Page 10 of Far From Sherwood Forest (Far From #3)

Robin stole my fucking truck. As if I needed one more reason to hate him.

When I realized my keys were missing, I immediately stormed outside to find my truck gone too.

I marched right back to my office and swiped a stack of papers and my coffee mug off the desk so hard that the mug hit the wall and shattered.

Laura ran over and is currently standing wide-eyed in the doorway as coffee drips down the beige wallpaper.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice laced with a mix of concern and fear.

I lean over my desk with my back to her, my vision blurring into black and my knuckles turning white as I grip the edge. My words come out through gritted teeth as I say, “I need to borrow your car.”

“Sure. I mean, as long as you bring it back.” When I peer over my shoulder, unintentionally bringing my scowl with me, she smiles. “Please.”

Laura is too kind for her own good. Her not fighting me about borrowing her car is mostly because of that and probably only a little because she’s afraid of me.

“Thanks,” I mutter, feeling obligated.

“Huh,” she mutters as she turns away.

“What was that for?” I ask before she can get far.

“Nothing,” she calls back as she heads toward her desk. “Just never heard you thank someone before.”

It’s only because she’s helping me by giving me the means to go after Robin, and something like that deserves at least a little gratitude—which is a lot more than I’m usually capable of offering.

Rounding my desk, I slump into my chair with an annoyed huff.

Laura comes back a moment later and silently dumps her keys beside my computer before leaving again.

I consider going after Robin now but decide against it.

If I find him in the middle of his wildlife tour, well… that’s too many witnesses.

Given the circumstances, I skip my morning patrol but tell Laura to let everyone know I’m on call.

Fortunately, I’m not forced to leave to deal with someone else’s mess.

I spend the morning fuming and cleaning up my own mess instead, reorganizing all that paperwork in an attempt to distract me from those hottest parts of my anger that keep flaring up.

After lunch, I grab Laura’s keys and go out to her car. It’s warmed up considerably since I got here this morning, so I toss my jacket onto the passenger seat as I start the engine.

Since I know the tour must be over, I have no idea where to find Robin. Or my truck. I drive over to the visitor’s center first, but neither are there. I’m not sure what the chances are that he’s even still here in the park, but I drive around the entire thing anyway.

About fifteen minutes later, I spot my truck. It’s parked in the grass off the road, close to the campsite that I brought him to the other night. It’s behind some shrubbery, but he clearly wasn’t trying to leave it perfectly hidden.

Parking Laura’s car, I get out and walk over, throwing the driver’s side door open. The keys are in the ignition, and I don’t see Robin around anywhere. I could take my truck and fucking leave him.

But what’s waiting for me on the driver’s seat stops me.

It’s a bow, one like Robin used to use back in Sherwood Forest—a classic wooden, one-piece bow. It looks handmade, as do the arrows and the quiver.

Attached is a note.

If you’re not too much of a coward to play fair…

I snatch the note and rip it up with a snarl.

Maybe I really should just end him now for the sake of my own fucking sanity.

Unclipping my gun holster from my belt, I place it and my gun under the seat and pick up the bow. I shrug the strap for the quiver over my shoulder and then slam the door so hard the sound echoes off the trees.

Time to go on a hunt.

I enter the woods as I take out an arrow and nock it in the bow, keeping it at the ready. As I navigate my way through the trees, I keep my eyes peeled and ears open for any sign of Robin. So far, it’s quiet.

As I continue on my search, Robin’s note keeps grating on my nerves.

Everything about him does, though.

I’m not a fucking coward. I simply don’t give a shit about fighting fair, as long as I win. I don’t care if the playing field is even or not, and I certainly don’t give a fuck what Robin thinks.

Yet here I am with his bow instead of my gun.

Fuck Robin Hood.

I shouldn’t even be giving into him right now. Chasing him when he wants to be chased. Using his bow. What I really should do is go back to my truck and drive away.

However, my need to hurt him is too strong and keeps me moving forward.

He said I want revenge, not justice. I won’t even pretend he’s wrong.

The sound of trickling water reaches my ears from the left, and I know I must be close to the waterfall. Even though it’s a nice sixty degrees out, that water has to be freezing. There’s no way Robin would be over there.

I start to veer right, and then I hear a splash.

Guess I was wrong.

