My Secret Santa Clayton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

1. Clay

ONE

Clay

“Someone's following me.” She was out of breath, gasping, terrified. Her fingers dug into my arm, her eyes wild and darting. “Please, help me, please…”

I’d been pounding the trail with Bear, my breath and his misting in the chill. It was just another run, except the air had teeth today, biting into my lungs.

Then, she burst onto the path—a woman sprinting full tilt.

“Watch out!” I shouted as she hit a slick patch. She slid, arms flailing, and it was pure reflex that had me reaching out to catch her. My hands gripped her arms.

And I realized I knew this girl.

Holy shit.

“Grace?”

“Clay?” Her voice was a rough whisper, eyes wide with shock—or fear?

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. Of all the people to run into, literally, it had to be her.

The girl who broke my heart.

“Grace, what the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, but she wasn't paying attention to my questions. Her gaze was locked over my shoulder, scanning the forest like a cornered animal.

“Please,” she pleaded again. “They're after me.”

“Who's after you?”

She didn't answer—just clung to me tighter.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Stay behind me.”

I moved Grace behind me, stepping forward to face whatever—or whoever—might come barreling down the path next. My hand instinctively went to my side, searching for a weapon I hadn't brought along. Damn, just a morning jog with Bear, no need for anything more than my phone and house keys.

The woods had gone silent around us, too silent. Even the winter wind seemed to hold its breath. I scanned the fog, every shadow and shape, for signs of movement.

“Clay,” Grace whispered, her fingers digging into my jacket.

“Shh,” I hushed her, straining my ears. There was a noise alright, something moving through the underbrush. Twigs snapped. Leaves crunched. Heart pounding, I braced myself for the attack.

“Come out!” I snarled.

Then my Rhodesian Ridgeback, Bear, popped out of the tree line, wagging his tail.

I blew out a breath of relief, shaking my head and laughing softly. “Jesus…scared the hell out of us,” I said, bending to scratch him behind the ears. “Good boy.”

“It was…okay, fuck, it was your dog,” Grace muttered, a flush creeping up her neck. Her eyes darted from Bear to me; they were wide and scared but also pissed off. “I thought—I don't know what I thought.”

“Hey,” I started, then stopped.

What do you say to a ghost from your past?

My fingers twitched at my side, almost reaching for her, but I shoved them into my pockets instead. We locked eyes, and I swear, time just stopped.

“You been okay?” I managed to ask.

Wow, Clay. Smooth.

“Fine,” she clipped out, her gaze dropping to the ground before finding mine again. It was hard to read her, but there was no missing the edge in her voice—like she'd fought wars I knew nothing about.

She wasn’t the only one.

“Good,” I said, nodding. I wondered if she'd found whatever dream she'd been chasing when she left all those years ago, if she'd proven everyone wrong. Or right.

“Thanks,” she said, finally, her voice steadier. “For, uh, checking on me. I can take it from here.”

“Grace, wait—” I started.

But she was already turning the bend, disappearing into the fog.

My heart was doing this weird stuttering thing, tripping over itself trying to keep up with the rush of blood in my veins. A million questions buzzed in my head, each one louder than the last. What was Grace doing here, back in Silver Ridge? This place was supposed to be in her rearview mirror.

So what was she doing on a trail where most folks would fear to tread alone, especially in winter?

The last time I’d seen her face-to-face, we were both nursing fresh wounds, words we couldn't take back. Now, she wouldn’t even acknowledge me.

“Come on, Bear,” I muttered, and my dog looked up at me, his tongue lolling. “Let’s see what she was running from.”

I jogged on, the cold air burning my lungs, but Grace's fear-stricken face wouldn’t leave the back of my mind. My gut told me that look in Grace's eyes was genuine terror, not just some overactive imagination.

We covered half a mile before I spotted them—footprints. They were pressed into the slushy snow, a mix of mud and ice outlining their shape. Bear sniffed around, his tail dropping as if he sensed something too.

“Stay close,” I murmured, eyeing the tracks. I dropped to one knee for a better look. There was Grace's small footprint, and then another set—a man's boots, large and deep.

Fuck.

Bear growled softly, hackles rising, and that clinched it for me. This wasn’t right.

Maybe it was a hiker… maybe . But I didn’t like this one bit.

“Let's head back,” I said, more to myself than Bear. Even if I couldn’t see any real evidence, I still felt like something was off.

And Grace was smack in the middle of it all.