No Perfect Hero(27)

“Damn. Think I’d like to see it, Hay. You painting Heart’s Edge up real pretty in that style.” He turns to face the view as well, bracing his hands against the railing, his broad shoulders pushing stark and hard as he leans on his arms. “Since you and Grandma got on so well...did she tell you the story about why this town’s called Heart’s Edge?”

“No. She mostly told me you’re all bark and no bite.”

He smiles dryly. I give it back.

“Don’t believe her. I bite plenty.” But he chuckles, shaking his head. “So this is just an urban legend, but it’s one everybody here knows. You learn it when you grow up in these parts. See the way the cliff’s shaped? How it comes around this big, round part down to a taper?”

I tilt my head, trailing my gaze along the edge of the cliff, only to suck in a breath. “It’s like...half a heart, isn't it?” I realize I'm right, a smile dawning.

“Yeah. And there’s this story that way back in settler days, there was this poor farm boy who was in love with the mayor’s daughter. The mayor was another farmer just like him. Everybody out here worked like hell to make their own way and make this a real town, a real place where people could live, but the old man still thought this dirty boy was born too low for his little girl.”

There’s a nostalgic edge to his rough, growling voice, softening it, making it husky enough to thrill like a velvet touch over the skin, and I catch myself watching him. I'm listening intently, watching him smile slightly.

“Go on,” I whisper softly.

“But they were in love. So naturally they decided they were gonna run away. They had a marriage in secret right there on the edge of the cliff, just them and God, pledging before the sky when no priest would have them. Then they threw her flowers over the edge and ran off into the mountains to live together. Made their own happy ending with nothing but the big sky country approving.”

I smile, tilting my head. “That's a nice story. Maybe they’re still out there. Happy in a little cabin somewhere with all their kids and grandkids gathered around.”

“They’d be some hundred and fifty years old. But it’s a nice thought.” He laughs, low and rumbling, then trails into a sigh. “Everybody goes up there at night in the summer, in junior high and high school. You go with the boy or girl you like, and you throw flowers over ‘cause you want to be together forever. Or you go by yourself, thinking about the person you long for most, and toss your flowers with a little hope those petals will make their way into their heart.”

Like a wishing well, then.

It’s such a gentle story, such a sweet legend, that I hardly expect it from him, or the way he seems to go soft at the memory.

This place really is home to him, I realize, even if he’s acting strange, and he’s clearly up to something. He cares about Heart's Edge, and I’d like to think that whatever else he’s involved in wouldn't lead him to hurting anyone.

Maybe not even Mr. Bress.

He wouldn’t do anything to harm the town he loves so much. Or that stern yet sweet woman he calls Grandma.

I turn to face him, leaning my elbow on the railing. “So, Warren...did you ever stand there on the cliff and throw flowers over and whisper a girl’s name?”

“Nah,” he rumbles, then looks down at me, his blue eyes nearly glowing in the deepening dark, the same color as the descending night sky. “Not yet. I threw some flowers once, but there wasn't no love in the equation.”

There's a darkness in his tone. And a sweetness when he says not yet.

Something clutches up in my chest as I look up at him, warmth flushing through me, burning in my cheeks down my throat, over my whole body and –

Hold up. No, this is Tara putting those thoughts in my head – and I look away quickly, tucking my hair behind my ear and clearing my throat, taking a step back.

“I have to go feed Tara and drop her off with your grandmother,” I murmur. “Then it's time to report for my first night at work. Good night, Warren. Wish me luck?”

He doesn’t say anything as I turn and walk quickly away. Not until the door is almost closed, and that low growl chases after me like a hunter in the night.

“Good night. Good luck, Hay.”





6





Waiting Game (Warren)





Looks like I’m not chasing Hay off.

Hell, it feels like every time I try, it backfires. Just ends up with her more firmly embedded in my life, deeper entrenched in Heart’s Edge.

It's time to make the best of a bad situation.

With her next door, I can keep an eye on her.

That's another double-edged sword. With Haley this close, someone coming after me could hurt her and Tara. But I can also keep myself between her and Bress, make damn sure he can’t lay a hand on her or that little girl.

Still, with Haley that close...I can't fucking focus.

This magnetic pull between us keeps getting stronger, making it hard for me to think about my mission at all.

Call it what it is – a heaping slice of absurd.

I don’t know her.

I don’t know this chick at all, but that’s part of what’s driving this wolf craving.

Something fierce and crazy and overprotective makes me want to know her from the inside out.