by BJ Wane
Copyright © 2021 by BJ Wane
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editors: Kate Richards & Nanette Sipes
Cover Design & Formatting: Joe Dugdale (sylv.net)
Published by Blue Dahlia 2020
Doms of Mountain Bend:
PROTECTOR
Book 1
BY
BJ WANE
Disclaimer
This contemporary romantic suspense contains adult themes such as power exchange and sexual scenes. Please do not read if these offend you.
Dedication
I would like to thank my cover designer, Joe Dugdale, who worked with me to get the cover I wanted and to Sylv, my PA who keeps me sane, I view her as my personal publisher but I have complete control.
You can contact them yourself at Sylv.net:
www.sylv.net
Prologue
“This is going to put a kink in our plans.” Shawn eased the bedroom door closed and turned to his two friends. “Now what?” he whispered, wincing as he raised his right hand to brush his hair out of his eyes, forgetting about his sprained wrist for a minute.
“I don’t see how this changes anything.”
Clayton paced the worn carpet in the bedroom the three of them had shared since arriving at the Atkins’ foster home, his black eye almost swollen shut. It wasn’t the first time Clayton’s penchant for arguing had ignited Doyle Atkins’ short fuse. Then again, they’d learned the first week it didn’t take much to set off their foster parent. Doyle had already revealed his angry, abusive nature to Shawn with a fist to his gut by the time Clayton and Dakota were relocated to the Atkins house a month after him. At fifteen, all three of them were deemed too incorrigible and too old for adoption, and were expected to hang out here for another two years before the state would consider turning them loose on society.
They all agreed on one thing – fuck that, they were out of here now.
“What about her?” Shawn nodded toward the door and the low murmur of voices they could still hear coming from the living room.
Dakota drilled him with a black-eyed glare. “What do you suggest, McDuff, that we drag a kid around the streets with us when we don’t even know where we’re going yet?”
Shawn dropped onto his bed with a muttered, frustrated curse. “Of course not, you imbecile.”
“Mrs. Atkins will return in a few days. She’ll be fine until then.”
Shawn noticed Clayton’s assertion didn’t match the concern in his blue eyes, not that it mattered. They were both determined to stick with the plan to sneak out of here tonight. Their meager belongings were stuffed in their backpacks, and each of them had agreed to their designated role. Dakota, with his height advantage and larger frame, could hold his own against Doyle better than either Shawn or Clayton, so he would stand guard after the old man succumbed to his nightly drunken stupor. Clayton would head to the kitchen to fill plastic bags with food, and he would grab Doyle’s cash stash from his office, everyone meeting behind the house within five minutes.
“You don’t know that,” Shawn shot back. The last thing they’d expected this evening was the arrival of a new foster kid from social services. He’d only gotten a glimpse of the blonde-haired little girl who couldn’t be more than seven or eight, but his stomach had clenched at the gleam in Doyle’s eyes as Shawn had walked by the ajar door to the living room. “I say we wait a few days, just until Mrs. Atkins returns.”
Dakota snorted with derision, his look scathing as he retorted, “Why? She never intervened between her husband and us.”
“She wanted girls, not teenage boys. I say…”
Clayton held up a hand. “We vote on it, like always. I say we keep to our original plan and go tonight. Dakota?”
“I’m with you. Tonight.”
Shawn blew out a frustrated breath then sighed, having no choice but to go along. “Fine,” he agreed, wishing there was another option. But in the three years since his father had been killed in the line of duty, he’d learned wishing never amounted to a hill of beans.
Five hours later, the three of them ventured out of their room into the now darkened house. They hadn’t expected Atkins to check on them, not even to see if they’d eaten anything for dinner or to introduce them to the new kid. The little girl’s soft voice as she’d talked to herself filtered through the thin walls from her room for a time following the social worker’s departure, but all had been silent for the last thirty minutes.
“Meet you in five out back,” Dakota whispered before pivoting and disappearing around the corner of the hall.
“It’s spooky, how fucking quiet he is when he moves.” Clayton shook his head. “Quit pouting, McDuff. This is a new start for us if we can get out of here undetected.”
“I’m not pouting. Go. Don’t forget my sunflower seeds.”
“As if. Good luck, man.”
Clayton headed in the same direction as Dakota while Shawn crept down the hall toward the last room on the right. A muffled sound from the little girl’s room made him pause then he kept going when he heard nothing else. As he slipped into Atkins’ office and pried open the locked desk drawer, he hoped his dad wasn’t watching. Patrick McDuff had taught Shawn to respect the law and to stand for the victims of those who broke it. As a single dad, Patrick had also raised him to do what was necessary to make the best of a bad situation and taught him to fend for himself at a young age. He could take care of himself once they were away from this place and the authorities.
Shawn grabbed the locked metal box and tucked it under his arm. It was only sheer luck he’d caught a glimpse of what the cash box held when he’d entered the room without knocking his second day here. That was the first time he’d earned a punishment with Atkins’ fist. He dashed into the hall but slowed his step as he neared the little girl’s room, her soft cry drawing an icy shiver down his spine, her voice a tiny whimper that stirred his anger.
“No, go away, please stop!”
