by Lori Foster
No, that was unfair. She knew he loved her and their sons. He just couldn’t love as much or as fully as she could.
And for that, again, she pitied him.
“You said you had to replace your car?”
“Yeah. Totaled my Mustang.” With a self-deprecating laugh, he said, “You know I was behind on my insurance payments.”
She’d always been the responsible one who made sure payments were made, so that didn’t surprise her. “How?”
“A drunk T-boned me. Fool ran straight through a stop sign and pow! Lights out for me.”
Dear God. Shaken by the thought, she asked, “You were hurt?”
“Spent a little time in the hospital, but I’m fine now. They released me and two days later I found out Jean had passed.” Holding up his hands, he grinned. “It all conspired against me. A taste of my own mortality, seeing how Jean died alone...”
Gripping the edge of the table, Ros ignored the panic rushing in and used her most forceful tone. “Elliott Crews, you tell me right now. How badly were you hurt?”
His gaze slid away.
“Elliott.”
Aggrieved, he gave her his full attention. “Concussion, broken nose, fractured eye socket—”
“Dear God.” He could have died.
“—but it was the cut on my thigh that was the worst.” Pushing back his chair, he trailed a finger along her left inner thigh, from knee to groin. “Chunk of metal broke out of the door and got me.” He flashed a quick smile. “Thank God it missed my jewels.”
“It isn’t funny!” Hands shaking, Ros fought the tears in her eyes.
“Yeah, laying in that hospital room and thinking of all the ways I’d screwed up, I agree. Not funny. Jean—God bless her—gave me the means to do something good for once.” He reached for her wrist, prying her hand loose and pulling it toward him, engulfing it in both his much larger hands. “I want you happy, Ros. More than anyone I know, you deserve that.”
Oh, how her heart broke. Very softly, she said, “I can’t be happy with you Elliott.”
“I know that. And if Grant’s the one, then...well, I’ll try not to despise him too much.” His smile came and went. “But maybe I could try to correct some of my losses with the boys. They’ve both got beautiful wives now, and that probably means grandkids soon, right?”
“Grandkids.” Indulging a watery laugh, Ros pulled away from his grasp to swipe at her eyes. “I don’t know that I want to be called granny yet. I’ll have to think of something better.”
“You always looked beautiful with a baby in your arms.”
“Oh, stop.” She slapped at him.
Holding out his hand, palm up, this time asking instead of taking, Elliott waited. “Can we be friends? Do you think you can forgive me enough for that?”
“Elliott.” She shook her head and placed her hand in his. “I’ve always done my best to ensure you have a place in your sons’ lives. If it doesn’t work out for you, it won’t be because of me.”
“They broke the mold after making you. Even Jean, who adored me to the moon and back, often said I was a fool for letting you get away.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. Wisely, he then released her. “Were you serious about dinner?”
Her hand tingled from his kiss. Damn it, why did it still have to be this way with him? Blowing out a breath, she quipped, “Why not? You can be here at six.” She pushed the check back toward him. “But you can keep that. I don’t want it.” It was bad enough having him here, stirring her up despite her commonsense. “You’ll probably need it to get yourself going again.”
He snorted. “What the hell would I buy with it?”
“You could start with insurance. Maybe pay it up for five years in advance.”
For a second he only stared at her, then laughed. “They won’t do that. I asked.”
At least he made the effort to do the right thing. “So put it in the bank and do automatic withdrawals.”
“Nope.” He stood without touching it. “If you have to, donate it to your favorite charity. I know you have many. But I have no right to it.”
“Then give it to Mitch!” She popped out of her chair too, not about to let him get away yet.
He snorted. “You don’t know him as well as you think you do. No way in hell would he accept it, but you’re welcome to try. It can be a gift from you.”
She grabbed his forearm. Soft hair covered firm muscles, warmed from his body. Choking back a groan, Ros snatched her hand away. “I thought you were staying until Grant got here.”
“You didn’t hear him pull up?” The slow smile that curved his mouth was too damn sexy. “Glad I could distract you for a minute there.” He bent and put a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Ros. I’ll always love you—enough to stay out of your way, I promise.”
And with that parting shot he opened the door and greeted a startled Grant. “Morning, Colvin. You’re just in time.”
When Elliott stuck out his hand, Grant automatically accepted it.
Elliott pulled him close. “Don’t let anything happen to her. Red Oak would never be the same.” Whistling, he sauntered away to an old beat-up truck.
Grant’s stare moved from Elliott to her in narrow-eyed speculation. “What the hell was that about?”
She shook her head. “Same old, same old.” Going back to the table, she snatched up the check, folded it and tucked it into her pocket. “Coffee?”
Without asking her about the check, Grant slid his arms around her waist from behind and nuzzled her ear. “I’d rather have you.”
Oh lord.
It wasn’t a total lack of interest on her part...but on the heels of Elliott being there? That wouldn’t be fair to Grant. Smiling, she turned to face him. “Are you free for dinner? Mitch wants some alone time with Charlotte, so I invited Elliott here. I’ll get the boys and my daughters-in-law to come over too.”
He blanched. “You invited Elliott to dinner?”
As if speaking to a dunce, she reiterated, “So Mitch and Charlotte could have time alone.” It was Grant’s bad luck that her patience for explaining to men had already run thin.
He pondered it for far too long before asking, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“You can behave yourself?”
“I will if he will.”
Sometimes, men were just overgrown little boys. “He knows and abides by my rules.”
That brought his brows together. “You sound admiring.”
Oh, for the love of... Going for the quickest and easiest way of ending the conversation, Ros leaned up and kissed him, quick and light. “There’s no way I’m getting hooked up with Elliott again.” He never stuck around long enough for her to even consider it. “But Charlotte pointed out that Mitch came here for a fresh start with a happy family, not a family at each others’ throats. So I’ll play nice, and I expect you to as well.”
