be a mistake to run away from Gunner, from him?
“Or you could accompany me to a festival today,” he offered.
“I don’t think that’s a good—”
“Think about it,” he said as he fished a small black leather wallet out of his back pocket. He extracted a business card and then set it on the counter. “My number is on there. I need to go home and get cleaned up. Then, I’m heading out to the festival. I’d like to take you there and show you how incredible the people of this town can be and what a great place Gunner is. But no pressure. If you want me to come back and pick you up, text the number on the card. If you get confirmation from me, that means the text came through. If not, you might have to call. Either way, I promise not to be offended.”
Griff Quinn thanked her for the coffee and then walked out the front door, pausing long enough to remind her to lock it behind him.
She did, and then she stood at the door like a teenager who’d just been dropped off by her high school crush. Heart beating erratically in her chest, pounding the inside of her ribcage, she let out the breath she’d been holding.
On the one hand, she wondered how much it could hurt to stick around for another day. Constantly being on the run like in the first nine months of the year had been exhausting. After three months of anonymity, she was just beginning to feel safe in her own skin again. The need to constantly look over her shoulder had diminished somewhat, and she could see a time when she would almost feel normal again in the not so distant future. She woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat less often.
What happened to her after the death was horrible. The harassment was unthinkable. Being responsible for someone’s death, despite acting in self-defense, caused tremors and night terrors for the two years following the incident. The trial was traumatizing but she’d refused to see herself as a victim even when the prosecutor had done her best to discredit Laurel. Go down that road and she might never recover.
Besides, the death really had been an accident on her part. She hadn’t set out to cause the loss of someone’s life, especially not someone she believed she cared for at one time. Had she been naïve to think her ex would change when she’d brought up his temper? Absolutely.
Looking back, there’d been red flags early on in the relationship, but he’d been charming too. So charming, in fact, that she didn’t even realize how much she was making excuses for his other behaviors. To be fair, he’d concealed them well from her and had showered her with attention in the early months of dating. Laurel didn’t have a ton of dating experience to draw on for comparison. She’d worked her way through high school to be less of a burden on the grandmother who’d raised her. She’d put herself through two years of community college, graduating with an associate’s degree in communication. Laurel had had no idea what she wanted to be, so basic business courses had seemed like a good idea. Once she’d decided on a major, nursing, her grandmother had become sick.
For the next three years, Laurel had stayed by her grandmother’s side when not working. Her associate’s degree didn’t go far in the small suburb where they lived. She’d planned to move to the city after completing a nursing degree. Funny, she’d never told her ex about her hopes and dreams.
Timothy had been her fourth boyfriend, if she excluded Christopher from high school. They’d ‘dated’ senior year if she could even call it that. But he’d been sweet enough to carry her books for her and meet her at the door of her classroom. He’d been on the wrestling team and spent most of his nights and weekends with school athletics or studying. They’d never even kissed. It wasn’t until six months after their breakup during freshman year that he ‘came out’ while at the University of Chicago.
The news explained a lot about their platonic relationship. Granted, she wasn’t ready to do anything physical with a boy in high school. But it explained why Christopher had never even attempted to kiss her on the lips. A quick peck on the cheek was as far as the two of them had gotten.
Once news broke, he’d sent her an apology via text, stating that he really had loved her in his own way. She’d smiled, realizing he’d been a safe choice for a high school boyfriend on her part and she seemed to be the same for him. They’d started as friends and probably should have stayed in the lane.
Reminiscing about her past was one thing. Her present stared her in the face, calling for a decision as to whether or not she planned to finish packing up the few belongings she had or stick around.
Glancing around, it was sad to realize just how little anything belonged to her. There was something deep in her soul that wanted to put down roots in a place that felt like home. Chicago had been good to her, or maybe it was just her grandmother who’d made it feel like warmth and apple pie.
Once her grandmother had passed away, the feeling of being all alone in the world without family had engulfed her. Marissa had married almost straight out of high school, changing the dynamic of their friendship. For obvious reasons, building a life with her new husband had to come first. Max was a decent guy. Him and Marissa had been high school sweethearts who seemed like they would go the distance. At the time of their marriage, the summer after graduation, Laurel had been skeptical. Then she realized those two had something most couples didn’t seem to find…respect for each other. It wasn’t until she ended her short-lived relationship with Timothy that she realized how important respect was between two people who were supposed to care about each other. Timothy had been all dazzle and charm, a front for a monster. Even though it hadn’t taken her long to realize he wasn’t what he had seemed, he’d locked on.
She shivered at remembering his last words to her. You belong to me. I say when we’re done.