I move through the trees to the left, stepping over dried leaves and twigs as carefully and quietly as I can.

Thin roots snake across the ground like veins.

The brush gets a little thicker as the white noise from the waterfall grows louder—more of a steady, rhythmic hush than a roar.

There’s more splashing as I move a branch that still has a few green leaves left out of my way.

And then I freeze.

From where I stand, the ground begins to dip downward toward a clear, sparkling pool.

The waterfall spills over a mossy ledge maybe fifteen feet high and crashes into the basin of smooth, dark stone.

Mist rises in delicate curtains, catching the sunlight through the open canopy above, turning the air to gold.

The water glistens, cold and clear, swirling in slow, mesmerizing eddies around scattered rocks.

But it’s not the beautiful view of the waterfall that’s stopped me in my tracks. I’ve seen it before.

No. It’s Robin.

He swims gracefully toward the edge of the pool before pulling himself up out of the water onto a slick, flat stone.

He’s wearing a pair of dark green swim trunks and nothing else.

I can see the edge of a bandage beneath them, the one I assume is covering the gunshot wound I gave him.

Water drips down his muscular arms and back, capturing the sun, the little droplets of gold making his tanned skin fucking sparkle.

Leaning back on his forearms, he turns his face toward the sun and closes his eyes.

Something really strange happens to me right about then.

My mouth goes dry. My heart beats a little faster, a little more violently until I can feel it pounding against my ribs.

Despite the perfectly comfortable temperature, I suddenly feel hot, every inch of my skin heated.

I try to swallow only to discover a lump I have to work my way past first. My lungs constrict, all the air around me suddenly too thick.

I don’t understand any of those reactions until I shift—my legs have grown a bit stiff from standing still so long—and find that my jeans feel a little tighter.

Fuck.

No.

Fuck no.

I’m going to fucking kill Robin Hood and then myself.

Dammit. Ivy wouldn’t like those thoughts.

Then again, this is her fucking fault. Why the fuck did she have to mention kissing ?

She was the one who put those revolting thoughts in my head, and apparently my stupid brain has decided to run with it.

It’s processing these images of Robin in nothing but shorts, his smooth skin wet with shimmering beads of water, the sun making him glow, and it’s coming to the conclusion that he’s…

No.

It’s just because I’m seeing him in such a beautiful setting.

It’s not because he’s beautiful.

I don’t know what’s more disturbing. The fact that I’m having those kinds of thoughts about a man. Or about Robin Hood .

Robin Hood. Definitely Robin Hood.

By the time I finally shake some of those thoughts enough to function, I’m fucking furious . Raging. My blood is boiling, and now I’m feeling hot for an entirely different reason.

Raising the bow, I pull back the arrow and release it without a second thought.

It goes flying through the air, whizzing inches from Robin’s head.

Damn. Missed.

Okay, I wasn’t actually aiming to kill him. Even if I was tempted to do that just to finally be rid of him, I still believe a quick death is too good for him.

Robin snaps his head to the side, his eyes immediately finding me.

He fucking grins .

Scrambling to his feet, he dives back into the water as I nock another arrow. I can barely see him as he moves beneath the surface, but I shoot it anyway and watch as it strikes the water.

If I do end up killing him, oh well.

At least then I won’t be forced to psychoanalyze those thoughts I was having about him thirty seconds ago.

Robin comes back up on the opposite bank of the pool and climbs out of the water. He picks up a bow I hadn’t noticed over there and throws the strap of a quiver over his shoulder. Then he’s darting away through the trees.

“Catch me if you can, Sheriff!”

I curse and turn around, heading back the way I came and searching out the quickest path around the waterfall.

When I make it to the other side, I stop and listen, my eyes scanning the ground for signs of which way he went.

He was soaking wet when he started running, water dripping from his shorts and hair.

I notice a trail of barely discernible dark spots on the otherwise dry dirt and follow them until a path starts to open up.

There’s no warning sound before an arrow flies right in front of my face and sinks into the trunk of the tree on my left. The echo of laughter that follows is enough to give me an idea of where he is.

I pick up my pace after that, running through the woods in what I can only hope is the right direction.

Another arrow comes.

This time, it’s from somewhere behind me and striking a tree several yards ahead.

I growl as I spin around. “You’re playing with fire, Robin!”

“That water was freezing. Just trying to warm up, Henry.”