Wyatt's Stand (Colebrook Siblings Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

Immediately he went to the back window and looked at the ground. Several partial footprints indented the earth beside the cabin wall.

Using the high-powered beam of the flashlight, he aimed it at the prints and followed them. They seemed to lead east, toward one of the pastures, and the woods beyond.

“Take Sarge with you,” his dad called from inside, pushing open the door to let the basset hound out.

Wyatt didn’t have time to wait around, but he gave the dog a terse command. “Sarge. Track,” he said, pointing to the prints in the earth.

The basset trotted over and lowered its nose to the ground, started snuffling as Wyatt and Easton followed the direction of the trail of prints. Wyatt took the lead, was halfway to the pasture when he heard Sarge’s low
woof
behind him. Two seconds later the dog was passing him, his nose to the ground, tail high.

“He’s got the scent,” he called back to Easton, a surge of adrenaline rushing through him. This was so familiar, the chase, the hunt. And damned if it didn’t feel good to be back in action again.

The sounds and scents of the night filtered out around him as he followed Sarge at a jog, Easton right behind him. He liked knowing his brother was at his back.

Up ahead Sarge paused at the white-painted fence marking the edge of one of the grazing pastures. He sniffed around it, running back and forth.

An uneasy feeling crawled up Wyatt’s spine. If the trespasser had a weapon he could easily conceal himself in the brush at the edge of the forest. The bright beam of the flashlight would make Wyatt and Easton instant targets. He wanted to shine it toward the forest in case he caught a glimpse of their trespasser, but held off.

Sarge gave another woof and squeezed under the fence, then took off at an angle across the pasture. Wyatt vaulted the fence, making sure he landed with more pressure on his good leg. Easton was right behind him, and gave chase. At the edge of the forest Sarge paused again and sniffed around, tracking back and forth, back and forth.

Wyatt glanced around, but there wasn’t enough light to see anything beyond shadows and branches close to him. “See anything?” he whispered to Easton.

“No.”

Sarge moved into the underbrush and through the forest, sniffing here and there. Wyatt followed, and a few minutes later the dog let out a low bark. Wyatt rushed over to where the basset waited near where the forest gave way to the road, saw something on the ground. Lowering himself to one knee, not daring to use the flashlight, he picked up the item on the ground.

A rubber Halloween mask.

Cursing under his breath, he stood and showed it to Easton, then glanced over at Sarge. The basset was sniffing at the shoulder of the road just beyond the trees. He’d clearly lost the scent and was wandering around in a frustrated circle, trying to pick it up again.

Wyatt knew it was a lost cause. Without being able to use the flashlight they were blind out here, and whoever had worn the mask was long gone in whatever vehicle he’d parked here. From this side of the woods he could have taken any one of three separate roads away from here, and without a direction or clue, there was no way to follow. Why had the guy left the mask? Had to have dropped it on the run, by accident.

“Guess that’s it,” Easton said, his tone full of disappointment.

“Yeah.” Wyatt whistled softly to recall Sarge, reached down to stroke the dog’s long, velvety ears. “Good boy,” he murmured. For such an old hound, he’d done well to track the suspect this far.

“You want to head back and drive around to the road, see if we can find tracks?”

Wyatt shook his head. “It’s been so dry here I doubt there’d be any tracks even if he drove here and left his vehicle on the shoulder of the road. I’ll call the cops.”

Together they headed back to the cabin, while Wyatt called to report it. When they arrived Austen rushed out into the backyard to meet them. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, her expression anxious. He hated seeing her scared. “Anything?”

“Just this.” Wyatt held out the mask they’d found.

“Yes, that’s what I saw,” she confirmed, and when she looked back up at him he could see the fear in her eyes.

“Whoever it was is long gone now,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “The cops are gonna take a look around the property line tonight and someone will come out in the morning to gather more evidence.” She pressed close as he hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head, her springy curls tickling his nose and lips. “You okay?” he murmured, needing to make her feel safe.

“Yes. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He looked over the top of her head at his dad and brother. “Thanks for your help. I’ll talk to the cops about it in the morning.”

