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“Talk to me, Lark. What has you worried?”
She shot a look skyward as though praying for patience. “Besides all that’s going on?”
He heaved a sigh. “I know this can’t be easy. But I hope you’ll trust that when I say I’ll keep you safe, I mean it.”
Her expression softened into something even more beautiful. “Of course I trust you, Clay. You haven’t shown me anything but patience and care. Coming from the baby boomer generation, that is really something.”
“I’m not a—”
Her giggle cut his words short, and he chuckled.
“I’ve been thinking about your question about my enemies. I really don’t think there’s anybody out there who wants to hurt me. Not even an ex comes to mind.”
He was drawn to take a step closer to her. “I believe you. So that means we have to focus on other people the bomb—and the whole situation might be directed toward—and work on getting rid of that.” He threw a look across the yard to his truck. The bomb seemed to be ticking down at an alarmingly fast rate. Too many hours were passing with no solutions.
He brought his glass back to his lips and polished off the rest of the tea she’d made him. She really was so resourceful. Her upbringing forced her to be, and that made him sad. But she wouldn’t be Lark without the dark, grungy past to balance out all the sunshine that she was.
When she extended a hand to take his empty glass, he looked into her eyes and passed it to her.
“We’re going to find an answer and get you back to living your life as soon as possible,” he promised.
She banded her arm over her middle, glass clutched against her chest. “That’s what I’m afraid of, Clay.” She started back to the cabin.
Panic swept him at her words.
“Lark!” His voice sounded hoarse.
She half turned, a brittle smile fixed on her face that made him think she must have worn it a lot in that group home she mentioned. “I’ll be inside.”
Without another word, she vanished into the house. Clay watched her go, chest burning with the need to jog after her and kiss her sweet lips to see if any trace of honey lingered on them.
As soon as the door shut, the Abels appeared. They’d been asking their connections too. Clay drifted toward the brothers. “Any luck finding someone to defuse that thing?” he asked.
Jennings tugged the brim of his hat down against the glare of afternoon sun angling into their eyes at this time of day. “Not a whole hell of a lot of people out there willing to do a freelance job.”
Clay grunted. “Go figure.”
Julius hitched a thumb in the front pocket of his jeans, a gesture Clay had seen his older brothers do. “We talked to Judd.” Their oldest brother.
“Any ideas?” Clay asked.
“He got with the others at the WEST office. They suggest we leave Lark with you—”
Clay’s chest seared.
“—and we drive the bomb to Montana. Wide open spaces there. The safest spot to get it detonated. Judd’s searching for a specialist to meet us out there.”
Clay compressed his lips. “I don’t like pushing off a job I’m supposed to do onto someone else.”
Julius gave a nonchalant shrug as though someone asked him to tie his boot lace. “It’s why we were called in. Besides, between guarding Lark and pleasuring her—”
“Wait. What the goddamn hell are you saying?” Clay interrupted with a growl.
Jennings didn’t bother hiding his grin. “Anybody with a pair of eyes can see you’re attracted to her. Hell, you’ve probably already slept with her.”
He started to refute the claim, but the heat creeping up from the neck of his shirt stopped him from drawing more attention to the matter with a bald-faced lie.
Swallowing down any retort he’d make, he reached for his phone.
