it go, Jackson. The day you got released from the hospital, she couldn’t run away fast enough.
The small box of her possessions on the seat next to him seemed a ridiculously pitiful representation of the months they had been together, months that apparently counted for nothing with Valerie.
He shifted, recalling how many times he’d cut things off with women in the past. Something about a firefighter’s uniform seemed to encourage female attention, but he’d never met a woman who impacted him like Valerie. She knew him inside and out, the real Jackson, and she’d loved him.
Or so he’d believed.
He pulled up her long drive, surprised to find her sitting in her truck, engine idling. Just get it over with.
Nerves taut as wire, he grabbed the box and marched resolutely to the open driver’s window.
“Can I help you?” Valerie said.
His mouth fell open from the combined shock of Valerie’s indifferent tone and the fact that there was a guy in the passenger seat with his arm around her.
The man waved. “Hello, mate.”
Jackson felt his jaw tighten. This redheaded clown was his replacement?
He tried unsuccessfully to wipe the scowl from his face. In mute surprise, he handed her the box.
She didn’t look at the contents. “Thank you. I’ll tell my father his tools have arrived.”
Jackson took a step back, a cold sensation washing over him.
Valerie’s father was dead.
Long dead.
Jackson returned to his car, pretending to pat his pockets for keys as he watched them out of the corner of his eye. The man got out of the truck first, going around to open Valerie’s door for her. He kept his hand hidden at his side. Knife or gun, Jackson guessed. He hoped it was the former.
“Tell your dad I said hello,” Jackson called as he got in his SUV and turned on the engine.
Valerie was faced away from him now, and the guy had her around the waist. With gritted teeth, Jackson backed out a few yards before he shifted the car into Drive. Breathing a prayer that he would not wind up killing them all, he hit the gas. Hard.
The SUV lurched forward, wheels pinging gravel all over the road. He bore down on Valerie and her companion. Two heads snapped around to look at him. He could tell by Valerie’s face that she was terrified, but that she had been expecting some kind of action on his part. The red-haired guy’s eyes widened in surprise. For a terrifying moment, Jackson thought he would pull Valerie closer, but instead he stepped away, a knife in one hand, the other reaching for something under his shirt.
Jackson pressed the gas to the floor and the vehicle hurtled forward. He aimed right for the red-haired guy, who came up with a gun in his hand. Five feet, four, three—
The stranger suddenly peeled away and headed for the trees.
Jackson slammed the car to a halt and leaped out, running for Valerie.
Valerie was on her feet. Jackson yanked her toward the cabin. They barreled inside and he shoved the bolt home, closing all the drapes while Valerie locked the back door. She was on her cell phone with the police by the time he finished.
“They’re on the way.” She clicked off and went to the birdcage where the little green parakeet he’d given her sat tranquilly on his perch. She murmured something soothing to the creature. Calming the bird? Or herself?
He stood on the braided rug in the perfectly ordered cabin, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. She was deadly pale, almost as pale as her white-blond hair. She looked at him, her blue eyes still filled with fear, stark azure against the pallor of her face. No eyes should be that blue, he’d thought many times. At first he’d even wondered if she achieved the tint with the contact lenses she wore, but he’d later discovered it was God given, that exquisite sea-washed gaze that regarded him now. “You should be more selective about your driving companions.”
She took a breath. “He was in the forest along Twisted Pines Road. I thought he was with the construction crew. He pretended to be hurt.”
“How did he convince you to bring him back here?”
She sank into the chair on legs that suddenly seemed to fail her. He instantly regretted his tone and moved closer.
She took another deep breath, trembling hands pressed on her knees. “He knew where I lived. The knife…” She swallowed. “It’s mine. He’s been in my house.”
“So if he intended—” he had to force the words out “—to rape or kill you, why not wait for you here? Why come and find you?”
She bit her lip. “I don’t know.”
Jackson’s eyes traveled around the cabin. Nothing disturbed, nothing stolen other than the knife. “Maybe he was looking for something.”
“What could I have that anyone would want?”
The irony wasn’t wasted on him. You were all I wanted, Valerie.
He looked at her and in that moment he was lost in the pain she had caused him, the confusion and the anger.
Then he heard the sound of heavy footsteps moving fast outside.
Jackson peeked out the window and Valerie was relieved when he told her the footsteps they’d heard belonged to the police.
“Saw the guy but couldn’t catch him,” Sergeant Blair said as he took her statement while another officer checked for prints and thoroughly photographed her vehicle and the house. Valerie couldn’t wait for them to leave…though the person who was truly setting her already frayed nerves jangling was Jackson.
He was as strong and sure of himself as he’d ever been before his accident, his tall form putting him a good six inches above her five-five. His unruly hair was still cut short, but grown out enough to show its tendency to curl. Gray eyes, bold and confident. The perfect person to have in a crisis. But she did not want him here. Didn’t want him to remind her of what they’d had, or what she’d destroyed.
Yet she could not take her eyes off him.
When the police finally left, the quiet stretched between the two of them until she wanted to scream.
“Are you back on the line?” she finally blurted out. Last she knew he was on light duty, assigned to a desk in the fire station until he was cleared by the doctors and his physical therapist.
He turned
