On the run with his body.., p.24
On the Run with His Bodyguard,
p.24
She walked around the back of the car to the rear quarter panel. “Look, right there! I hit it there!”
There was a sizable dent in the panel. She covered her mouth when she saw a smear there, too. “Oh, God. It’s blood. I did hit it. I...”
Wolfe was beside her. He raised the flashlight in his hand. The beam passed over the smear and the dent and...
Eveline felt her gorge rise. “That’s fur, isn’t it?”
He held up a hand. He lowered his brow and gave her a look that told her to wait. Her knees locked up and she could do nothing but watch as he walked off in the direction her car had come.
She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had a sweater. It was cool in high desert country at night and she was chilled for other reasons. She wished he’d come back so she wasn’t alone. And yet, she didn’t want him to. Everything was so damn twisted and complicated. She didn’t know what to think or what to feel.
After several minutes, she heard the sound of boot-falls on the road and saw the swing of the flashlight beam. She shivered, not wanting to know but unable to stop herself from asking him as he returned. “Did you find it?”
He shook his head. Then stopped, shining his light on something in the brush.
She’d thought it was a boulder. But then she saw the tread of a tire.
He walked around the other side of the car. She followed and saw the empty rear well. “I...”
Wolfe eyed her from underneath the hat brim.
She found herself fumbling for an excuse. “I swerved off the road. That frickin’ crater there must’ve ripped it off.” She jerked her hand in the direction of a nearby pothole.
He continued to scan her. She took another automatic step back when she saw he was perusing the scars on her neck under the flashlight beam. Of course, she looked a good deal different from the last time they had crossed paths...
That would’ve been her mother’s funeral. And her stepsister’s funeral. They’d been buried on the same day, a result of the same tragedy—a result that had split Fuego in two. It had culminated with her father’s decline in health and prison time for the man in front of her.
How long has he been out? she wondered. And since when was he the town tow truck driver? She swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. “What happened to Old Man Meechum?”
Wolfe didn’t answer. He looked at her a second longer, then turned on his heel and walked back to his truck.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t know why she’d expected an answer.
It’d been so long since she’d interacted with him she’d forgotten he was mute.
She’d tried not to think about him at all. She hadn’t wanted to contemplate the crazy circumstances around her mother, Josephine’s, and her half sister, Angel’s, deaths. She hadn’t wanted to think about the fire that had killed them or the man that had set it: Jace Decker, or “Whip” as he’d been known.
Before Wolfe killed him out of vengeance.
Old Western justice, the judge had called it at the sentencing.
Wolfe had never said a word to anyone since he’d been found roaming the outskirts of Fuego at ten years old. Eveline remembered it well. She remembered him. Who he’d been. How he’d looked—like a wounded animal coming out of the woods under the supporting arm of her father’s then foreman, Santiago Coldero, the man who had taken Wolfe in and who had made a home for him at Coldero Ridge on the other side of Fuego.
The talk around town had been incessant. Where had the boy come from? What had been done to him? The bruises had faded from Wolfe’s face over time. He had stopped limping. And he hadn’t stayed starved-looking for long once Santiago’s sister, Paloma, started feeding him. But people never stopped asking questions.
Accident? Runaway? Some said he’d come off the rez, run all the way from the Apache Nation...
No one ever uncovered the truth. Wolfe never said a word about his past. He’d never said a word about anything to anyone. Not his real name. Who his folks were. He’d held his silence well into adulthood. Long after he’d become a part of Fuego, the mystery around him had lingered.
The only person Eveline had seen him bond with other than Santiago was her brother, Ellis. It must have been their quiet natures. They’d even formed their own brand of communication through gestures and whistling.
When she’d come of age and was gearing up to leave New Mexico for her dreams in New York, Wolfe and Ellis had already gone to work for her father, Hammond, at Eaton Edge. She remembered clear as day watching Wolfe herd cattle with both of her brothers.
That was before he’d started hanging out around the rodeo...mostly to avoid Everett, she was sure. Their feud had been as long running as the mystery surrounding Wolfe’s origins.