Then, he’d tried to rape her.
Laurel pushed off the counter’s edge and paced. There’d been so much blood when he fell on the knife, the knife that he’d been holding against her throat as he forced her clothes off. The small scar marked her, reminded her.
Somehow, she’d managed to spin out of his grip when he got distracted. He’d taken his eyes off her face for a split second, licking his lips as his gaze dropped to her chest.
Everything had happened in slow motion at the time, as if time had slowed to a standstill. Memories now were vague. However, there were a couple of things she would never forget. The look on his face when he told her exactly what he was going to do to her next. The anger in his eyes that could only be described as pure evil. The saying about the eyes being the window to the soul resonated with her.
Griff Quinn couldn’t be more different; the complete antithesis to everything she’d experienced with Timothy. Even from afar, she’d sensed his calm presence.
It was odd to her how she seemed to know when he walked into a room. It was also easy to see that she wasn’t the only one who seemed to have radar tuned to him. All the female cashiers at the grocery store perked up just a bit more, many of them suddenly felt the need to check their lipstick in the mirror or finger comb their hair. The pruning began the second he was out of sight. The switch to when he returned was just as obvious. They all tried their hardest to make it seem like they had no idea he was around.
Did he realize what was going on around him? Because it didn’t come across that he noticed one way or another. The fact had made her crack a smile when she saw all the shoulders sag once he left the building. The only person left smiling was the line he’d been in.
Laurel laughed, despite the earlier heavy thoughts. Griff Quinn held a special kind of magic. The funny part was that he didn’t seem to know or care. Now that she really thought about it, a man paid to notice others couldn’t possibly have missed the antics going on around him. Then again, maybe he was so used to it that it no longer registered. Maybe he would be more thrown off by walking into a room without being noticed.
It struck Laurel that the man she barely knew was taking up so much of her thoughts. Was she that desperate for company? She glanced at the business card sitting on the counter. Or was there something special about the sheriff?
Griff’s journey from the cabin to the boat to his truck seemed to take longer than usual. The number of times he’d glanced at his phone wasn’t helping time pass any quicker. If anything, he was much more aware of every passing minute.
The excuse he’d sold himself was that he’d been away from work too long today and Sherry might need him. Except that a voice deep in the back of his mind refused to accept the lie. The voice of reason?
Call it whatever, but the voice was annoying as all get-out. Walking away from Laurel had been the right thing to do. If she was going to leave town, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. So, why did that same voice in the back of his mind think it was a good idea to remind him of all the things he hadn’t said that he probably should have? Like she could call him anytime day or night, if she was scared or felt threatened in any way. All those unspoken words seemed to jumble up in his thoughts, leave him unsettled and with a sense of unfinished business.
Then there was the bigger question of why he seemed to care so much about whether or not a practical stranger stayed in Gunner or moved as far away as possible. It wasn’t like he was desperate for company and she wasn’t exactly the most talkative person, even though silence between them hadn’t been awkward.
From what he’d gathered after hearing town folk talk about the resident beauty, Laurel was a nice person. The whole reason he got into law enforcement in the first place was to deliver justice to those who’d been wronged. As Pollyanna as it all sounded, he wanted to make a difference. No, needed to make a difference. There was something deep inside Griff that made him want to run toward danger if it meant saving another’s life. He couldn’t explain it. Although, a psychiatrist worth his or her salt would probably track it back to not being able to save his own mother.
Griff didn’t care where the deep-seated desire came from. All he knew was helping others when they’d experienced the worst day of their life, or locking away someone preying on decent people helped him sleep better at night. The fact two of his other brothers had gone into law enforcement said there must be something in their blood. These kinds of jobs seemed to run in families, he’d noticed. Did they inherit a different type of wiring? Possibly. The reason didn’t matter.
Instead, there he was, feeling helpless since Laurel seemed determined not to talk about her past—a past that had her packing up and ready to run away without a word.
Griff sighed, trying to shake off the failure as he navigated out of the parking lot of the lake. A question nagged him. Would he ever see Laurel again?
Another one joined it. Was Laurel even her real name? He could admit his curiosity about her was more than professional. There was a personal draw that made him want to turn his truck around and head toward the cabin. Making a U-turn wouldn’t be too complicated, and he could be back at her front door within the hour. He could make an excuse about thinking he’d left his cell phone, so he could check on her.
Griff shook his head and continued toward home instead. Back at his place, he figured he could grab a quick shower and change his clothes before heading over to check out the festival. His mood had soured, so he needed cheering up. The three-day event would open in a couple of hours. The organizers always brought their own security who did a standup job. It was Griff’s night to attend as a civilian. He would be ‘on’ tomorrow, despite his deputies telling him not to worry. They had it covered; Deputy Hernandez planned to work all three nights.
