No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

I’m so tired.

Don’t know if I trust myself behind the wheel with him in the car.

It’d be just my luck to get him back, only to get us into an accident. And the longer I wait to get some rest, the greater that danger grows.

“Okay,” I say, lightly stroking Eli’s hair. “I’ll come up early in the morning so he doesn’t freak out if he wakes up and doesn’t know where I am.”

Warren nods. “Good plan.”

Still, it’s hard for me to let go when I just got him back.

Even harder to give Eli over into Haley’s waiting arms, even though I appreciate the way she handles him as gently as if he were her own boy. Almost the same way Fliss handled him, too, every time he dozed off on the sofa after showing her the photos he’d taken that day.

She never once complained, never once seemed to mind—in fact, she’d just seemed content, as if earning Eli’s trust fulfilled some nagging need inside her.

The same way being with her fulfills something deep inside me.

I settle into my Jeep with one last look at the hospital and a new unexpected rush of energy, feeling an idea coming on.

It can’t hurt to stop by her place on the way home.

I can’t imagine she’d be at the cabin waiting for me if she’s refusing my calls.

Maybe I can stop by, talk to her, clear the air, and fix the last glaring thing out of sync tonight.

It’s on my way back from the hospital, anyway, just a quick detour.

So no matter how tired I am, I don’t hesitate to make that turn and pull up outside her house.

One look deflates me instantly.

I don’t even have to knock on the door to know she’s not there.

The windows are dark.

Her station wagon’s gone, though the recent drip from a small oil leak says it’s been there.

When I get out, though, and mount the steps, I hear excited yapping from inside—and then Shrub’s face pokes up against the window, pushing his wet nose against the glass.

I smile faintly and touch the screen over the window.

“Hey, little guy,” I say. “Guess I screwed up worse than I thought, huh?”

I’m reminded, again, of how the first time I met Fliss, she reminded me of a wounded, skittish animal. Sometimes it takes years of work to get a wild animal to trust a human fully.

And only one wrong move to shatter that trust completely and send her frolicking out into the wild again.

Dispirited, I step down off the porch and head back out. There’s only one other place she could be.

I’ll swing by The Nest.

Just for a glimpse of her, just to know she’s okay, one last sight of her through the window with her head bowed over the work she loves.

My breath stalls as I picture her expression set in that beautiful blaze of passion for her black bean art. I won’t bother her.

I’ll leave a note, make sure she knows the door’s open, whenever she’s ready to talk it out.

The road’s blurry by the time I hit the highway, fresh exhaustion crashing through me so hard it’s gonna be a trial to get back to the cabin safely.

I’ve plowed through worse and come out the other side, though, thanks to deployments in high-intensity combat situations that leave it unsafe to sleep for days at a time.

No one tells you almost losing a child is just as draining as war.

It takes a piece out of you, even when things turn out okay.

I keep my gaze locked on the twin beams of my headlights outlining the road, making them my focal point to stay conscious and zeroed in on driving.

Thank God the road’s empty. The town’s eerily quiet, slipping into a blissful sleep now that the kids are safe.

Everyone’s resting, and I don’t blame them.

I’m grateful to this town for the effort everyone put in searching for the kids, and they deserve their downtime.

I’m so caught up in staying awake and my single-minded thoughts that I almost drive right past The Nest. It’s all squares of glowing light through the front windows in my peripheral vision, just a blur, until something clicks.

A large shape blocking that light.

A larger shape on four wheels than Felicity’s station wagon.

A moment of déjà vu: pulling up to The Nest and watching those thugs jump into a large black SUV and go tearing off. And doing it again right after their crazy empress tried to slice my girl to pieces.

“Shit!” I growl, hitting the brakes hard enough to jolt forward, and then craning back to look.

No fucking question—it’s the same SUV.

Plus, another vehicle I recognize, one that makes me realize I should’ve trusted my instincts from the start.

A truck.

As the vehicles’ doors start to open, I slam down on the gas and speed off. I can’t let them know they’ve been spotted or let them recognize me, or they might do something rash and deadly.