In spite of Griff’s reassurances, Ginny insisted he stop by and let her pick up her car. Call it a safety net, but it was important that she be able to come and go of her own free will. She would never let another man dictate her life or trap her again.
Griff didn’t like the idea of going anywhere near the inn, but he agreed to a compromise and asked Jacob to have one of the deputies drop her car at his house. She’d been alone so long now that she’d forgotten what it was like not to be alone.
To have a family, people who came together and supported you when you needed it. People who’d literally do anything for you. Griff had that with his brothers. They obviously shared affection for each other and worked together.
What would it be like to have a family like that?
You had it with Tess. Except you let Robert alienate you from her.
Her lungs squeezed with her need for air. Griff parked in front of his log cabin, and she realized how much he must love these mountains and the town to have stayed after his father’s death. She and Tess sold their family home after they lost their mother. It had been too painful to go inside the rooms where they’d grown up. Every place she’d turned she’d seen her parents, childhood memories, the love. The emptiness. That void had been overpowering.
“You must be tired,” Griff said as they battled the wind up to his front porch. “How’s your head?”
“I’m fine.” Although she winced at the reminder of her encounter with her attacker. If Robert had jumped her, he would have said something to let her know if it was him, wouldn’t he? Maybe she had angered Thad Rigden.
But he seemed too sophisticated to assault a woman in an alley.
“Your house is beautiful,” she said as they entered. “It feels warm and cozy.”
“Thanks,” Griff said. “After we lost our folks, we decided to sell the old homestead and each of us built a cabin. It was too hard going back to the house.”
Ginny smiled. “Tess and I sold our parents’ home after my mom passed, too.” Another thing they had in common.
Griff flipped a switch and the gas logs in the fireplace burst to life. The floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace and rustic features added charm, and the picture window and French doors leading to the massive deck offered a beautiful scenic view. Soft firelight flickered and danced, adding warmth and an ambience that would have been romantic if romance was part of her life.
“Did you do some of the work yourself?” she asked as she admired the millwork and rustic mantel.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a hobby. I built the bannister and made my table out of reclaimed wood.” Pride filled his voice. “And the columns were made from heart pine from my parents’ property.”
Impressive. “It’s lovely that you brought a piece of history with you.”
“My brothers and I all did.”
Just like she’d kept the quilt her grandmother had made for her and carried it with her wherever she moved.
Griff set the alarm system, then offered her a drink. “I have whiskey or wine,” he said.
“A whiskey would be great.” And alleviate some of her anxiety.
He poured them both a finger in a highball glass, then handed it to her. She swirled the liquid around in the glass while he began pulling items from the refrigerator.
“I hope you like omelets,” he said. “My specialty for dinner when I haven’t grocery shopped.”
“I hadn’t thought about dinner,” she admitted as she crossed the room to stare out the French doors. The trees shivered in the breeze, and stars fought through the storm clouds but failed, pitching the night into almost total darkness.
Exactly the way she’d felt for three years.
She glanced back at Griff, and her stomach fluttered. Before she’d been scarred and broken, she would have been attracted to him. Heck, she still was.
But she didn’t belong here. Not in his home or with his family.
She didn’t belong anywhere anymore.
* * *
GRIFF ADDED ONIONS, peppers and mushrooms to the pan, then watched them sizzle in olive oil until they softened before he stirred in the eggs and added cheese. The scent of bacon frying on his griddle made his mouth water.
He needed to distract himself from thinking about Ginny in his kitchen. As she stood by his window gazing at the inky sky and mountain ranges, she looked tormented. He loved the seclusion of the mountains and wilderness but considering Ginny’s situation, he understood her wariness. Although for a moment, he’d seen longing in her expression, as if she wanted to be part of this beautiful place.
As if she was all alone.
He’d never thought about being lonely before himself, because he had his brothers. Although there were all kinds of lonely.
Two of his brothers had partners now, lovers and wives. He envied them. And tonight, sharing a simple meal with Ginny in his cabin felt intimate.
A self-deprecating sigh escaped him. He could not entertain fantasies about a relationship with her. For God’s sake, she was a domestic violence victim with a stalker.
Anger at the situation and the bastard heated his blood and made him renew his vow to protect her.
He dished up the omelets and bacon, then grabbed toast from the toaster and set strawberry jam on the table. “It’s ready,” he said, wondering what she’d think of his culinary skills.
She turned and looked so vulnerable that his gut instinct whispered for him to sweep her in his arms and hold her until her fear subsided.
Don’t do it. The exact worst thing he could do was to touch her.
“It smells delicious,” she said as she joined him at the breakfast bar.
“Another whiskey?” he offered.
She shook her head. “I need to keep my wits about me in case Robert finds us.”
Dammit, no woman should have to think like that.
He pushed the whiskey bottle to the back of the bar and filled glasses of water for them. He needed to stay alert himself. If this maniac found her here, he’d tear his damn head off. Then he’d call his brothers.
She seated herself at the counter, and he dropped onto the stool beside her, careful not to crowd her.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said as she reached for her fork.
“I had to eat,” he said. “Besides, I enjoy being in the kitchen. At the firehouse, we take turns cooking.”
A smile softened her eyes. “My mother enjoyed cooking, too. She said it relaxed her.”
He grinned. “Chopping vegetables is cathartic.” A good way to release tension.
She smiled again, and he realized he’d been chopping ever since they returned to his place. He had to keep his damn hands busy so he wouldn’t touch her.
“So, your mother liked to cook?” he asked to fill the awkward silence.
“She did.” She forked up a bite full of the omelet and devoured it. “Delicious. Did you use fresh chives?”
“I did,” Griff said. “You know your herbs?”
“Mom again. She was on a low-salt diet, so she substituted fresh herbs instead.”