Without thinking, he barged into the room, took in the scene of Atkins leaning over her on the bed, his hand fumbling with her nightgown as he mumbled drunken curses. For the first time, Shawn understood the term “seeing red” and brought the box down on the bastard’s head. Grabbing Doyle by the back of his shirt, he shoved him to the floor, taking a moment to ensure he was out cold before turning to the cowering child.
With his heart pounding and no time to spare, he gave her two choices. “I can take you somewhere safe, or you can stay here. What do you want to do? We have to hurry.”
She gulped, her green eyes wide with shock and an indefinable emotion he couldn’t name. Then she surprised the hell out of him when she launched herself at him and clung to his neck with her frail little arms.
“I want to…to go…with you. Please.”
Shawn shuddered, praying he was doing the right thing as he snatched the blanket off the bed and draped it around her shivering body. “Let’s go.”
He ran through the house and out the rear kitchen door, no longer worried about waking Atkins but about his friends’ reaction. The moment they saw him coming out the door, Dakota cursed a blue streak.
“What the hell are you thinking?” Clayton asked, his eyes showing the briefest compassion as he looked at the little girl huddling against Shawn.
“He was in her room.” Apparently they both read his expression correctly because they backed off, Dakota’s eyes going stone cold as they rested on the girl’s blonde head, all that was visible of her under the
blanket.
“What are you going to do with her now?”
Shawn swallowed, never liking it when a hint of Dakota’s rough upbringing on the Indian reservation came through in that soft, controlled voice. The guy could be downright scary.
“I’ll take her to Father Joe’s and meet up with you at the diner.”
“No,” Clayton said. “We’re a team; we stay together. Dakota?”
“Like you said, we’re a team. Come on, let’s move.”
Shawn handed the metal box to Dakota and set off on foot for the rectory at St. Luke’s Church, grateful for their support. He’d talked a lot about Father Joe in the months since the three of them had bonded. The priest and his father were best friends, going back to their high school days, and Father Joe had been the closest person to family Shawn could claim. Their relationship wasn’t enough to keep him out of the foster care system, but at least he had support whenever he needed someone he could rely on.
The church was a good two miles from the Atkins’ neighborhood, and hiking that distance in the Arizona summer night heat while staying off high-traffic roads was exhausting. They didn’t converse much, saving their energy, each of them worried about the little girl’s silence. Her small body still quivered against Shawn’s chest, her ragged breathing on his neck compelling him to maintain his tight hold. By the time they reached the rear door of the rectory, sweaty and tired, she had fallen asleep.
Clayton rapped on the door and stepped to the side, letting Shawn take the lead when Father Joe answered.
“Shawn! What’s going on? Are you all right?” Opening the door wider, the priest waved them in.
“Father, this is Clayton and Dakota, the friends I’ve told you about. I don’t know her name, but we can’t take her with us.” Shawn let his urgency come through in his voice as he didn’t know how long they had until Atkins roused and alerted the cops.
Father Joe nudged up his wire-frame glasses and looked them over with a critical eye, his mouth tightening as he spotted Clayton’s bruised face and Shawn’s wrapped wrist. “I’ll contact social services in the morning and insist they move you.”
Dakota went rigid. “No.”
Shawn shifted the little girl as she roused, lifting her head to peer at him out of frightened round eyes. “Don’t talk so mean,” he snapped at Dakota before telling her, “It’s okay. He’s nice, but he doesn’t want anyone to know that. Father Joe is going to take care of you, isn’t that right, Father? It would be a shame if she was sent back to that house where she’s not safe.”
No one knew him better than the priest, and Shawn released a relieved breath when Father Joe read between the lines correctly and nodded. He’d tried to talk Shawn into relocating to one of his out-of-state contacts following his father’s death, but he’d refused. Phoenix had been home his whole life, and he’d already lost so much that, at the time, he couldn’t stomach another upheaval.
Moving so the girl could see him, Father Joe used his gentlest tone to talk to her. “I know a very nice family who would love to have you. Would you like to meet them?”
Instead of answering, she looked at Shawn. “Will you be there?”
“No, I have to go somewhere else, but I promise you’ll be safe. Didn’t I save you from the bad man?” She gave him a reluctant nod and loosened her clinging arms from around his neck. “Good girl.” He smiled, setting her on her feet. Laying a hand on her head, he said, “You keep being good, and everything will be fine. Right, Father?”
“Right, as long as the three of you agree to my terms.”
“Shit,” Dakota mumbled, turning to lean against the wall with his arms folded, his glare solely for Shawn.
Shawn recognized the determined glint in Father Joe’s eyes, wondering how he could have not considered this possibility. “C’mon, man, you can’t mean to blackmail us.”
“Oh, but I can,” Father Joe returned, Shawn recognizing his implacable tone.
Wearing worn jeans and an Arizona Cardinals tee shirt, he didn’t look anything like a priest in his mid-forties, but Shawn knew that look, and he meant what he said. If he wanted his help, Shawn would have to agree to his terms.
“You trusted me enough to come here tonight. All I’m asking is you trust me enough to do right by all of you, not just the little one. Agreed?” His gaze circled to include the three of them.
