"Actually, I own the whole damned mountain. And most of the property surrounding the lake. And, well, about half of the town.” He grinned. “But who's counting?"
"Apparently, you are,” she said, her tone dry. “You're certainly arrogant enough to be Garrett Slater."
He chuckled. “I was born this way. Nothing I can do about it.” He forced his tone to remain light, his gaze easy. The last thing Garrett wanted to do was frighten her more than he already had ... more than he likely would when she discovered his true identity.
Thinking of the danger she was in—the danger she knew nothing about—he took a small step toward her and extended his hand to her. “Let me help you inside."
Her gaze shifted suddenly as something caught her attention. “You're bleeding."
Glancing down at his right hip, he saw a crimson stain on the white towel he'd wrapped around his waist. His gaze returned to her striking face. “It's nothing."
She stared at him, dumbfounded. “It doesn't look like nothing. In fact, it looks pretty bad."
And then it occurred to her.
Garrett could see the change in her visage, the questioning and uncertainty that entered her eyes. The way her body suddenly trembled so violently told him she had just made a correlation that was not only inconceivable to her, but which was also probably the most shocking thing she'd encountered in her young life.
"Oh, holy shit...” she said on a sharp breath. Then, “Where'd the dog go?"
Garrett too
k another small step toward her. Serena's body shook visibly and she pressed her back against the column at the entrance of the carport for support. She was still getting partially rained on, but he could see that the sturdy wooden beam provided her some measure of stability.
In a low, even tone, he said, “There was no dog."
Her arms finally dropped all the way to her sides and the iron rod clamored to the concrete floor as it slipped from her long fingers. “I saw it,” she whispered. “I hit it. And then I helped it into the back of my truck.” Her deep blue eyes narrowed on him as she said, “I felt the blood. He hit the corner of my pickup and smashed the headlight. He was injured. Bleeding. I felt the blood on my fingers."
She lifted her right hand, but of course there was no evidence of what she spoke. The rain had washed the blood away.
Garrett reversed his steps and retrieved the thick blanket from the tailgate. He returned to her, closing the gap between them, and draped the unfolded blanket across her chest and over her bare shoulders.
His gaze locked with hers and he said, in the most non-threatening voice he could muster, “You need to get inside. You're soaked and it's cold out here.” There was more to it than that, of course, but he didn't want to freak her out.
One hand reached up and pressed the blanket to her breast, holding it in place as he turned away.
Garrett stalked over to the driver's side of the truck, ignoring the shooting pain in his right hip. It would subside soon, so it was easy to dismiss the throbbing sensation. He yanked the keys from the ignition and then rounded the front of the truck and unlocked the back door to Serena's cottage. He shoved open the door and then returned to the cab, where he'd seen the pile of groceries. After depositing the bags and the case of wine on the kitchen counter, he moved deeper into the small cottage and lit a fire in the hearth. The living room was tiny and it doubled as a bedroom. Serena's queen-size bed sat off to the right in an alcove.
She didn't enter the house while he was in it, so he knew he'd have to entice her inside. The smell of a warm fire emitting from the chimney ought to do it, but just to be sure, he opened a bottle of her Shiraz and poured a glass.
Stepping back into the carport he held up the glass and said, “I swear you're safe with me. Bring the tire iron if it makes you feel better."
"I can't.” Her voice was small and meek, not at all as forceful as it had been earlier.
Garrett narrowed his gaze on her. “Why not?"
She drew in a deep breath, then said, “You've scared the crap out of me, you jerk. And I'm freezing to death. So now my legs are trembling so bad, I can't move."
Garrett couldn't help but smile. She was feisty and spirited even when she was frightened. He'd known he'd like her.
Setting the glass of wine on the dryer, he crossed to where she still stood, her back still against the corner beam. Knowing it would put her at ease, he raised his hands in the air again.
When he was close enough to her that their bodies were almost touching, he looked deep into her blue eyes and said, “I'm not going to hurt you. Not tonight. Not ever."
Her lips quivered. She tried to hold his gaze, tried to appear brazen. But he could see she was terrified. And confused.
One hand lowered and gently grazed her wet cheek. She sucked in a breath, as though she felt the jolt to the core of her being. The way he did.
"Tell me,” she said on a sharp whisper. “Where'd the dog go?"