“Did she have a specialty?”
“Pasta dishes and desserts,” Ginny said. “She treated pastries like an art form just like my sister did when she painted.”
“Your sister was an artist?”
“Watercolor was her favorite medium,” Ginny said thoughtfully. “She painted beautiful landscapes with vibrant reds and oranges and subtle blues and greens. She would have wanted to paint your view out back.”
Griff allowed them to sit in the moment as she remembered her sister and they ate. “I can’t imagine living anywhere but here on the mountain.”
“I can’t imagine being able to settle down,” she admitted softly. “The past three years I haven’t stayed in the same place for more than three or four months. I’d get nervous and feel like I was being watched, then move on to the next town.”
Griff’s stomach clenched. “That must be difficult,” he murmured. Even after his father and mother passed, he still had family left. Ginny had no one.
A strained silence fell as they finished their meal. When she stood to clear the dishes, he shook his head. “I’ve got it. Go get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
She paused at the edge of the breakfast bar and looked up at him with a dozen emotions in her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me? I lied to you. I...got my sister killed and may have gotten Joy killed, too.”
Griff couldn’t resist. He lifted his hands and gently rubbed her arms. “You did lie, but I understand the reason now. And you are not responsible for your sister’s death or Joy’s.” He didn’t know how to convince her to believe him. “This guy is a manipulator, Ginny. You saw what he wanted you to see. Once you realized who and what he was, you did what you had to do.”
“But my sweet sister is dead because of it,” Ginny said.
Griff squeezed her arm. “Your sister would have wanted you to leave an abusive situation.” He lowered his voice. “She’d also want you to be happy now, too.”
“I can’t be happy as long as he’s out there.” She ran her fingers through her hair, then turned and walked into the guest bedroom.
A minute later, he heard her lock the door and the room went dark.
* * *
GINNY CURLED BENEATH the thick quilt in Griff’s extra bedroom and listened to the wind beat at the roof and windows. March had swept in with a vengeance, keeping winter alive in the mountains and a foreboding chill in the air that lingered like the coldness in her heart.
For just a minute today, surrounded by Griff’s loving family and the compassion of the two wives, she’d almost felt a crack in the veneer. Had almost felt like there might be a possibility for a future for her without a maniac breathing down her neck.
That there might a light at the end of the dark tunnel she’d fallen into when she’d held her lifeless sister in her arms.
She shivered and burrowed deeper beneath the quilt, wondering what hands had lovingly stitched the log-cabin pattern. In addition to baking, her mother had loved quilting and so had her grandmother. When she was a little girl, she remembered sitting in her grandma’s sewing room while she spread colorful swatches of dozens of fabrics across her worktable. Although Tess had been the artist, she’d enjoyed helping her grandma arrange the different swatches and colors into a design.
One year Grammy pieced quilts for her and Tess as Christmas gifts. They’d slept curled beneath them on cold winter nights and pretended their grandma’s arms were lovingly wrapped around them. The quilts had become even more special after she’d passed.
Footsteps echoed from the living room, and she tensed, holding her breath the way she used to do when she heard Robert come home. Would he be in a loving mood? Demand her attention? Or would he be angry and vent his frustration on her? Had she done something to incense him? Had she left a glass on the counter? Forgotten to stack the dishes the way he’d taught her?
Forgotten to fold the afghan across the couch? Left the magazines scattered instead of stacked in alphabetical order?
She clutched the quilt edge, listening for the footsteps to grow closer. For the doorknob to jiggle.
But instead, they faded. Griff was out there, not Robert. Griff who’d promised to protect her.
Would she ever be able to enjoy intimacy with a man again?
The memory of Griff pulling her into his arms taunted her. It had felt so...good. Tender. Unlike Robert’s possessive brute force.
She hated him for changing her. For ruining her trust and for making her skeptical of every man she met.
The anxiety inside her spread, and she curled lower beneath the bedding, savoring the warmth and comfort it offered. The house was quiet, the faint glow of a quarter moon seeping through the dark storm clouds and glowing gently in the room.
Exhausted from the attack, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift asleep.
In her dreams, she wasn’t broken anymore. And the world was full of colors.
* * *
GRIFF STOOD OUTSIDE on his deck, counting his blessings and wrangling unwanted feelings for Ginny under control.
She deserved better. True happiness and relief from the suffocating burden of guilt weighing her down.
Damn, he wanted to fix all her problems. That meant protecting her, and helping his brothers track down the man who’d made her life miserable.
He gazed at the heavens, willing his father to send him strength and his mother her wisdom. Something rustled in the woods behind his house, and he tensed and scanned the trees. Hard to see much of anything at night. The moonlight barely created a dent in the darkness, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled.
He reached inside his den and snagged his night binoculars from the side table by the sofa, then returned and used them to scan the property. Leaves rustled and tree branches swayed in the wind.
His protective instincts for Ginny mounted as he pictured Robert Bouldercrest skulking around trying to frighten her. What kind of lowlife coward preyed on women and enjoyed their fear?
He’d never understand that kind of evil.
Senses alert, he kept watch for another hour. Finally, when he was satisfied the bastard was gone, if he was out there, he closed the door and locked it. Then he checked to verify that the security system was armed, shuffled into his bedroom and stripped down to his boxers. After he brushed his teeth, he climbed in bed.
But just as he closed his eyes to grab a few hours of sleep, his phone buzzed. He snatched it from his nightstand. His chief.
“Griff, we need you. A fire in town. Burgess just came down with some kind of bug and is puking his guts out. And Thomas sprained his damn ankle on the last job.”
Griff sat up and instantly reached for his clothes. “Where’s the fire?”
“Mitzi’s Café.”
His feet hit the floor. Would Ginny be safe if he left her here with the security system armed?