Grace stopped Rick as he was starting to back up. It was an obvious retreat.
She couldn’t let him go.
“No! I mean, no. It’s fine. It’s great. You’re here. Okay. Come on in.”
“Sure. Just, uh, give me a second. I brought a couple of things with me.” He glanced over his shoulder, jerking his thumb toward the monster of a truck parked alongside the curb. “They’re in my truck. I’ll… I’ll be right back.”
Grace nodded.
Rick made no move to leave the porch.
He was going to kick Sly’s ass for this.
When Sly said that he needed a favor, that Maria had a friend who was in trouble and needed to learn how to protect herself, Rick’s immediate reaction had been to find this “trouble” and take care of it himself. Hamlet was a small town, and he knew everyone. If it was a friend of Maria’s, he figured that meant he knew the victim and the abuser. It would be his pleasure to straighten that out.
Like Rick, Sylvester had a sweet spot when it came to a damsel in distress. He didn’t think the sheriff would disapprove of his methods, except Sly went on to explain that Maria’s friend was, in fact, the new outsider and the trouble hadn’t quite found her yet.
She was determined it wouldn’t, but if it did? She wanted some tips on how to protect herself. And since the last thing any of the HSD wanted was more trouble in Hamlet, both the sheriff and the deputy had a motive in making sure the outsider woman felt safe.
Besides, Maria De Angelis insisted on it. And since Maria wanted this to happen, Sly insisted on it. And Rick? Well, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. At least he was helping someone. It was such a change from what he had to do while he was in combat. He needed some good karma points.
Even so, Sly might have mentioned that Grace Delaney was a total knock-out.
Was he that tired after pulling a twelve-hour shift the other day? Had he gone momentarily blind? Because, shit, he should’ve remembered what this woman looked like.
She was gorgeous.
More than a head and a half shorter than him, her entire form screamed delicate. She was slender, appearing even smaller thanks to the loose t-shirt she was wearing over a pair of pants so tight, it molded to her hips and her thighs. She had a mass of wavy, dark hair cascading past her shoulders; it was the same shade as his mahogany dresser back home. She was pale, with a dusting of pink coloring her softly rounded cheeks.
To make matters worse, the look she’d been giving him had him clenching his jaw. Her vibrant hazel eyes were so wide it made it obvious that she was staring at him.
He wasn’t stupid. Rick knew what he looked like. His face was broken in. And, okay, he still needed a haircut. His body was big, his muscles defined from a lifetime of training. He might’ve gone a little soft after he got out of the Corps, but he loomed over the tiny woman.
He would break her in half.
“You’re… ah, Jesus. You’re kinda small.”
She visibly bristled. “That doesn’t mean I’m not strong.”
To his surprise, Grace backed away from the threshold and straightened suddenly, gaining a good two inches of height. She bowed her back, thrusting out her chest. It took Rick a second to tear his eyes from her top to notice that the reason she looked taller was because she was perched on the absolute tips of her toes. And she did it effortlessly.
She held the pose for a good ten seconds, then sank easily back into a relaxed position. Her motions were so fluid and precise, he decided her name fit her perfectly.
“Small, but mighty,” he amended. “What kind of guns you hiding under those sweats?”
Her face darkened. “I—I don’t use a weapon. That’s why I need to learn these moves.”
Rick recognized the look that flashed across her pretty face. He wore it himself whenever he thought of some of the shit he saw when he was deployed. This woman was haunted.
“Muscles,” he said, softening the raw edge of his voice. Sly might have tricked him into this, but he wasn’t going to take it out on her. “I meant you’ve got muscles.”
“Oh.” She shook her head, long hair swaying before she scooped it up and settled it over her right shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you could say that. So, you gonna head back to your truck or not?”
“Wha—oh. Yeah. I just need—” There was something. What was it? Oh. Right. “The mats. Hang on.”
Rick turned his back on her at last, jogging down the porch steps and hoofing it toward his truck. He took the folded gym mats from the truck bed, hoisting them over his shoulder and bringing it in through the front door. Sly buzzed him earlier to make sure he knew that Maria was okay with his using Ophelia when he gave his lesson. Avoiding Grace’s curious gaze, he pulled off his Carhartt hoodie and got to work setting the mats up in the front room.
He coughed when he was done, then cleared his throat. She was staring at him again. “Mats,” he said uselessly. “I thought they might help.”