Barbed Wire Bandages Page 3

  After donning her coat, stuffing her feet into boots, and grabbing a flashlight, she flew out the door. Whoever the unlucky visitor was, she didn't know, but she did know that with the rain, the mud, the darkness, and the now busted front end, they were going to need help.

  Bridget wasn't about to risk getting her own rig wedged in the muck, so she hopped on her 4-wheeler and hauled ass down the drive, hoping that whoever just collided with her fence wasn't injured.

  The cold rain stung her exposed skin and she blinked furiously against the gush of rainwater trying to blind her, but she manged to make her way to the car without sinking into the squishy dirt. After shivering, wiping her eyes, and jumping off the ATV, she sloshed through the flooding grass and cupped her hands around her face, trying her best to peer inside the car.

  She could just barely make out the figure of a man sitting in the driver's seat. At first, she thought he might be unconscious, but after witnessing him strike the dashboard in frustration, she knew that wasn't the case. Cautiously, she made her way around to his door and tapped the window.

  “Are you okay?” She yelled, fighting to be heard over the rushing wind and torrential downpour.

  The window cracked just enough for her to make out an angry voice.

  “Just fucking fantastic, thanks for asking!”

  She would have rolled her eyes, had she not been so frazzled and wet and worried about this stranger's well-being. But it seemed she could pocket her worry after all. If he was well enough to be pounding on his car and cursing at her, he wasn't too distressed.

  “No, I mean, are you hurt?”

  She shone her flashlight into the car to see if she could tell if he was injured, but that seemed to make him angrier, if the tight look he shot her was any indication.

  “Just my pride.”

  “Well, can your pride stuff it long enough for you to come to the house and call a tow truck?”

  All she could see while waiting for him to answer was the rise and fall of his chest and the tightening of his jaw. But he didn't move and she bristled at his rudeness.

  “Whenever you're ready,” she said. “I'll just be right here getting pneumonia. No rush.”

  At that, the stranger begrudgingly opened his door and Bridget sucked in a surprised breath.

  “Shit! You're bleeding!”

  “Huh?”

  The stranger followed her eyes with his hands, running a thumb along his forehead. Blood smeared across his fingers from the gash above his left eye, but he didn't flinch. She assumed his forehead had collided with the steering wheel on impact, but he didn't look hurt in the slightest. Just... angry.

  “Well, shit.”

  “Yeah. Shit. Here.”

  She reached into her pocket and yanked out the handkerchief she always carried. It was crisp and clean, right out of the dryer, so she didn't hesitate to press it to the cut.

  When he cursed and grabbed hold of her wrist, she stiffened in temporary fear, but countered by grabbing his in return. The heat from his touch was such a stark comparison to the cold rainwater that a tremor worked its way down her spine, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the strong hand currently holding her captive.

  Instead of verbalizing all the harsh thoughts cartwheeling through her mind, she simply cleared her throat and stared pointedly at his fingers wound around her wrist.

  He looked down, surprise sparking in his eyes as he released her.

  “Sorry.”

  She nodded, acknowledging the fact that she would react the exact same way if a stranger was pressing on her head wound. But it wasn't that bad. He didn't need stitches, only to staunch the bleeding before he got too light-headed to make it back to her house.

  After he replaced her hand with his own, she stepped away and waved for him to follow. But he didn't budge. Didn't blink. Instead, he sat there with the rain pouring into his car, staring at Bridget like her very existence offended him.

  “C'mon,” she urged.

  When he continued to stare at her in stoic silence, she lost what little patience she had left and dropped her hand. “Either come with me and let me help you, or stay here and be fucking miserable. Your choice.”

  She stepped away from the car, fully meaning to abandon him and go back home, but the strange man unfolded himself from the compact car and stood to his full height. He had a good foot on Bridget, so she had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes, but nothing about his posture scared her, even though his hands were balled into fists and his shoulders were curled in menacingly.

