Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (7 page)

Oh, yeah, he was definitely too close for comfort.

“You...okay?”

Keith’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. He shot her a puzzled look before moving to the mini-me stove where he twisted one of the dials and brought a ring of bluish flames dancing to life.

“I...I don’t know,” she stammered.

How should okay feel? If it was this yawning emptiness and confusion, then she guessed okay covered her state of mind.

Keith shrugged, twisted the dial in the opposite direction and watched the flame wink out. He rubbed the back of his neck, then shoved his hands in his pockets and strode to the recliner. Dropping into it, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

She tried to look away, forced herself to focus on the rough knotty wood paneling that surrounded the room, but her betraying eyes kept coming back to rest on his face.

He commanded the small space, even from his relaxed position on the recliner. She had the strong urge to reach out and touch him. Her hands curled into fists, reminding her just how wrong that would be. Touching was a huge no-no, but looking…there was no harm in that. The hard angles of his face and the presence of the thin silvery scar along his jaw made him somehow seem capable and self-assured. Calm. She had the impression that not much slipped by him. If anyone could find Ryker, it would be Keith.

Weariness suddenly hit her with the force of a bolt of lightning. Her legs felt rubbery, her head swam, and try as she might, she couldn’t push the image of the always smiling, good-natured, Uncle Jack with a bullet hole in his heart from her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut. What if Ryker and Mark ended up the same way?

She crushed her lips together to keep from crying out. “I...I’m going to take a shower.”

She dashed into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Her hands shook, but after a few unsuccessful attempts, she managed to pull her shirt over her head.

Her teeth started to chatter. She yanked her jeans off and made quick work of shedding her bra and panties. The faucet whistled when she jerked it on. She twisted the knob to maximum hot and stepped into the shower.

The spray scalded her chilled skin. She welcomed the pain, welcomed the numbness, but it did little to ease the horror over the day’s events that welled up inside her. She tried to choke back a sob, and failed. Once the one escaped, more followed, until she couldn’t breathe.

She missed Ryker with a frenzied desperation. Her house had, in all likelihood, burned to the ground, leaving nothing but ash and smoke. Ryker’s toys, the clothes that held his scent, all his baby pictures and photo albums. Gone. Every last one of them. The loss slammed into her and forced her to her knees in the tub.

She couldn’t lose him. He was her world. Her reason for living.

Keith knocked on the door and she lifted her head.

“Grace, that water’s gotta be cold by now. Come on out and get something to eat.”

She shivered. He was right. Cold water sprayed her back. How long had she been in here? She leaned forward and shut the water off.

“Ummm...I’m not hungry.” Her voice echoed off the walls of the tiny bathroom.

“You’re eating. I begged some soup off the manager in the office while you were in there. It’s getting cold.”

She willed herself to move from the tub, but her limbs shook too much to cooperate. Water dribbled from the roots of her hair and splashed into her eyes. She wiped it away with a trembling hand.

“Go away.”

She didn’t think he’d heard her whispered words, but his footsteps moved away from the door. Good. She just wanted to be left alone.

She stepped from the tub. The steam had started to dissipate from the bathroom, rivulets of moisture running down the length of the mirror. She wiped the wetness away with her hand, but then thought better of examining her reflection and went to wrap herself in one of the flimsy towels hanging on the rack.

She reached for her clothes—her dirty t-shirt and jeans—and realized she was staring at the sole contents of her wardrobe. Everything else had burned in the fire.

Oh, God, who cared. They were just clothes, meaningless possessions she was glad to lose in exchange for Ryker’s safety.
Oh, baby. Please be safe.

“Grace.”

She wrapped the towel tight around her body and clutched it together with one hand. “I—I’m coming.”

She quickly donned her clothes and left the bathroom. Keith had reclaimed the recliner. On the small table sat a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup. She breathed deep, the smell of the food making her stomach clench. Her gaze shot to Keith.

One bowl. One spoon.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.

“Already did.”

“Oh.” She pulled out the rickety chair and sat, her back to him, refusing to feel the least disappointed that he wouldn’t sit with her. What could he do anyhow? Offer comfort and platitudes? Reassure her that Ryker would be in her arms come tomorrow afternoon? Empty words, especially coming from someone like Keith. She’d eat the soup then go to bed. The last thing she wanted was to connect with Keith on any level other than their arrangement.

She swallowed the last bite of soup then took the bowl and spoon to the sink where she washed them and put them away.

“Well. I guess I’ll turn in,” she said.

“Me too.”

Her heart dropped to her toes. “What?”

Keith stood. His gaze roved over her face then dropped to the slightly damp spots clinging to her shirt just below her breasts.

Damn that inadequate towel.

He jerked his head in the direction of the worn chair. “I’ll take the recliner.”

Relief flowed through her veins and near hysteria bubbled up inside her. No way could she ever climb in the same bed with him, not even if a mountain of pillows were between them instead of the two measly ones that peeked from under the blankets.

Keith dropped back into the chair; the recliner squeaked in protest. He lifted the lever to pop the footrest then shifted his weight as if searching for a comfortable spot. The chair was much too small for his broad frame and he had to angle his head in order to stretch out.

She bit her lip. So, he’d wake up with a crick in his neck come morning. Big deal. He’d no doubt survived worse. She threw back the blankets and sat on the cool sheets.

What good would one paltry little pillow do him anyhow? He’d probably still wake up with a crick in his neck.

She plucked the thin white rectangle from the worn sheets and pressed it to her chest. Her fingers dug into the pillow’s meager softness.

