The Forever Girl (Wildstone, #6)(57)

All he had to do was find her and try to break through her thick skull that what had happened to Michael wasn’t her fault, no matter what Dillon had insinuated. That’s how he’d reach her, he thought, with a distraction. They could plan Dillon’s slow, painful death together.

And then maybe everything else would for once fall into place.

He found her at the small cove a mile from the house, sitting on the tire swing, staring at the water as she kept herself in motion.

When he got within twenty-five yards, she stiffened, then put her feet down, stopping the swing.

Walker circled around to face her. “Hey.”

Nothing. Not that he’d expected her to speak. For a woman who liked to talk, she clammed up when she felt things too deeply. Her eyes were thankfully dry, but . . . damn, filled with sadness and regret and guilt.

“Remember when you used to climb trees when you got mad?” he asked.

“Yes, because no one other than you would come after me.”

A surprisingly revealing statement. Taking heart in that, he moved closer. “I’m glad you didn’t climb one today. Don’t think I have it in me right now.”

She sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“You don’t own this beach.”

She smiled before she could stop herself, he could tell. Because that’s what he’d say to her back then: “You don’t own this tree . . .”

He moved behind her and gave her a push. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and let the wind roll over her as she soared. He gave her another, bigger push, and they stayed just like that for a while, her seeming to enjoy the peace and quiet, him pushing her to keep her in motion, just letting her have a moment without being alone.

“He’s right, you know,” she finally said. “I was the one who turned on the space heater that night.”

“Because it was freezing. If you hadn’t, I would have. Or Caitlin. Or any of us.”

“Are you just telling me that to make me feel better?”

“I don’t work that way.”

She studied him for a long beat and then nodded. “Thanks.” She got off the swing and turned to walk back.

“Maze.”

She paused and faced him.

“Do you trust me?”

She drew a deep breath. “I don’t not trust you, at least with my physical well-being.”

“And your emotional well-being?”

She bit her lower lip. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never been anything but brutally honest with me. So yeah.” She nodded with a very small smile. “I guess I trust that too.”

“And your heart?”

She snorted. “Now you might be pushing it.”

“Fair enough.” He held out his hand. “I think what you need is to get out of here, and I know I could use a drive. Come with?”

“You need a drive? Are you okay?”

He nearly smiled. Most people saw him as unapproachable, much less vulnerable. Too tough to need protecting, too cynical to garner caring. That Maze still gave a shit about him warmed something in his chest that he hadn’t realized was even there anymore. “I’ll be okay after a drive with you.”

“Same.” She gave him a small, but very real, smile. “Truth is, I’d probably go anywhere with you.”

He caught her and dragged her closer, kissing her, letting it linger and heat them both, even though he’d been heated since . . . hell, since he’d first seen her again.

“Am I hurting you?” she gasped, pulling her hands back from where she’d dug her fingers into the meat of his shoulders to hold on to him.

“Pain is not what I’m feeling right now.”

She laughed as she wriggled closer. “No kidding.”





Chapter 16


Maze’s maid of honor to-do list:

—Pick up Dillon’s wedding band and make final payment without letting Dillon know, since Caitlin was supposed to have done it weeks ago.

Maze had no idea what she thought she was doing, but she knew one thing for sure: She wanted this. She wanted Walker. They walked back to the house to get the keys to his rental car, trying to be stealth. But Roly and Poly sounded the alarm, barking so hard their back legs came off the ground, letting everyone within five hundred miles know that clearly there was an incoming zombie apocalypse and they were all going to die.

“Shh,” Maze whispered, trying to shut them up to no avail.

Finally Walker tucked a dog beneath each arm, lowering his head to talk to them in a quiet, low tone. The tactic worked. The dogs had to shut the hell up to listen to him, and listen they did, vibrating with intensity as they stared fondly and lovingly up into his face.

Then he gave them each a kiss on their smashed-in foreheads and set them in their beds, where they turned in circles and plopped down to go back to sleep.

“What did you say to them?” Maze asked, marveling.

“Told them they were my wingmen, and as such, they’d be entitled to half my breakfast in the morning if they’d just shut the hell up. They understand the language of food.”

When they took off out of the driveway, Maze expected Walker to head west and maybe hit the highway to the beach. Instead, he turned east, which took them on a narrow road around the lake. Soon the road ended, and he turned onto a dirt fire road she didn’t even know existed. They went straight up a hill.