  “Did you come with an animal?”

  He seemed puzzled by her question, so she flashed her light into the backseat, which held nothing but a green suitcase.

  “Guess not,” she answered herself. “C'mon. I'll take you to get dried off and we'll call someone about your car.”

  Bridget trudged back through the mud, not bothering to see if he was behind her. When she threw her leg over the seat, she looked up to find him still standing next to his car.

  “I seriously do not have time for this,” she snapped. She was far past the point of wanting to go home and dry off. Her clothes were soaked, her teeth were chattering, and her legs were tiring from suctioning in and out of mud holes. “What's the verdict? You getting on or are you riding out the storm in your car?”

  She started the 4-wheeler and lifted her hands in question. “Now or never.”

  The stranger took a deep breath, shook his head, and finally made his way over. He climbed on behind her, careful not to make physical contact as he situated himself. He leaned back, choosing to hang on to the back rack instead of winding his arms around her midriff.

  That instantly earned him points.

  Bridget was surprised, but thankful. He had a perfect opportunity to feel her up, and he didn't. That spoke volumes about his character and she felt a little better about leaving the comfort of her home to help him.

  The wind furiously rattled their jackets as they bumped and skidded their way back up the driveway and instead of parking next to the barn, Bridget drove the ATV right up the ramp leading to the back deck. As she cut the engine and hopped off, the stranger spoke, his voice deep and weary.

  “This isn't smart, you know.”

  Even as she registered how attractive his voice was to her, she bristled.

  “What isn't smart?”

  She knew what he was insinuating, but she wanted to hear him say it. And she wanted to prove him wrong.

  “Picking up a guy you don't even know and inviting him into your house. Kind of a dumb move, don't you think? I could be a rapist or an escaped convict or a fucking serial killer for all you know.”

  As she grinned smugly, Bridget reached into the concealed pocket inside her jacket and extracted the Ruger LC9 she kept holstered there.

  “Which is why I have this,” she said, holding the gun for him to see.

  His head nodded once in approval, and she watched as a hesitant smile pulled at his full lips.

  “Smart.”

  “I thought so.” She shook the excess water from her coat and directed him toward the door.

  When they entered the mud room, Bridget deposited her coat and boots where they belonged while the quiet man patted his face with one of the towels she kept on a shelf.

  She waited for him to speak; to apologize or throw out some weird ass excuse for being on her property, but the man said nothing. When she turned to find his eyes roaming over the walls of her small entryway, she realized just how long it had been since she let anyone inside. Usually when people dumped off animals, they didn't stay for a glass of tea. And friends, well, it had been a long time since anyone 'friendly' had visited.

  “So, do you plan on telling me why you're out here?”

  Bridget looked up with what she hoped was a welcoming smile, only to find him shaking his head and shrugging uncomfortably as a gravely laugh reached out to her.

  “I was being... exceptionally stupid.”

  The lost ma
n finally removed her handkerchief from the cut above his eye and took a deep breath. Squaring his shoulders, he turned his green eyes to Bridget's and she was instantly struck with something she wasn't prepared for.

  Recognition.

  It bolted through her chest like the lightning outside.

  I know those eyes.

  How do I know those eyes?

  She leaned closer, inspecting him, hoping for some kind of clue as to who he was and why she remembered the uncertain ferocity contained in the sea of his irises.

  He was tall, athletically built, his posture ramrod straight but still somehow relaxed and confident. Even though he was soaked to the bone, she could tell his close-cropped hair would be chestnut brown when dry. Multiple scars scattered themselves around his hairline and neck, too small to really stand out on his tanned complexion. But what really struck her, what really drew her attention upward, was the cautious way he blinked; as if at any moment the room would explode around him.

  His green eyes and dark lashes still seemed so familiar. They reached out to her, begging for something. She just didn't know what. He held his breath, as if he were silently praying for her not to place him.