His father shot a glance at Austen, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “Until we know what’s going on, maybe it’s best she stay here with you. I don’t want her being alone in that motel after this.”

Wyatt nodded. “I didn’t plan on letting her go.”

The ghost of a smile teased his father’s lips. “Good. Come on, Easton,” he said, waving his free hand toward the front door. “Let’s get outta here. Come on, Sarge.”

Wyatt released Austen long enough to shut and lock the screen porch door behind him, then the door leading to the interior of the house. “Let’s pull all the blinds.”

She helped him, securing all the windows and doors before meeting him in the kitchen.

“You okay with staying the night?” he asked.

She nodded. “I was hoping to anyway, just under different circumstances.”

He brushed a spiral curl away from her cheek. “Then forget what happened. I’m here and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

A slow smile curved her mouth. “That shouldn’t be romantic, but it is.”

He held out a hand. “Come to bed.”

She slipped her hand into his, the trust and heat in her eyes making his heart turn over. And in that moment, despite the trespasser, he realized that for the first time since he’d been wounded, he was happy, and excited about his life. It was easy to envision a future with her. Crazy as it would have seemed a few weeks ago, he was falling hard and didn’t want to ever let her go.

****

Shit, that had been way too close.

His heart pounded like a jackhammer as he drove down the deserted road that took him away from the Colebrook’s property, and not simply because he was high.

He’d wanted to spy on Wyatt and Austen, see if there might be an opportunity to take her, maybe when she got into her truck as she left the cabin. But when he’d crept to the back of it and heard what was going on inside, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to watch.

Wyatt Colebrook was fucking the boss. And enjoying every moment of it, from what he’d seen tonight.

He’d never thought of himself as a voyeur, but Austen was so fucking hot that for those few minutes he’d stood watching through the window, he’d been so caught up he’d actually been able to get past the fact that she’d been screwing Wyatt.

Instead he’d imagined it was him on top of her, inside her. She’d been breathtaking in her sensuality, head flung back, and those sounds she’d made…God.

His dick throbbed in time with each heartbeat as he thought of her. He hadn’t fucked a woman since he’d hooked up with that escort after his bitch of a wife had left him. If a scarred freak like Wyatt could get laid by a woman like Austen, then why shouldn’t he?

Maybe when he took her he’d get enough time to enjoy her before Wyatt came after her. Then he’d show her what it felt like to be fucked by a real man, not some footless, scarred cripple.

He swallowed hard as the erotic image of it formed in his mind. Of Austen tied to a bedframe, naked, her beautiful mouth covered in duct tape while he satisfied himself using her body.

Headlights flashed in his rearview mirror as a car turned onto the road a quarter mile behind him. His heart stuttered, then picked up again at double time. But the car didn’t race after him, and when he turned east at the next road, it didn’t follow.

Letting out a sigh of relief, he headed for home. If Wyatt had called the cops, they wouldn’t have much evidence to find him with. He’d lost his mask during the run through the woods but that shouldn’t matter.

Even if they found fingerprints or DNA on it they wouldn’t find them in time. He’d been careful not to stash his car where it might leave tracks. No one suspected he was up to anything.

Now that he’d seen how involved Wyatt and Austen were, he could pull off the attack any time. He was ready for it. All he needed was the right opportunity. Sooner or later, Wyatt wouldn’t be around to protect her.

When that moment came, he would take his revenge.

Austen’s eyes flew open in the middle of the night when the mattress bounced. She focused on Wyatt, unsure what had woken her. He was sleeping on his side, turned away from her. He twitched and jerked but didn’t wake and his breathing was harsh.

Before she could reach out to touch his shoulder, Grits was standing beside the bed, front paws braced on the edge of it as he licked Wyatt’s face.

Wyatt grunted and opened his eyes, half pushing up onto his elbows as he looked wildly around the room. The moonlight filtering through the slats in the blinds showed the sweat glistening on his forehead.

“You okay?” she whispered when he focused on her.

