Protector's Honor

“You should sit.” He came to her. Putting an arm around her shoulder, he led her to a smooth boulder near the trail’s edge.

She tried not to, but her back went rigid at his touch.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

She shook her head then scooted back on the large rock. He moved in beside her, so close she could feel strength and heat coursing through him. She wanted to relax enough to lean on him and borrow some of that power. Instead, she trembled and blinked back the stinging tears that formed in her eyes.

A strong arm wrapped around her and pulled her into a cozy hug. Tabitha wished she weren’t so stiff and unnatural because it felt wonderful—like a life force surrounding and filling her with energy and hope.

“Tabitha Beaumont.” His slow Southern drawl, full of confidence and warmth, spread her name over an extra syllable or two. “You just rest easy. You’ve had quite a morning.”

She nodded, barely able to keep back the tears. “What should I do when we get back? You said something about the police.” Tabitha wanted to do this right. This time, she would report the crime.

“You see that cart coming?” he indicated softly.

She looked far up the mountain trail and nodded again.

“Well, we’re going to ride to the inn in it. Then we’ll call a detective and when he arrives, you’ll tell him what happened. While we wait, there’ll be lots for you to eat and drink. And I’m sure you’d like to call your family. Husband, maybe? How does that sound?”

“Too easy.” She tried hard to conceal the fear from her voice. But the sympathetic look he gave her showed she hadn’t.

“I’m going to help you. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you.” She forced a smile. “I appreciate it.”

He smiled and started to help her up.

“You know,” Tabitha added, “we can probably scratch eating and calling a husband from that list.”

“Not hungry?”

“Not married, either.”

Tabitha suspected a smile hid in those mysterious blue eyes.

TWO

On the lawn of the Birchwood Inn, Tabitha sat under a grand white tent and picked at a barbecue sandwich. She knew she should eat, but each time she considered taking a bite, her stomach gurgled in protest.

Athletes continued to trickle through the finish line. The summer sun gleamed high above. Tabitha gazed over the opposing mountain ridge but had trouble admiring the natural verdure and its famous blue-green haze. Her nerves were shot and her head throbbing. She felt capable of little besides sipping water.

She did watch her rescuer with a curious eye, but that could not be helped. The poor man could hardly move through the tent. As soon as he’d walked away from her, event officials, commercial sponsors, a television crew and even some of the hotel personnel had stopped him. It seemed everyone wanted a piece of Rory Farrell.

Tabitha learned from bits of conversations around her the reason for his popularity. To her personal relief, it had nothing to do with what had happened on the mountain. Apparently, Rory was a native son of Hendersonville, and part of one of its most prominent families.

For a few minutes, she lost sight of him and turned her attention to the other competitors who’d joined her table for lunch. When she next spotted Rory, his eyes were on her. Drawing near, he held homemade oatmeal cookies in one hand and an ice pack and aspirin in the other. He’d cleaned his face and changed his clothes. Tabitha welcomed him with a smile despite her edgy nerves.

“That’s not fair,” she said, pointing at his clean clothes as he emptied the contents of his hands onto the table. “I’d really like to change.”

A few more fans passed, shaking Rory’s hand and patting his back. When they left, he took the seat next to her.

“Sorry about all that. You’d never know I was just home three months ago.” He passed her the cookie then the aspirin and ice pack. “This is for your ankle. I noticed it’s swelling. The paramedics said to ice it thirty minutes, then off thirty minutes and repeat. And drink lots of water. That fixed me right up.”

“I’m trying. And thanks.” Tabitha leaned forward reaching for the aspirin. And despite his chipper speech, she could see that his attitude had changed since their return to the inn. He looked tired and worn down. And he most definitely did not enjoy all the attention he was getting.

“You look better,” he remarked, his smile strained.

“Yes. I’m starting to calm down.” She swallowed the aspirin with a quick gulp of ice water then pushed the glass back to its position on the table. “Rory, I know it’s none of my business but…” She hesitated, not sure if she should mention anything so personal. After all he’d done for her, she felt she had to say something. “Well, I heard about your father. I’m so sorry.”

His eyes connected fast with hers. A little moisture appeared in them as he nodded. “Yep. It was a tough battle with cancer. That’s what all the fuss is about. Everyone loved my pop.” He turned away and looked out over the mountains.

“You must miss him.”

“Terribly. This has been a hard week, coming home again.”

“So, you don’t live here anymore? You live in Arlington?”

“Alexandria.” He looked back with a big grin, pleased at the subtle change in subjects. “Obviously, you heard all sorts of things sitting here.”

“I did.” She returned the smile.

He leaned close and whispered, “Well, just a warning. Things have a way of getting exaggerated around here.”

“Exaggerated? You mean your grandmother doesn’t run Hendersonville? And you’re not the town’s greatest athlete?”

Rory laughed heartily. The wide smile and the deep rich sounds of his voice warmed her. “You know, Gram may actually run the town. At least, she thinks she does. But the other? That’s a new one.”

“Hmm. I also heard that you’re some kind of special cop which confused me since you told me you were a marine.”

“Former marine. Now, I’m a federal agent. I work for NCIS.”

“N-C-I—what?” Apparently, she was supposed to recognize the acronym.

“Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Like the TV show?”

She shrugged and turned her palms up.

“We’re an organization like the FBI but run by the navy. My unit conducts terrorist-related investigations. We also investigate serious crimes committed by or against navy personnel.”

“So I guess what happened today was nothing for you?”

“I don’t know about that. I don’t usually run unarmed in front of a man with a gun pointed at me.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” she commented.

“Me, too.”

Tabitha locked eyes with him and felt her heart rate increase to some anaerobic rhythm. Oh, dear. Was she blushing? She fumbled for something to say. Anything. “So, if you’re not a marine anymore, why the haircut?”