  “I'm Bridget,” she said, finally offering him her hand.

  He took it and his warm palm pressed against hers, stealing what little chill the rain had hammered into her bones.

  “Beckett,” he replied.

  When he dropped her hand, the chill returned and she wound one arm around her stomach to warm herself.

  “Care for a drink, Beckett?”

  His shoulders visibly sagged in relief as she distanced herself.

  “I'd love one.”

  The second Bridget opened the door leading to the living room, they were swarmed by dogs.

  “Get down, guys. Get! Go lay down.”

  Through pushing, shuffling, and some soothing promises of bacon, they were able to wade their way to the kitchen. Bridget was surprised to see the dogs taking so kindly to him when he stooped down to scratch behind ears and pat multiple backs. She even swore she heard him laugh quietly to himself, although the noise held no humor.

  After shooing anything with fur out into the enclosed porch and latching the door tight, Bridget pointed to the house phone mounted to the wall.

  “Cell reception sucks out here in bad weather, but you can use that to call whoever you need.”

  He forced a grateful smile to his lips. “Thanks.”

  As she aimlessly rummaged around in her cabinets to give him space, the drip-drying stranger made a quiet call. He kept it short, and she wondered if he'd just left a message for someone instead of calling for assistance. When she turned back around, he was patting his shirt dry and leaning against the counter.

  She took only a second to admire the way his wet shirt clung to his abdomen, which, if she wasn't mistaken, was cut and toned in a way the men of Till Park would envy.

  The way he stood, the way he carried himself, she could tell he was a hard and shielded man. But his eyes... something about them stood out. There was a softness there that her mind was trying to place, but couldn't.

  “You from around here?”

  She grabbed two beers by the neck and shut the refrigerator door with her hip.

  “Not really.”

  Apparently he was playing the 'strong and silent' card, but that worked for her. Men like him usually tried the 'intimidate and seduce' card, but that was her least favorite in the deck. Besides, her 'I have a gun and I'll damn well use it if you fuck with me' card had already been played. She had her Ruger in the waistband of her jeans and was more of a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of girl. However, if he was trying to seem mysterious and distant, that was right up her alley.

  She opened and closed drawers, searching for her bottle opener and wondering what had brought tall, dark, and deliriously handsome to her neck of the woods. As her eyes scanned the kitchen, she realized what she needed was in the drawer Beckett was currently blocking.

  Sweetly, and with a confidence she hadn't felt in a long, long time, she smiled up at him as she reached for the handle.

  “Could I get you to scoot down a little, please? I need in this drawer.”

  Another humorless laugh puffed out from his lips as he slid down the length of the counter. Bridget was blindsided by the arctic chill that had replaced his previous warmth. The softness was gone. His green eyes flamed as he stared at her, disdain painting every one of his chiseled features.

  “You say please now when you want people to move? That's an improvement.”

  Bridget's hand froze on the drawer pull.

  A dull, but unmistakable chill ran down her spine as she slowly lifted her face to gawk at the man standing in her kitchen. She took one step back in shock and her eyes widened, as if seeing him for the first time.

  Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest as it beat out a warning.

  She really did recognize those eyes.

  “Garrison?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Garrison smiled triumphantly as Bridget floundered. It felt good to have a one-up on her as she stood there in her own kitchen, stock-still, mere feet away from him, the bottles of beer on the counter forgotten. He'd wasted far too many hours wondering what it would be like running into her again, although he couldn't have planned a more perfect way to catch her off guard. The way she looked at him, his body, his war-torn face- there was something there he'd never expected to see from her. Not in a million years.

  Attraction.

  It poured off her in waves so thick he could practically see the pheromones sparkling through the air. But the thing that shocked him the most was the fact that the attraction wasn't at all one sided.

