ChapterSeven
Shafts of warm sunlight had Emery blinking against the brightness as consciousness returned. She was groggy and disoriented as if she’d only slept a few hours.
A comfortable mattress and pillow were beneath her, and the savory smell of bacon filled her nose and made her stomach growl.
She looked around an unfamiliar room and out large windows at a gorgeous lake with green mountains surrounding it. She tried to orient herself to her surroundings and why she was so exhausted. It took half a beat for it to connect where she was.
Greer Delta’s guest bedroom.
Exhaustion fled and her stomach filled with a tingling that was either pleasant or unsettled. At the moment, she wasn't sure which. She scrambled upright in the bed and peered out the still open bedroom door. She could hear movement in the kitchen and could smell bacon and maybe something sweet cooking as well. It was impossible to see much more than the back of the gray leather couch and a big screen on the wall from this angle, buttheman was definitely out there. Waiting for her. Making her breakfast.
All she needed was to cue the creepy music: na na na na, na na na na.
But … Greer didn’t seem like a creepy, sinister, disturbing, mean guy. Far from it. If only the incredible Greer who’d held her last night and was so tender and protective of her wasn’t also the Growly Greer who had killed her only brother. She was in such a mess, muddle, chaos, confusion, predicament, disaster even. She wasn’t sure if she should blame the Voice, Greer, or herself.
She plucked at the hem of her T-shirt that barely covered the important parts. Her eyes widened. It wasn’t her T-shirt. She was wearing Greer’s T-shirt.
Everything from last night played over again in her mind. It was surreal. She’d clung to Greer as if he were her deliverer. Well, maybe not as pure as that. She’d clung to him as if he was the most captivating cowboy of the century. He reminded her of … Maverick. She loved that movie. Mel Gibson as a cowboy. The blue eyes and that smile of Greer’s was … yummy.
It felt strangely intimate to be wearing his T-shirt in the light of day. As if they were dating and she regularly wore his T-shirt to sleep in to keep him close to her heart.
Weird. Not good. But somehow alluring and forbidden and flirtatious and fun too. Yikes.
Sliding out of bed, she grabbed her backpack and was headed for the bathroom when she saw her shirt and shorts—washed, folded, and waiting for her on the floor by the open doorway. Another kind act from Growly Greer. Dang it, he kept stacking them up.
Did she dare grab her clothes? She was out of sorts and not ready to risk seeing Greer until she’d showered, dressed, done her hair and makeup, and most of all prayed hard. She needed to be at peak intellectual performance, full of spiritual insight, and looking her best to have the confidence to win this battle. A battle she wasn’t even sure how to fight. Somehow she had to be Taylor Miles and avenge Travis, serve her country like her brother had done for years and had died trying to do.
She crept toward the bedroom door, her eyes fastened on the living area. As she got closer, she could see Greer with his back to her in the kitchen. He had the fridge open and looked to be grabbing something out of it. She hurriedly picked up the clothes and straightened.
He turned with a gallon of milk in his hand. His mouth dropped open slightly and he stared at her while holding the milk aloft. He stared like she was an angel straight from heaven.
With her backpack in one hand and her clean clothes in the other, she couldn’t self-consciously pat down her mass of curls, straighten the T-shirt that had slipped off one shoulder when she bent down, or tug at the T-shirt to cover … at least part of her legs. Greer must be more legs than upper body; for such a tall guy, his T-shirt wasn’t nearly long enough on her.
Neither of them moved, and she wasn’t sure she was breathing. She’d had a lot of men tell her she was beautiful or give her appreciative and sometimes leering looks. She’d never had a man look at her like this. His blue eyes were magnetic. Her stomach filled with warm bubbles, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at him.
“Good morning, Maverick.” Her voice was all breathless and far too telling.
“Maverick?” He gave her a hesitant smile, as if worried she’d lost her mind.
“You know, the sexy cowboy from the movie. I think Mel Gibson played him?” Think? She knew. She should stop talking now. Had she really said, “sexy cowboy?” Greer froze as if shocked as well. “I mean, you’re kind of more Clint Eastwood with how serious and reticent you are, not nearly as flirtatious as Maverick, but I think I’ll call you Maverick.” She loved the idea of calling him something besides Growly Greer. If he was Maverick, he wasn’t the guy who’d shot her brother. Right?
“Reticent?”
“You know, quiet, restrained, tight-lipped, withdrawn, uncommunicative, taciturn.”
He chuckled, set the milk down, and rubbed at his stubbled jawline. “Maverick’s okay,” he said.
She bit at her lip. Maverick. Her sexy, kind, quiet cowboy who was protecting her from her fake boyfriend. Justin? Was that what she’d called the guy? She was writing her own script now. Emery loved books and movies far too much, but she’d never tried to put herself into the screenplay like this. As far as fantasy guys went, Greer or Maverick fit the bill pretty incredibly. He wasn’t the suave or teasing hero, but he was tough, protective, ultra-handsome, and made her stomach hop happily.
What was happening? This wasn’t some book or movie. This was her life, and this man was a dark-hearted killer. Her smile disappeared and she backed away, muttering, “I’m going to shower.”
She glimpsed concern in his blue gaze, but she needed to break away right now. Slamming the bedroom door behind her, she didn’t bother locking it. Greer had proven he could get through the lock, but more importantly she knew he’d never be the man to walk in while she showered. He’d come in last night, but that was because she’d been screaming her head off. She was sure his protective nature wouldn’t allow him to sit idly by.
Hurrying through the shower and putting on her vanilla sugar body splash and what little makeup she’d brought, she felt almost human. She folded his T-shirt and set it by her makeup products and backpack in the bathroom, smiling at the saying on the front and remembering how fun it had been to tease Greer about it.
She’d had no idea what to expect coming here, and it had been horrifying to walk out of those trees and into the presence of her brother’s murderer. She’d felt more comfortable and intrigued around Greer and in his house than she could’ve ever foreseen.
She kneeled and prayed for help, strength, protection, and most of all discernment. Seeing clearly had never been so crucial. She should’ve stayed on her knees and listened for some inspiration, but Greer was cooking that delicious-smelling breakfast. She was hungry, and she didn’t want to keep him waiting.