He’d made the offer to take the recliner. She could’ve just as well slept there. Without a pillow of her very own.

Dang it.

She pushed herself to her feet and rounded the bed. He could have the stupid pillow. At least she’d sleep with a clear conscience. Her free hand reached out and snagged the red and blue quilt off the bed.

The blanket too?

She sighed and thrust the bundle at Keith before she could change her mind. “Here. Take these.”

He took his time acknowledging her, though she knew he wasn’t asleep. His eyes slid open. Wary. Alert. His brows dipped into a deep frown.

“Thanks.” He reached for the blanket and pillow in her arms; his fingers bumped hers.

Grace dropped the items into his lap. “You’re welcome.”

She flipped the light switch on her way back to the bed, plunging the room into darkness. The lumpy mattress poked her in the side as she lay down and the paper-thin pillow put her head at an awkward angle.
Grr. Had she gone and given the good pillow to Keith?

She folded the pillow in half, doubling the non-existent softness and pulled the flat sheet up to her chin. At least the sheets smelled of fabric softener and a good tumble in the dryer.

Ryker always put the softener sheet in their dryer.

The fresh smell immediately lost its appeal and she kicked the sheet off the bed with barely contained vehemence.

“Good night...Grace.”

Keith’s voice stilled her legs. Her chest tightened. “Goodnight, Keith.”

And then the room was silent. Way too silent.

She squeezed her eyes shut and willed sleep to come...but there was nothing, just this great void in her heart, a vast emptiness as wide as the canyon they had to hike come morning.

She tried counting sheep in her head. She tried singing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’. Backward.

Nothing helped.

“Keith...” She clamped her lips together. No. Don’t talk to him. “Are...Are you asleep?”

“Yeah,” came his grudging reply.

“Oh.” She flopped over on her stomach and buried her face in the pillow. But then the thought of tomorrow’s hike invaded her brain and she lifted up onto her elbow. “How long will it take to reach Phantom Ranch in the morning?”

He grunted. “I can probably make it in three hours tops. Two if I hustle.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” She plucked at the sheet. “Hustle.”

“Wait a minute.” The recliner whined, indicating he’d sat up. “
We’re
not doing anything. I’ll go down. I’ll bring Ryker back. You’ll wait here.”

She jerked to a sitting position. “What? No way. I refuse to sit here and stare at the walls all day.”

Keith’s footsteps crossed the floor but she persisted. “We’re so close. I’m not about to wimp out now—”

Suddenly, he loomed over her. The room was so dark she could barely make out the details of his face. “You’ll slow me down. Is that what you want? To give the mercenaries a chance to catch up?”

The words struck her in the heart. Would she jeopardize Ryker’s safety? The question crushed her confidence, taking her back to her teen years.

“
I’ll give you ten bucks to dance with Graceless.”

“
Ten bucks wouldn’t be nearly enough.”
Keith’s youthful, callous laugh echoed through her.

She winced and her hands flew to her ears.

Clumsy. Shy. Awkward.

Graceless.

No.

Her hands curled into tight fists and she brought them down to her sides. She was not that little girl anymore. She would not cower. She would not run. Her decisions were her own.

She lifted her chin. “He’s
my
son.”

“Then think of his best interests,” Keith said, his voice lethally soft. “And not as a selfish mother.”

Grace swung her legs over the bed and stood, forcing Keith to step back into the sliver of moonlight that peeked between the crack in the curtains.

She locked eyes with him. “Maybe you need to think like a selfish mother for a change, instead of a callous soldier.”

His jaw went slack, his eyes lighting with surprise for a brief moment before returning to their flat, shuttered state. “I wouldn’t know how.” He twisted away from her and dropped into the recliner.

She stared after him, listening to the mechanics of the chair pop and groan under Keith’s weight.

“I’m going,” she said. “If you continue to disagree, I’ll leave tonight.”

Silence was her only response.

“I’ll go without you, do you hear?”

“Grace, just go the hell to sleep.”

“Not until you agree—”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She stalked to the door. “I won’t be here come morning.”

“Damn it, Grace!” Keith leapt off the recliner and grabbed her in two strides. “You win.” His fingers dug lightly into her shoulders, not out of anger but of acquiescence. “You win, okay? Now go to bed. We leave at first light.”

Chapter Five

A bead of sweat trickled down Grace’s temple. The dry air tasted of dust and desolation, but the bright sun shimmering across the dusky red rocks of the canyon filled her with hope.

Today was the day. Ryker would be in her arms soon.

She zipped the backpack they’d purchased and filled with supplies at the surplus store that morning in Tusayan, then hefted the secured pack to her shoulders.

“You ready?”

Her stomach flip-flopped at the brusque rumble of Keith’s voice. He’d made his case for leaving her behind, but she’d won. Her gaze strayed to the signs posted at the entrance to the South Kaibab trail, which warned hikers of the dangers of attempting to hike down and back in one day. Didn’t matter. She’d crawl up the trail with Ryker on her back to get him out of harm’s way.

Keith swung his own pack to his shoulders, a muscle ticking in his jaw. No, he wasn’t happy about her tagging along. Well, tough. Ryker was her son. She refused to stay behind and wait.

“Let’s go.” She took the lead, daring to annoy Keith further.

A narrow path spiraled down the canyon walls, snaking over the multi-colored rock, with occasional step like footholds meant more for a donkey’s safety than for hikers.

Her legs trembled and she froze. The trail was much steeper than she’d imagined. Her heart revved in her chest, racing for a sickening moment, before dropping to the pit of her stomach. Much, much steeper.