Fortune of the Atlanta Fortunes was wife material—but not for him. She’d had stars in her eyes when she’d arrived a few minutes ago. He wasn’t sure what had caused them. Glorification of him as her hero, maybe? He’d never been a hero in anyone’s eyes before. Just the opposite, in fact. He’d been blamed for lots he didn’t do, just because people expected it.
He’d been a rabble-rouser in his youth, prone to bar fights and speeding tickets, but that’d been years ago. And then there was that incident with Jenny Kirkpatrick….
It hadn’t mattered that he’d been a teenager at the time—nor had he been the guilty party. Some reputations couldn’t be lived down, however, so he’d stopped trying.
Pete assumed his usual dog-sentinel post on the porch as Garrett let himself into his house. He decided to wait until Victoria was gone before resuming his work. When he didn’t hear her car start up, he set down the bottle of fine whiskey, peeked out a window and saw her leaning against her car, arms crossed, staring his direction. His collie-mix mutt, Abel, plopped next to her, his tail wagging, dust flying. Idly she petted him, then crouched and gave him a good scratch behind his ears, something Abel loved more than anything except a good belly rub. What male didn’t?
Picturing her hands sliding over his own body knotted him up good—and how the hell long was she gonna hang around when he’d specifically dismissed her?
Everyone knew Fortune women liked their luxuries, and they probably always got their way, too. Maybe she wouldn’t leave until he forced her off his property.
Well, she wouldn’t get her way here. Not with him.
Choking off a colorful oath, he opened his front door, jammed on his hat and strode across his yard. Abel stood and wagged his tail, looking a little guilty at being caught getting attention from another human.
And that human was looking at him like he was a rock star or something. Aw, hell.
“Why are you still here?” he asked.
“I’m not a princess,” she said calmly. “I came here because I dream about you every night.”
Gut punched again, he said nothing. He’d had a few dreams himself….
“Nightmares, really,” she added.
So much for hero worship. “You need professional help with that. You’re not gonna find that here.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But I’ve never been that close to death, Mr. Stone. So I decided to come see you, to thank you, with the hope that I can stop thinking about it, obsessing about it really. I would appreciate it if you would acknowledge the fact you saved my life and let me thank you properly for doing so. I’m sure I’ll be able to move on then.”
“And just how long does it take to say thank you?”
She cocked her head. “How long does it take to pour a glass of whiskey?”
She had sass, he gave her that. Sometimes that was a good quality in a woman.
“Are you of legal drinking age?”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“Are you expected back right away?” he asked.
“I suppose my family will worry after a little while. Why?”
“Before we break open that whiskey, we need to go for a drive.”
“Where?” she asked, a touch of suspicion in her voice.
He angled closer. “Well, now, if you don’t trust me …”
Her eyes shimmered, eyes the color of chocolate diamonds and just as deep. “Let’s just say my entire family knows I’m here, so I don’t think trust is an issue,” she said.
“C’mon, then.” He crossed the yard to where his pickup sat, he could hear her boots crunching against the hard ground. He got into his truck, expecting she would climb in the passenger side on her own, since she wasn’t a princess. He smiled a little at that.
“Buckle up,” he said when she settled next to him.
They made the trip in silence, and he could feel her tension rise with every mile. Then when he made the last turn into Red Rock Airport, her fingers dug into the seat. Her eyes were glued on the structures ahead as he paused.
He sat still, letting her take in the view, letting her adjust to seeing the place where she’d almost been buried alive. Seeing the airport rebuilt should help her rebuild her own life.
“Let’s go inside,” he said, keeping his voice soft and low, treating her the same as any wounded animal who’d landed on his property.
She nodded. He admired her for that, for not making him coax her, for facing her demons. He came around the truck as she dropped onto the ground, then he walked toward the terminal. She caught up with him in a couple of seconds and gripped his hand, keeping up with him.
“The airport’s back to being used all the time,” he said. “They’re close to finishing the rebuilding.”
“How many people died?” she asked.
“Three.” He eyed her. “Could’ve been a whole lot worse.”
“What were you doing here?”
“Picking up a shipment that’d been airfreighted to me.” He opened the glass door to the terminal and took her inside with him. She squeezed his hand tighter, if that was even possible. “Clear skies, Victoria. Don’t worry.”
“Hey, Garrett!”
“Boyd,” Garrett said, acknowledging the jack-of-all-trades airport worker he’d known since grade school.
“Need somethin’?”
“I’m showing off the construction.”
Boyd waved a hand then walked away.
“It’s just a building,” Garrett said, feeling her start to shake.
“It was almost my tomb.”
His, too, but he didn’t remind her of that. He’d been able to tuck it away in his memories.
It was dark by the time they’d walked the entire place. She never let go of his hand, and he had to admit it was kinda nice holding it. Every now and then he noticed the sparkle of her nail polish, felt the softness of her skin against his rough hand and how small it was compared to his—all indicators of how different they were.
She was just as quiet on the drive back to his ranch. He hadn’t expected a miraculous recovery for her, but he’d thought maybe she would chat him up a bit. She petted Pete and Abel after she climbed out of his truck, crooning to them. Garrett wouldn’t admit to being jealous, but he felt … something.
“You still want that whiskey?” he asked.
She looked up at him. Her smile was calmer than when she’d first arrived. “Rain check?”
He