She tried not to think about that now. Or the fact that around the same time Wolfe had gone to work for her father, Eveline’s mother had run off with Santiago to Coldero Ridge, sparking a scandal that had made her all too happy to pack her bags and leave days after graduation.
Maybe if Josephine had stayed at Eaton Edge with her, her brothers and her father none of the rest of it would have happened. Whip Decker would’ve stayed away from her and Angel. She might not have died. There never would’ve been a trial...
Her brothers might still be speaking like they used to...
Her father’s heart would’ve never been shattered. He, too, might still be alive...
Eveline saw Wolfe come around the front of the truck. She straightened.
He bent over the loose tire. She galvanized herself to speak again, leaving the questions out this time. “I’m sorry it’s so late.”
He carried the tire to the truck. She could hear the coyotes yipping again, this time at a farther distance. She’d rather hear her own voice than theirs. “You were sleeping when I sent the ping, I’m sure.”
She heard the clatter of the tire hitting the truck bed. When he started back to her, she saw the fanning motion of his hand. Get back.
She obeyed, putting distance between herself and the car.
It took a while for him to maneuver the truck around so the vehicles were back-to-back, lights flashing, siren beeping. The hydraulics hissed as he lowered the bed, then got out to attach the back of her car with chains. The truck whirred as it tugged her car onto the platform. It went by inches. Wolfe lowered the platform back to the truck bed, then inspected it to make sure everything was secure.
She clutched her elbows. She was going to have to get in the truck with him. Fuego might be a hop, skip and a jump away, but Eaton Edge and its fourteen hundred acres of cattle lands was on the far side.
For a second, she contemplated walking it again.
Wolfe’s arms strained under the sleeves of his shirt. His back was wider than she recalled. He’d been tall long before either Everett or Ellis had been. Another thorn in Everett’s side, Eveline was sure.
Wolfe had gotten bigger in prison. She licked her lips, feeling very, very nervous.
Ellis’s voice popped into her head from years ago. He’s done nothing wrong. He did what any of the rest of us would have done, had we been there.
She wasn’t sure, even after all these years. Western justice seemed like something from another time, especially after living in the modern world of New York for so long. Shooting someone point-blank. Watching him die...
It had seemed almost as savage as the crime Whip Decker himself had committed.
She wasn’t sure what to feel, even after all this time. For her mother. For the circumstances surrounding her death. For Wolfe.
He finished loading and turned to face her.
Once again, she eyed the distance between her and Fuego. She wished she was braver. She wished she wasn’t wearing heels. She wished she hadn’t seen that thing in the road before she swerved.
Out of options, she moved toward Wolfe instead. He must’ve sensed her indecision because only then did he start around the side of the truck—the passenger side. He beat her to the door and opened it.
She paused, gauging the distance between the ground and the cab. She’d need a boost. She frowned at him. “I forgot my suitcase. It’s in the trunk.”
He gave a nod, passing between her and the truck. His scent washed over her. It struck her off guard. It was the same. He’d eaten at her father’s table. They’d ridden the same ground throughout the years. They’d shared stable duties and time with Ellis. Of course she remembered his scent.
What she didn’t expect was the wave of emotion that came with it...or the memories. Memories of racing across the Edge, both of them bent low over the pommel of their respective mounts, heads tipped down to keep their hats from flying off...
He smelled like freedom, of all things. Freedom, exhilaration...wilderness.
Those were the things that had slipped her mind, along with all the other positive things she’d stopped associating with her New Mexican upbringing.
Before she could change her mind, she slipped out of her heels and clutched them in one hand. She grabbed the edge of the seat and boosted herself up. When he came around her side again, she was in the seat, reaching for the seat belt. She lifted her feet so he could slide the suitcase across the floorboard.
“Thanks,” she said simply, trying to smile. Failing miserably.
He shut the passenger door and she closed her eyes. It was going to be a long ride home.
Copyright © 2023 by Amber Leigh Williams
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ISBN-13: 9780369728456
On the Run with His Bodyguard
Copyright © 2023 by TTQ Books LLC
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Tara Taylor Quinn, On the Run with His Bodyguard