“What’s to keep us from bolting once we agree?” Clayton asked with a rare touch of belligerence. Most often, he was the easy-going one between them.
“Smarts enough to know when you’ve been handed a second chance, and the grit to make the most of it,” Father Joe challenged in reply.
“Well, hell.”
Clayton flipped Dakota a wry grin then looked at Shawn. “If he’s in, I’m in.”
Shawn ran his hand down the girl’s silky hair, his heart somersaulting over the adoring look she turned up to him. “Okay, Father. If you see she stays safe, we agree. Where are we going?”
“Idaho.”
Chapter One
Twenty years later
“Are you sure, Randy?”
Shawn McDuff took the pen his friend handed over, his gaze skimming the now quiet, empty cavernous room of the private club, Spurs. He recalled the fond memory of a scene with a redheaded submissive when his eyes landed on the St. Andrew’s Cross. He, Clayton, and Dakota had been members since Randy first opened the club over seven years ago. Located just outside of Boise, it sat nestled in a tree-shrouded copse in between Boise and Mountain Bend, the small town they now called home.
“I’m sure. I’ve known you guys long enough to have complete confidence you’ll ensure Spurs keeps the good reputation I’ve worked to build,” Randy replied, his look around the table taking in Shawn, Clayton, and Dakota.
Scrawling his name on the contract to buy the club, Shawn was confident of the asset they were purchasing, but the disillusionment in Randy’s eyes was still hard to see. He couldn’t imagine the heartache of betrayal his friend must feel over his wife’s infidelity and desertion.
“It helps Shawn is a deputy sheriff.” Clayton balanced his chair on the back two legs with ease, his arms crossed, blue eyes lit with humor. “He’ll threaten anyone who gets out of line with jail time.”
Dakota snorted. “Some subs will act up so he’ll do just that.”
“Kathie. That girl lives to get in trouble with the Masters.” Shawn handed the pen to Dakota, thinking of the blonde who was an attention seeker, but harmless. “What are your plans now, Randy?”
Pushing to his feet, Randy said, “I haven’t been out of Idaho in years, and there are several places I’ve always wanted to visit. These will unlock the front and rear doors, and the smaller one goes to the storage closet in the corner.” He tossed down a set of keys and picked up the cashier’s check and signed copy of the sale. “You know how to reach me if you have any problems or questions, but seeing as you’ve been members since the doors opened, I doubt there’s anything you’ll need my help with. Thanks.” He held out his hand, and they each stood to accept his shake.
“Keep in touch.” Shawn released his grip, hoping Randy found the peace of mind he was looking for in his travels.
“Will do. I want to check out the second floor you’re planning on adding. I know several people have asked for private rooms but never thought of taking advantage of the high ceiling space to add an entire floor.” Picking up his Stetson, Randy settled it on his head and walked out without looking back.
“Poor bastard. Just another reason to stay unattached.”
“You don’t need another reason, Clay,” Shawn returned, reaching for his whiskey as he resumed his seat. “Last I heard, the sun rising each morning was enough for you to stay single.”
Clayton shrugged, lowering onto his chair with a thud. “Why settle for one piece of decadent chocolate when I can have the whole box?”
Dakota gave Clayton a derisive glance. “At least I have the excuse of scaring them off. Once they get what
they want from me, they can’t scamper away fast enough, which is fine by me.” He reached for the bottle in the center of the table and topped off his glass then passed it over to Shawn.
Shawn capped it and rose to return it to the bar. Unlike his two best friends, he wouldn’t mind finding one woman he could settle down with. But, ever since the three of them had inherited a portion of Buck Cooper’s estate, his dates seemed more interested in learning why he continued working as a deputy sheriff, and with learning exactly how much the wealthy rancher left them. He didn’t waste his time telling them their foster parent had instilled in each of them a strong work ethic, taught them the value of earning their money, and to take pride in what they accomplish.
They had money, enough he could quit his job and work the ranch putting in fewer hours. But he loved the law, got a sense of satisfaction out of enforcing it so others could live in safety. Nothing pissed him off faster than seeing an innocent person suffer from another’s illegal actions.
Shawn grabbed his hat off the bar top and returned to the table, ready to call it a night. “Let’s head out. The architect will be here first thing in the morning.”
“I’ll be in court in Boise, so take notes for me, will you?” Clayton asked, scraping back his chair. “What do you think Buck would have said about us owning a kink club?”
“As long as we stayed this side of the law, he would have said go for it, the same as he and Miss Betty told us every time one of us would wrestle with a decision.”
Shawn still missed the big, gruff rancher who had taken the three of them in all those years ago. What he and Clayton and Dakota had suffered before coming to Idaho, Buck Cooper and his wife had made up for in spades. Buck taught them everything they needed to learn about ranching and farming crops in the Gem State, and Miss Betty had tempered the hard work and strict rules with unabashed warm hugs and lots of home cooking. The contrast between the rough-around-the- edges tough rancher and his soft-spoken, always smiling wife had at first amused them, prompting them to push their buttons. But it hadn’t taken long for them to learn their usual tactics of lashing out against the authority figures who had taken over their lives weren’t going to work this time.