eleven
The phone rang.
She flinched so hard the photo slipped from her fingers and skated across the table, and for one irrational second, she thought it was the woman on the bench calling her. Ashley. Alice. Whatever her name was now.
She set the photo facedown and got up to grab her phone from the counter.
The screen glowed with the absolute last name she wanted to see: Daniel Goodwin.
She should let it go to voicemail.
She didn’t.
“Greta.” Daniel’s voice was full of the warm confidence of a man who had spent years being the most likable person in whatever room he walked into.
So why did it always give her a chill down the back of her neck?
“I heard about the break-in at Summit,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
“I’m fine. Thank you for calling.”
“If you need anything—equipment or storage space while you sort the office—my Hamilton shop has duplicates of most standard outfitter gear. Just say the word.”
“That’s—thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I hope you’re not alone,” he added. “After something like that. It can shake you up more than you think.”
She stood at the counter, phone pressed to her ear, and her gaze drifted to the window. Bear’s truck sat in his driveway across the street. He was home. She hadn’t noticed when he’d pulled in.
“I’m good,” she said. “I’m never alone. I have Atlas.”
“Alright. You know where to find me if that changes.”
She ended the call and set the phone on the counter, screen down.
Daniel Goodwin. Hank’s younger brother. The one who’d inherited the family charm without the cruelty, or at least the cruelty that showed.
If that changes…
She looked down at her dog. “What the hell did he mean by that?”
And why couldn’t she shake that chill?
She looked out the window again and saw Bear unloading two heavy Adirondack chairs from the back of his truck. He was shirtless despite the chill in the air, all that tattooed muscle on full display.
She’d seen him without a shirt before—working in the summer heat at Valor Ridge—but this was different. This was across the street from her kitchen window, with no one else around. Her mouth went dry, and the phone call with Daniel evaporated from her mind.
Bear bent to lift the first chair, his back muscles flexing as he hoisted it onto one shoulder. The chair was heavy—she could tell by the way his feet sank into the gravel—but he carried it like itweighed nothing, his biceps bunching, the dark ink of his tattoos standing out against his skin.
He set the chair on his front porch, then turned and went back for the second. He lifted it just as easily, and a glittering drop of sweat tracked down the center of his spine, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans as he carried it to the porch.
She suddenly, desperately wanted to touch her tongue to the dip of his spine and taste the saltiness of his sweat.
“Jesus,” she muttered. “Down, girl.”
He set the second chair beside the first, then stood back to survey his work. He wiped his forearm across his forehead, pushing back his dark hair, which was longer than she’d ever seen it. He usually kept it buzzed short.
He turned suddenly, his gaze sweeping across the street. He went still when he spotted her.
