Page 84 of Hunted in the Shadows
“Hey,” I objected.
“And he’s sosensitive,” Sylvia went on, pressing three quick kisses to Theodore’s fur. “I bet he’s just jealous of what you and I have.”
I stole another glance at Sylvia’s face, relieved to find the sentiments were good-natured, not embittered. Not that I’d have blamed her. The ripple of insecurity was foreign, and I stuffed it down best I could.
The Yorkie shortly lost interest in me, trotting over to where Cliff was flipping through a magazine with disinterest. He’d managed to put distance between himself and the three cats in the living room—staving off another sneezing fit. The dog put its paws on his leg, tail wagging furiously.Cliff lifted an eyebrow, lowering the magazine.
“Little attention whore, aren’t you?” he remarked. But when the Yorkie whined, Cliff folded and scooped Theodore into his lap, offering a belly rub with a little sigh of resignation.
Sylvia landed on the sofa’s armrest, cooing an audible“aww”under her breath. “Who knew you were so good with animals?”
“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice with annoying little things lately,” Cliff said, smirking.
Her expression flattened. “I’m not sure whether I should be more offended for myself or poor Theodore.”
“Want me to give you a little scratch behind the ears later ?”
“Consider my question answered.”
The Yorkie snapped to attention as raised voices shot from the kitchen.
“You’re not supposed to be standing!” Hannah snapped. “Get back to bed!”
“I told you—I’ve had worse.” Gwen’s answering voice was weary. “I’m already here, might as well get to the couch.”
Gwen entered, leaning on a crutch for mobility. Her expression was tight like she couldn’t stand to wince in front of us. The Yorkie scrambled off Cliff’s lap and bounded up to meet her.
“Down, Teddy,” she grumbled. Cliff was on his feet in an instant to offer help, which she promptly protested. Short of sweeping his legs with her crutch, there was little she could do but allow him to usher her to the couch.
I had to admit that she was handling the injury fairly well. Against all odds, we were indebted to her. She could have driven off the moment she freed herself from Sylvia’s ice. Hell, she could have turned on us at any point yesterday at the outpost in order to survive the fight she hadn’t asked for. But Gwen had stayed—fighting by our side as though she hadn’t once stolen a truck just to put as many miles between us and her as possible.
As Cliff helped Gwen hobble to the armchair, she and Sylvia locked eyes, both of them visibly stiffening. When neither of them said a word, Sylvia caved first, casually retreating to my shoulder. A confusing mix of guilt and warmth surged through my chest at how readily she found comfort in me—even if a small part of her still saw me as a threat.
Hannah strode into the living room with two steaming cups of coffee. Even as she handed them off to Cliff and me, her eyes were glued to Gwen, who was stiffly trying to make herself comfortable in the chair.
“The more you strain yourself, the longer it’s going to take us to start packing everything up,” Hannah said.
“Pack up?” Cliff echoed.
Gwen wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. “You know I can’t afford to stick around after yesterday. Iverson recognized me. He’ll smellus out—he’s a psycho, you know he won’t stop. We’re ditching town as soon as I can walk.”
The air felt pulled from my lungs. I glanced between Hannah and Gwen, realization crushing in on me. “Shit, I… I’m so sorry.”
Gwen’s eyes were cold, but there was something else I couldn't read there. “Doesn’t change anything,” she muttered. “But I suppose it’s been a long time coming. Iverson’s grip on the outpost was bound to bleed out to us eventually.”
I wondered if that was her way of sayingI’m glad you’re not dead. Maybe it was as close as I would ever get after what I had done to Luke.
Hannah smoothed a hand over Gwen’s shoulder, her elegant fingers playing with the disheveled strands of her ponytail. “Gwen’s been trying to convince me to get out of Cypress Hollow since I met. Maybe this is the Lord’s way of setting us on a new path.”
Gwen snorted softly, but she shot a grateful look up at her girlfriend—the words a visible balm for the crease between her brows.
“I’m just glad you made it back to me in one piece,” Hannah added softer, her touch drifting to cup Gwen's cheek.
The oven timer dinged, and Hannah turned toward Sylvia, brightening a little. “I stocked up on produce at the farmer’s market yesterday before Gwen came home. Hope you like strawberry glaze pie. I'll be right back.”
“You guys looking to feed the whole town before moving on?” I asked, glancing around at the platters of cookies and sweet rolls laid about the living room.
“She bakes when she’s stressed,” Gwen explained, giving a sheepish chuckle. “I should see if she needs a hand.”
