In Strange Woods - Claire Cray Page 0,55

that weren’t his fault.

And he knew better. Hunter wasn’t just theorizing for the hell of it, for the thrill of playing armchair detective. His concern wasn’t a disguise for morbid speculation or a ploy to score a bit part in someone else’s sordid story.

He just cared. That was all.

Finally reining his emotions in, James miserably apologized. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Hunter said. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t. I just get…”

“I know,” Hunter said gently.

James looked up at last, and Hunter met his eyes. They exchanged one of the slight smiles they both had a habit of making. Then James got up and joined him at the sink. “Can I steal a drink of that?”

“Knock yourself out,” Hunter said, watching him. But when James reached for the mug, Hunter caught his hand and pulled him close, chest to chest, hip to hip. James came along and rocked him back with a kiss, savoring Hunter’s low sound of approval.

“I didn’t mean to be a dick,” James said when their lips parted, staring into Hunter’s brown eyes. “I know you’re not like that. And I won’t talk to you like that again.”

Hunter’s brow creased slightly as he brushed a strand of James’s hair from his brow. “You’re somethin’ else, James.”

“Nothing special.” James slipped his hands under Hunter’s shirt, feeling the contours of his torso. “Unlike…”

Hunter kissed him again before pulling his hands away with a regretful groan. “I really gotta go. Where’s your map?”

They sat at the table again with the map spread out. Hunter marked the location of Bone Creek Bridge, then grabbed a legal pad to write down some directions. James watched with his cheek propped on his hand, admiring the muscles dancing in his forearm and his quick, sharp handwriting. Hunter tore off the page and handed it to him with all the joy of a gravedigger.

“Thank you,” James said, and let out a rueful laugh at Hunter’s grim expression. “Seriously, relax. There’s no reason to worry.”

“Really? What happened last time you went looking for him? You got chased out of the woods by a bunch of armed hillbillies? That was yesterday, by the way.”

“Fair enough,” James admitted. “But this time he knows I’m coming.”

“Assuming it’s actually him.”

“It’s Beau,” James said simply. “How else would he have these documents? Whoever was in my room passed himself off as me. Who else could it be?”

“I guess that’s true.” Hunter sighed quietly, the worry pouring back into his eyes. “Look, I can’t stop you. But I got this godawful feeling about it, James. And if something happens to you, I just…”

At this, James paused. Not because he thought Hunter was right, but because there was real fear in his eyes, and it was startling how badly he wanted to take it away.

But he wanted to see Beau even more. Hanging back wasn’t an option. Nothing was going to keep him away from that bridge.

“Sorry,” James said, reaching up to tuck a strand of blond hair behind Hunter’s ear. “I can’t not go. But I promise I won’t do anything stupid this time.”

“This is stupid. But if you’re gonna do it anyway, you better call me by five. Or else I’ll call search and rescue, and then I’m going out there.”

James instinctively recoiled from the domineering turn. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t take it personal,” Hunter said crossly. “I wouldn’t let anybody do something this dumb without butting in.”

“Well, you…” James faltered, somehow unable to argue with Hunter’s blunt common sense, and also possibly a little turned on. “Fine,” he relented. “I’ll text by five.”

“Not text,” Hunter said stubbornly. “Call.”

“Fine. I’ll call.”

“Thank you.” Hunter got up from the table again and started gathering his things to leave.

Huh. James watched him bemusedly for a moment before standing up to pour his own cup of coffee in the kitchen. Leaning back against the counter, he glanced over his shoulder out the window. Another bright, sparkling morning. Maybe the clouds would stay away. “Where do you buy clothes here?” he asked.

“Stores in Port Orton or Southport, I guess.” Hunter shrugged on a canvas jacket. “I mostly buy secondhand.”

Of course he did. In his own subtle way, Hunter was possibly one of the most authentically punk rock people James had ever met. “Even better. Where do you shop?”

“Saint Vinnie’s in Port Orton. For sure.” Hunter smiled a little. “Changing up your look?”

“Thought I’d add some flannel. I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“The grunge thing. It’s just practical. For the climate.”

Hunter laughed under his breath and moved toward the door, pausing