The cell beside him buzzed and hope filled his chest. Until he glanced at the screen and realized it was Hernandez on the line.
“Griff here. What’s up?” he immediately asked as a sense of dread filled him. If anything was going south with the event, wouldn’t Sherry have been the one to call?
“Hey, boss,” Hernandez started, his tone of voice already calming Griff’s nerves. Law enforcement officers trained themselves to listen for the slightest inflection to determine if one of their co-workers needed assistance. The tension in Griff’s shoulders relaxed. “How many did you catch?”
“None,” Griff admitted, thinking just how far that answer stretched. “Why? What’s up?”
“Touching base with you about the festival. Just wanted you to know that Sayer and I have everything under control on our part. We’re working with their security detail, as always, and everything is looking copasetic.”
Hernandez loved referencing the 1970s, despite being born twenty years later. He said he’d been born in the wrong decade and preferred the disco era to the music that wasn’t even music today they liked to call rap.
“Sounds good. All communications systems are in place, I take it,” Griff said, curious as to why his deputy would make a call and not actually say anything of importance. These kinds of check-ins weren’t the norm.
“We got it all set up and ready to go,” Hernandez informed.
“There will be a lot of out-of-towners breezing through over the next couple of days. I already felt it in traffic on the way home from the lake,” Griff pointed out, thinking out loud.
“Yes, there will be, and hopefully this will bring in some much needed revenue to some of our local shop owners after having a rough year,” Hernandez said. The festival was a really great way to bring in people to buy locally made jewelry, arts, and crafts, and folks stopped in restaurants to get a break from festival food or on their way home. It helped everyone in their little community.
“Is Ms. Meyer selling those more of those ‘redneck’ wine glasses?” Griff asked on a chuckle.
“Last I checked, she sure planned to. I don’t know why those things are popular but you already know my girlfriend bought a dozen last fall,” Hernandez said, sounding every bit as confused and bewildered by the purchase, as he had when he’d announced that he needed a box to take them home last year.
“They worked out okay at the annual community caregiver picnic,” Griff pointed out.
“I mean, I didn’t hear anybody talking about those,” Hernandez said. “Now, my brisket…that was something. People couldn’t stop talking about how amazing it was.”
“It was a little less dry this year,” Griff teased, knowing full well he was poking the bear with the off-handed comment. Hernandez took a whole lot of pride in his grilling skills. At least this conversation was putting Griff in a lighter mood after his conversation with Laurel. The fearful look in her eyes, despite her show of strength, would haunt him for days.
“I know you did not just insult my meat grilling skills,” Hernandez said in about as disgusted and put-off voice as Griff had ever heard from his deputy.
“I’m just saying, it could have been a little less dry,” Griff continued to tease.
“Do I hear a challenge in there somewhere?” Hernandez asked, not one to back away from competition. “Because you know I will bring it even more next year…”
“I don’t see how I can lose in that bet,” Griff said. “I either get better brisket, or bragging rights for days. Basically, a win-win for me. So, yeah, I dare you to make a more tender brisket next summer.”
“Next summer?” Hernandez said with indignance, continuing the banter. “We are about to have brisket for Thanksgiving, and you’re invited.”
It was good to see his deputy was healed and doing well after being shot on duty, a little more than a year ago.
“Oh, I see how you’re playing it now. You’re poking the bear. No, you’re talking to a master here. I do not accept your insults and I will not be manipulated,” Hernandez feigned disgust like no one else could.
“In all seriousness, though. It’s good to hear everything is looking good for the festival. Staff is all up and raring to go,” Griff stated. He pulled in front of his home and needed to park. Reversing into his drive, so that he could deposit his boat and trailer into the one-car garage, required every bit of his concentration skills to tuck the trailer and boat into their place.
“So, there was another reason for my call,” Hernandez hedged. Something was up.
“Okay?”
“You know Becca,” Hernandez began. The fact that he seemed to need to choose his words correctly did not send a whole lot of warmth and fuzzies through Griff.
“Yes, we’ve met. Why? What is going—”
“Before you say no, I told Becca that I would at least ask if you were interested,” Hernandez said.
“I don’t need to be fixed up,” Griff said. “I’m doing fine on my own, thank you very much.”
Griff ended the call thinking if that statement was true, he wouldn’t be attending the festival alone. His thoughts shifted back to Laurel and how unfortunate it was for him that the first interesting person to come to town in ages was probably already on the highway heading as far away from him and the town of Gunner as she could get.