Frowning, he nodded, then pushed at Grits. “Stop. No kisses,” he said, his voice rough with sleep, a little out of breath. Then he sat up and turned to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, ran a hand over his face with a hard sigh.

Austen placed a tentative hand on the middle of his broad back and rubbed gently. His muscles twitched beneath her palm but he didn’t pull away, so she took that as a good sign. She noticed he was absently petting Grits with one hand as he sat there, getting his breath back.

“Nightmare?” she asked.

He nodded.

She waited a beat, unsure whether to be quiet or try to get him to talk about it. “Do you get them often?”

“Not as often as I used to.” He sighed, let his head drop back, one hand still petting Grits.

“He sensed you were in distress even before I did,” she told him. “By the time I woke up and realized you were having a bad dream, Grits was already there trying to wake you up.”

Wyatt glanced down at the dog. “He’s done it a couple times before.” He ruffled Grits’s ears. “Good boy.” Grits cocked his head and wagged his tail harder. Then he whined and Wyatt picked the dog up to set him on his lap. Grits settled against him and started licking. “No kisses,” he said in a gruff tone, but there was no heat in it.

Yeah, good luck with that
. Grits was determined to love on him.

After a minute Wyatt set him back on the floor. When he didn’t say anything else or lie back down, she pushed to her knees and crawled up behind him to press against his bare back, wrapping her arms around his chest. He put one big hand on her forearm and rubbed gently. She laid her cheek against the top of his shoulder and just held him.

After a few minutes he let out a deep breath and relaxed fully. “Sorry about that.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” She kissed his shoulder and snuggled up close. “Can I do anything?”

“You already did. It doesn’t happen that much anymore. Maybe knowing someone was looking in the window earlier triggered it, I don’t know.”

She made a soft sound to let him know she was listening but didn’t interrupt, drawing little patterns on his chest with her fingertips. His chest hair tickled her skin.

“When I was first wounded I had the same dream—or pretty much—every damn night, for months. Now it’s down to once every couple weeks or so.”

“About Afghanistan?”

Another nod. “That mission. When the firing started, Raider was about a dozen yards away from me. I’d detached her lead and told her to go scout up ahead for our foot patrol. During the ambush I was so busy returning fire, I didn’t watch her closely enough. By the time I looked up and saw her sitting to alert me there was an IED there, it was too late. They remote detonated it.”

God, how terrifying and awful for him.

“The explosion sent me flying. I didn’t even feel the pain at first. The moment I came to I opened my eyes and looked for Raider. I couldn’t see much because of all the blood, and I didn’t realize yet that I’d lost my right eye. She was lying a few feet away from me, both front legs missing.”

Austen closed her eyes and squeezed him tighter.

“I crawled over to her,” he said, voice catching. “She was still alive, looking up at me with that glassy-eyed expression I’ll never forget. There was nothing I could do for her. By the time the corpsman got to me she was already gone, and so were the guys with me.”

He was silent a long moment, and she could feel the tension in his big body. A silent vibration of self-recrimination and grief. “They loaded her onto the Medevac helo with me. One of the guys covered her with an American flag, just like they would any other fallen Marine. Because that’s what she was, and that’s what pisses me off so much when people say dumb shit like, ‘it was only a dog’. Or that the Corps considered her to be a piece of equipment.”

He shook his head, the motion full of anger and disgust. “I trained her from the ground up. She trusted me, was the most loyal friend I’ve ever known, and she saved so many lives over there. Out in the field she slept beside me, or across my legs, and alerted us to any trouble long before we were aware of it. She wasn’t just a dog, she was a Marine. My battle buddy. And I let her down.”

Tears pricked the back of Austen’s eyes. She held him tight, aching for him and all he’d gone through. “Did she know you were there, do you think? At the end?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she knew I was there. That’s the only thing I don’t regret about that day. I was right there holding her when she died.”

While he’d been lying there with a badly lacerated face and a mangled foot and lower leg. God, she hated that he’d gone through all that. “She sounds like a very special Marine.”

“She was. At the hospital in Germany, they gave me her purple heart. I put it on her collar. It’s on the mantel.”