  Bridget had changed over the years, but not in the way he'd hoped. Unlike Shawn's prediction, she hadn't gained weight and her perfect, straight teeth were far from yellow. Her long brown hair was still thick and lush, but instead of being pin straight, it waved across her shoulders in loose curls. Her complexion was still just as clear, but darker, as if she spent an ample amount of time outdoors. Her blue eyes had lost their sharp edge, but they were still just as beautiful as they'd been when she was eighteen. And her body... her body put Prom Queen Bridget to shame.

  If anything, she had only grown more beautiful with time. But her cloak of beauty was different from the one she wore while striking down unworthy students in the cafeteria. Now, she was beautiful in a more natural way. Like a waterfall. Or the Aurora Borealis. Or one of nature's other wonders.

  Gone was the makeup and fashionable clothes. And gone was her air of superiority, which left Garrison more than a little stumped. So stumped, all he wanted to do in his frazzled state was goad her.

  “Rendered speechless. I'm flattered.”

  Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, trying to breathe. Her bright blue eyes roamed up and down his body, trying to connect the man who stood in front of her with the meek, awkward teenager she'd tormented a decade ago.

  “Garrison Beckett.” She whispered in awe. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  That... was one hell of a good question. One he didn't have an answer to.

  “I'm in town for the reunion,” he answered lamely.

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously, her mouth twitching as if she couldn't decide whether to cry, cringe, or break out into hysterical laughter. “What are you doing here, in my house?”

  One shoulder lifted up in a half-shrug. “Well, technically, you invited me in.”

  “Why are you on my property at all?”

  The light in her eyes had definitely changed, and Garrison found himself missing the welcoming glow, or even the hesitant caution that had emanated from her seconds ago. Instead, she looked positively terrified. He didn't know what to do with that, seeing as how a woman who carried a handgun on her while picking up strange men shouldn't hold that kind of fear in her eyes.

  “I don't know,” he finally said, unblinking. “I was ha
ving a drink with an old friend. Your name came up. Next thing I knew, I was driving out here.”

  He unfolded his arms, hoping to down the intimidation factor a few notches, but she took a step back as his hands fell limp.

  “I think you should go.”

  What the hell?

  Where did that come from?

  “Bridget-”

  “No.” She held up her hand to silence him. “You wanted to see the Crazy Cat Lady, right? That's why you came all the way out here. Well, here I am.” Her arms swung wide at her sides, fanning up and down her body. “Here she is! The town joke! Living alone, just me and my furbabies. From prom queen to hermit.”

  She laughed, but it was the most forced and pitiful thing Garrison had ever heard.

  “You wanted to see how far the mighty had fallen, just like everyone else in this damn town. Well, look around you. This is it. This is what my life has amounted to. You happy? You wanted a sneak peek into the life of the most pathetic person to ever walk the streets of Till Park? Congratulations, you got your wish.” Bridget's chest heaved as she approached him and he quickly realized she wasn't embarrassed at all.

  She was pissed.

  “Or did you come out here for an apology?” She said, starting in on him again. “Did you want to stand on my doorstep and tell me how miserable I made your life? Because that's not a new one. It's happened a few times, it'll happen again.”

  She began to pace. Her eyes misted as they bounced around the room, landing on everything except Garrison, and he could do little more than stand there and gawk.

  “I was a miserable excuse for a human being; I know that. It's not news to me. I was young and naive and horrible and didn't know any better. So you want that apology? Sure. I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry!”

  Garrison didn't so much as flinch as she worked her way into a frenzy, her voice wavering as it grew in intensity. He didn't know what to say. Had he wanted an apology? No. Had he wanted to see how bleak her life had become? Well, actually... yes. That's exactly what he wanted. But standing in Bridget Warner's kitchen, that was the last thing he was going to admit.

  Because despite what he'd hoped for, this woman wasn't the same Bridget who tormented him in school. Her seventeen-year-old eyes that had been so cold and calculating were gone. In their place, they held regret. The ocean blue of her eyes shimmered with tears born of grief and past mistakes. And that regret was written all over her face.