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What I really need to do is get my fucking head on straight. Of course, she wasn’t dreaming about me. Why would she be? She’s a twenty-six-year-old girl with fantasies about men her own age. That makes sense. The part where I stormed off like a pouting baby doesn’t.
With the stove on simmer, I make my way to the side window, watching as Grace stands in the forest with a basket of pinecones. I also watched as she disappeared into the shed a bit ago, probably to make ornaments from lures like she said she would. I should’ve gone out to help. Instead, I sat here like a jerk and felt sorry for myself.
I should apologize. I grab my coat off the hook by the door and tug on my boots. It’s then that I hear a scream so blood curdling that the hair on my arms stands on end.
Instinct takes over, and I grab my gun out of the holder next to the door and dart out into the snow. Grace’s basket is on the ground, reflective lures shining in the snow.
My gaze draws up, figuring she’s seen a bear or wolf. It’s odd for them to be out this time of day, but not impossible. Instead, I see Jack holding her against his chest with a big fucking grin on his face.
I don’t see a gun in his hand, which proves to me he’s a lot fucking dumber than I thought. No one in their right mind would come up on private property without a gun. Not around here. That’s a fucking death sentence. Most people would’ve shot by now, and I’m still thinking about it.
I would shoot if I believed Grace wanted me to, but that dream she had last night has me thinking otherwise. He’s obviously a psycho and I need him out of her life, but I need to play this cautiously.
“I don’t give second chances,” I bark, firing a shot into the air. “Let her go, or I shoot on three.”
He laughs. “You don’t have the fucking balls.”
“Three.” I fire a shot into his leg, and he lets go, falling to the ground. I should have empathy for him. I’m sure he didn’t think things would turn out this way, but… fuck him.
Grace runs to my side, her arms wrapped around me as I hold the gun steady, aiming toward the asshole in front of me.
Okay, maybe I did the right thing.
“You realize you’re on private property so whatever I do with you is fair game.”
“You fucking shot me, man.” Jack whimpers as blood fills the snow like a frozen cherry treat.
“You touched my fucking girl,” I growl. The words spill out before I can filter them.
Grace grips me tighter.
“Your girl?” He darts his gaze toward Grace. “You’re dating this guy?”
“No,” she stutters. “I mean, I…” Her gaze drifts toward mine. “I want to. No. I…”
“Shut the fuck up,” I shout toward Jack. “You don’t get to ask questions.”Also, did she just say she wants to? Maybe I should let the asshole ask more questions.“Why are you up here?”
“To get her away from you, you dumb fucking redneck.”
I fire another shot in his direction and he squirms back. I don’t shoot often. Usually it’s only when there’s an animal I’m hunting, but I’m not finding a ton of guilt right now. Not after what Grace said about how he’d grabbed her, how he’d touched her wrong, how he left her at a rest stop all night long with no phone and no money. He could bleed out here and I wouldn’t lose sleep.
“I’ll call some help for you, but I have no idea when they’ll be here.”
I kiss Grace’s forehead in comfort. “In the meantime, there’s rope in the shed. Why don’t you grab it for me, then head inside, warm up, and help yourself to the lunch that’s on the stove?”
She does as I ask, jogging through the narrow path in the snow toward the shed and back again as I stare at the man I want to murder right here and now.
I expect him to speak, to bargain, to plead, but he doesn’t. He sits there like a sad little boy who fucked up and doesn’t know how to make things better.
When Grace returns with the ropes, I gesture her inside, and make my way toward the asshole leaking blood.
“You’re going to sit here in the cold because that’s what you wanted.” I tie his wrists tight and pull him against a tree before covering his mouth with my flannel and turning back toward the cabin. “Help will be here, but I don’t know when. Good luck.”
A good man would have guilt for this behavior, even under the worst circumstances, and I’m sure he wouldn’t want a man to die. Me, I’m not sure what I want… other than Grace. The fact that he’s hurt her inanycapacity drives an immoveable wedge between my kindness and brutal retaliation.
Inside, Grace stands next to the stove stirring the bubbling pot of soup. My flannel hangs down to her knees and her legs are bare except for the heavy socks she’s still wearing. Her long hair is tied up in a messy bun and she’s trembling, tears falling from her face.
“What did you do to him?”
