Instead of agreeing to this reasonable plan, she sank to her knees by her daughter.The little girl put the crown of yellow flowers on her mother’s head.It perched there in a golden half-circle, stems tangled, already falling apart.
“Cheer up, Mommy,” the girl said.“You can’t cry if you’re the flower queen.”
Vanessa smiled through her tears.
The girl looked up at Paul.“Are you mean or nice?”
He didn’t answer.
“My daddy was mean, so Mommy sent him away.”
Vanessa took the flowers off her head and held them.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Paul said.
“We lived in a castle and now we live in the car.”
“Emily, hush,” Vanessa said.“We don’t live in the car.”
“I hate the car,” Emily said, and snatched the crown from her mother’s hand.She attempted to crush the flowers in her tiny fist.“So does Penelope.”
Paul frowned at the exchange.He needed to get out of here before he gave her the wrong impression.He couldn’t let her think he cared about her situation or felt obligated to help.She triggered his protective instincts, among other things.“I should go.”
Vanessa didn’t glance his direction as he tipped his hat.Memories of another mother and child assailed him and his pulse jackknifed.He hadn’t dreamed about them lately, but he could still hear the echoes of their screams.
He strode down the path, his heart jackhammering inside his chest.In his haste to escape, he tripped on an exposed tree root and almost tumbled down the side of the hill.He regained his footing with a wince.
Taking deep breaths, he counted to ten.Then he counted to ten again.
Why had he approached her to ask when she was leaving?He should have steered clear of her and minded his own goddamned business.
Jesus.
He wasn’t going to recover, mentally or physically, if he stumbled over every obstacle.He had to endure the isolation in Lost Lake until the danger passed.He had to stay focused and keep his head in the game.Getting wrapped up in the personal business of a beautiful, troubled woman would be an epic mistake.
Before Paul entered the cabin, he surveyed the dusty silver SUV with the Colorado plates.It looked fully functional in the daylight.No puddle of oil or radiator fluid had gathered underneath the vehicle.The space in the back where Vanessa and her daughter had slept wasn’t large enough to accommodate them comfortably.
Not his problem.
Scowling, he stormed up the steps and wrenched open the front door.Then he strode into the bedroom for the pain-relief patches he’d been keeping in his nightstand, along with the gummies his brother had given him tochill the fuck out.
Paul wasn’t interested in chilling out.He preferred to do the opposite, and bury himself in work.He tossed his hat aside and stripped off his shirt on the way to the bathroom, which had the cabin’s only mirror.He turned to affix the square over the newly healed exit wound on his shoulder.Yesterday he’d put one on the front, where the bullet had entered.
When the patch was in place, he studied his reflection.Before he left Houston, he’d asked his brother to cut his hair with a pair of clippers.He’d wanted to look like a guy who did odd jobs and could barely make ends meet.He’d succeeded.Vanessa had called him adown-on-his-luck city boy, and ahard-knocks roughneck.She might turn her nose up at manual laborers, but he didn’t get the sense that she was repulsed by him.
He sensed the opposite.He sensed interest.
Maybe he was a fool for imagining an attraction between them.She was a very desirable woman, aware of her own allure.She could wrap a man around her perfectly manicured finger.His mind returned to her offer of physical therapy services.He wondered what a private session with her would entail.She wasn’t the tawdry, massage-parlor type, and he’d never paid for a happy ending in his life, but his thoughts traveled that direction.The simple fantasy of her hands skimming his bare torso aroused him.She had pretty hands.They were soft and smooth, completely unlike his own.Her fingernails were painted shell pink.He could still feel the imprint of her touch on his arm.He wasn’t opposed to a healing massage—or a sensual escapade.Both ideas tantalized him.
Paul made a sound of frustration, low in his throat.He needed to cool off, so he turned on the faucet, lowered his head to the sink, and splashed his face with cold water.Then he wiped his dripping face, shuddering.He hadn’t reacted this way to a woman in ages.He hadn’t reacted toanythinglately.Since the incident, he’d been in a dark fog.He’d been forced into hiding.He resented the need to relocate and reconsider his career options.His entire world had been upended and the uncertainty of the future weighed on him.
Paul knew one thing: he had to stay away from Vanessa Nava.Maybe he needed a change of scenery to reset his mood.Was he getting cabin fever already?
He took his phone out of his pocket and searched for local attractions.Nightlife options held little appeal, so he switched to outdoor recreation.Lost Lake was a vast body of water.It stretched along the border with Mexico for miles.He’d planned to explore the area while he was here.He had nothing better to do, other than work.Within minutes, he’d made an appointment to view a used fishing boat.
There.He had a plan for the morning.
Paul added some cash to his wallet, and wryly acknowledged that going fishing might be a form of therapy.It was borderline antisocial, which suited him fine.He needed to avoid people in general, and he wanted to avoid Vanessa Nava specifically.A woman who looked like her would attract attention everywhere she went.One of her smiles could turn a man’s mind to mush.Paul couldn’t afford to get distracted by her lovely form and face when he was supposed to be watching his own back.
