She pulled the shirt into her chest and shook her head. “It’s mine now. Finders keepers, losers weepers.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. He rarely cared to say much, but at the moment, he had no idea what to say.
Her pretty cheeks flushed darker, and she backed toward the bed. “Sorry, I spend a lot of time with nine- and ten-year-olds.”
Greer’s laughter cut off. What age did Emery Reeder teach? He should grill this Emery slash Taylor person and dig to the truth, but talking to Papa first was probably the better route.
“Leave your clothes.” He pointed to the door, then hurried toward it.
“Thank you,” she said.
He turned around to nod at her.
“I’m so grateful you’re putting me up and protecting me.” She put a hand to her heart and said in a falsely low-pitched voice, “‘Thank you from the bottom of my cold, dark heart.’”
Greer almost laughed again. Where did she come up with this stuff? But then it hit him. Her cold, dark heart. If she was Emery Reeder as he feared, her heart would be cold, dark, and angry because of him.
He lifted his chin and pulled the door shut behind him. Yanking his cell phone out, he could not stand to wait one more second. He hurried into his bedroom, shut and locked the door, and then into his bathroom. He shut and locked that door also, and turned on the shower for good measure. He pressed a button and within seconds he heard, “Greer?”
“Papa,” he breathed out. “Emery Reeder … my guest room.”
“What?” Papa’s voice was a mixture of confusion and concern.
Greer explained, answering Papa’s questions and giving any info he could think of, using up more oxygen and vocal cords than he’d wasted in a lot of years. As he finished, Papa didn’t speak for a second, then he said, “Okay, I’ll do some research and let you know what I find in the morning. Meanwhile, you should probably sleep with your door locked and a loaded gun under your pillow.”
“Papa.” He was surprised. Papa and his dad had taught him to always respect and protect women.
“I’m just saying,” Papa said. “If that is Emery Reeder, she has more reason to hate you and do you harm than anyone you know.”
Greer pushed out a breath. Papa was right, but he didn’t think that beautiful woman could hurt anyone.
“Your smoke alarms are functioning?” Papa asked.
“Yes.”
“She could disable the ones in the main area, but you have some in your bedroom and bathroom. Should I set alarms to come check on you?”
“No.” Greer had been suspicious of her, and he had every right to be, but he felt instinctively protective of her. He didn’t like Papa assuming she was some murderer.
“What about a bomb? You said she had a backpack. Do you think you can check it after she falls asleep?”
“No.” That woman wouldn’t blow him up or burn him in his sleep. How he knew that, he wasn’t certain, but he did.
“I’m worried, Greer. Why would she be there? How would she march across the mountains and somehow show up right where you are? Is she after vengeance, or maybe whoever hired Travis Reeder and his buddies recruited her because they failed?” Greer had wondered the same things. “Hmm. I think you should get out of there. Come stay here and you can go back home in the morning before she wakes up.”
“No, Papa.”
“No?”
“She’s … good. I promise.” Some people thought he was slow because of how little he spoke, but Papa didn’t. Papa had told me many times he was smarter than most because he chose his words carefully and didn’t waste his or other people’s time talking too much. Papa was great, but he was wrong in thinking Emery could hurt Greer. Greer had wondered the same thing initially, if she was going to shove a knife through his heart. In the short time he’d spent with her, he knew she was innocent and pure and was probably being used by someone.
Papa pushed out a heavy breath. “How do you know?”
Howdidhe know? This woman could be playing him for every kind of fool, but unless she was the actress of the year, he didn’t buy it. He’d seen her goodness, her kindness, her sense of humor. She’d been wary around him, but she wasn’t capable of hurting someone. He just knew it.
“Her eyes,” he finally admitted. The new Tyler Hubbard song played in his head:Five-foot-nine, brown eyes, in a sundress. Emery had been in shorts and a T-shirt. She didn’t need a sundress to be beautiful.
“Ah, Greer. Please don’t fall for a pretty pair of eyes and get yourself killed.”