Page 14 of Traitor

Chapter Five

Peyton

The water is cold,too cold, assuredly, for me to be dipping my feet in it just yet, but I can’t help myself. The freezing temperature grounds me, and I concentrate on noting the sensations in my body that root me in reality.

My toes dig into the grainy texture of the sand until both feet are buried completely beneath the surface. With my eyes closed, the sounds, scents, and feel of the world around me are amplified. It’s a technique I learned in therapy to take my mind out of the realm of panic and toward calm.

I chickened out of apologizing for snapping at him after seeing Ford in a second confrontation with another woman and some guy in a tricked-out car. I could tell from the look in his eyes he was in no mood for interference, so I kept my distance and instead trekked around the lake and enjoyed another meal in my room. Nightmares plagued my sleep, and I woke up covered in a cold sweat with my heart still racing from an invisible attacker.

The thought occurred to me to stay in my room for the day, give myself a break from the overstimulation, but I knew if I stayed it would be one more step toward holing myself up behind the security of a lock and never coming out again. I forced myself to get out of bed, dressed, and then speed walked blindly out of the lodge and found myself at the lake.

My heart begins to settle and my breathing to quiet as I focus on the lap of the cool water against my ankles. In the distance, I hear the muted rumble of a lawn mower roar to life, followed by the sharp scent of freshly cut grass. Rooting myself in the present is one of the only sure ways I know to keep from being swallowed by the past.

“That wasn’t what it looked like, yesterday.” Comes Ford’s voice, startling me out of my serene reflection.

I keep my eyes closed, thankful I didn’t jump and screech like a frightened little rabbit this time, even though I wanted to. “None of my business,” I say.

“I don’t want you think I go around terrorizing the locals,” he says, his gruff voice sounding closer than before.

“Why would it matter what I think?” I ask and finally turn to peer up at him, having to smother the instantaneous instinct to put a safe distance between us.

He’s too tall to be human. His shoulders look like he’s packing some serious muscles underneath the T-shirt and flannel button-up he’s sporting. As he studies me in turn, I wonder what he does in spare time to be so built, chop down trees? Certainly the tingling in my stomach isn’t…attraction? It’s nerves. There’s no way in hell I could want a man like Ford, a brutal beast capable of violence.

“It doesn’t.” I nearly roll my eyes at his bluntness. So much for my feelings. “But you’re a guest. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable while you’re here and we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.” The words are robotic, mechanical. I wonder if he’s given this speech before.

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” My own response is just as mechanical. Maybe Ford and I have more in common than I’m willing to admit.

He rolls his massive shoulders, squinting against the rising sun. “None of my business. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t any of your business?”

“Just making conversation.”

Silver glints in the light at his neck. The beaded chain is a familiar one—military dog tags—which makes a lot of details click into place. His careful, watchful nature. The intensity of his stare. His physique. Even the hardness around his eyes and mouth. He’d seen violence, caused it.

Death, I’ve learned, stains people once they came in contact with it. It settles over your shoulders like a mantle you can’t ever take off.

Whose death was on his?

Long seconds pass and I realize he’s staring at me as I stare at him. My cheeks burn. “No, I’m from Mississippi. Near Jackson.”

“Vacation?”

“Sort of. What about you?” I turn and sit on the dock, watching him as I cross my legs and try to relax in his commanding presence. Sitting down only causes him to tower over me, but it hides the fact that, even though I know he won’t hurt me, he causes my legs to shake.

“My parents used to own the place. When they decided to retire, I took over.”

I don’t know why, but those last words make me shiver. “You were in the military before then?”

Must be a sore subject because his lips thin. “Marines. Ten years.”

“My dad was in the Navy. Desk jobs, mostly.”

This causes him to turn that laser gaze to me. “You were a military brat?”

“Sort of. He retired before I was born. I was a surprise baby, my parents didn’t think they could get pregnant. You?”

He winces. “I wish I was an only child. Older sister, Mercedes. You saw her and her daughter, Lexie, yesterday.”