Not quite convinced, he cupped her face and kissed her again. “I want you happy. You know that, right?”
That sounded far too close to Elliott’s sentiment, making her testy. “I’m a grown woman who knows her own mind and I can damn well ensure my own happiness. Now will you come to dinner or not?”
“I’d be happy to.”
With that settled, she put their cups in the sink and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go. I want to do what I can to keep the office running smoothly until Charlotte gets in. If she shows up to a mess, she’ll never again take the morning off, and that girl deserves a break.”
“I have a feeling Mitch does too.”
On that, they were both in agreement.
* * *
IT HADN’T BEEN EASY, following the cop without getting seen. Lee had to “borrow” Bernie’s car, and still Newman made sure he held way back. Eagerness and anger became a volatile mixture. If he didn’t get to Mit
ch soon, he’d lose his shit.
Once they’d gotten Bernie drunk last night, it had been easy asking him questions, finding out where Ros and Charlotte lived. Luckily, they lived alone, which made things almost too easy.
Today was all about reconnaissance, getting a lay of the land, seeing what their odds might be for gaining access later. That’s what he wanted most, to terrorize them up close and personal, to smell their fear, to see them sweat.
It would eat Mitch alive when they went crying to him.
And maybe, as a bonus, it’d turn them against him. Who wanted a bastard ex-con bringing that kind of trouble to their door?
They’d know Mitch was to blame—because he’d tell them so.
And if he had to fuck with the outside of their house instead? Whatever. He could make that work too.
This early, Bernie was still crashed and wouldn’t miss his car. He’d gotten so wasted that Newman doubted he’d stir until noon at the earliest. After meeting with them on the outskirts of town in a less noticeable bar, he’d nearly drunk them all under the table—until he’d finally passed out.
They’d had to haul him inside and drop him in his bed—and then they’d made use of his place, instead of heading back to the old lady’s house.
Thinking of last night made Newman incandescent with rage all over again.
When they’d finished working over Mitch’s car, he, Lee and Ritchie had climbed atop the low, flat roof of a hardware store where they could watch without being seen. He’d waited, almost breathless with anticipation, to see Mitch’s reaction when he viewed the damage on his beloved car. He still remembered the day Mitch got it from Elliott, how goddamned happy he’d been over the pile of junk.
Sneaky bastard had hidden it away too.
The only upside had been that it kept Mitch busy and out of the way.
Lang had told him Mitch drove the car now, that he’d fixed it up real nice...but still, he’d barely recognized the sleek, shiny Mustang as the same old heap of scrap metal.
Damaging it had felt good.
But the miserable prick hadn’t given him any satisfaction. Instead of losing his shit, Mitch had calmly walked around the car, checked under it as if he thought they might be hiding there, and then searched the area.
Looking for him, Newman knew.
For some fucked-up reason, they’d all three ducked, and the shame of it scalded his temper. He’d considered climbing down and carving Mitch’s face right then and there, but Lee—always cool headed—had spotted the cop charging up the walk just in time.
No reason to get arrested just to make Mitch pay.
His day was coming, sooner than he thought.
Better to stick to the plan, to drag out the fun.
Now, as they rolled past the house, they noted the distance between the neighbors, the big wooded yard, and he knew, absolutely knew, getting inside would be a piece of cake.
They’d be back.
In the dark.
And then the fun would begin.
* * *
CRADLING CHARLOTTE’S MUCH smaller hand in his gave him a sense of peace, despite what had happened last night. With a tall sycamore tree shading them from the bright morning sunlight, they stood at the edge of a fast-moving creek. The water sparkled as it carried away a leaf. Birds circled overhead and somewhere in the distance a cicada chirped.
Filling his lungs with the fresh humid air, Mitch ordered his thoughts.
He’d brought her here to kiss her, to touch her and let her get used to him, but in a setting that guaranteed he couldn’t get carried away.
Never, not in a million years would he hurt her, and that meant there were things she needed to know.
Before coming to the park, they’d gone by a deli and picked up breakfast sandwiches and orange juice, then sat on a park bench to eat. Charlotte hadn’t yet said much, but she didn’t need to.
He felt her anticipation.
And suffered his own.
He also felt her acceptance, and it meant the world to him, more than being accepted by his brothers, more than seeing his absentee father. More than having a house or finding roots.
He’d laid eyes on her that first night and without effort she’d turned his entire world upside down, altering his priorities and realigning his focus.
Quietly, with only the birds to overhear, he said, “There are things you should know about me.”
Just as she had so many times before, she leaned into his side, her arms around him. It was a special thing to be embraced by this woman.
Hot, stirring, yet somehow also calming.
“I’d love to know more.” In this light, the blue of her eyes reflected the sky. “But it won’t change anything.”
Anything, meaning she’d still care? He’d find out now, wouldn’t he? “Let’s sit.” Thanks to the heat wave, no morning dew remained on the grass.
Without hesitation, she stepped out of her sandals and got comfortable at the edge of the creek, poking her small feet into the water. “There’s a bigger creek that divides Brodie’s property and ours. After a rain, it’s deep enough to swim in.” She peeked at him, watching him as he pulled off his own shoes and socks and rolled up his jeans above his ankles. “Would you like to go there sometime?”
“Sure.” As he eased down beside her, he asked, “You ever skinny-dip?”
“Eeww, no. Not with Brodie around. If he ever busted me, we’d both die.”
Yeah, right. “Somehow I think Brodie would survive, but you?” Just looking at her made him smile. He lightly tweaked a curl. “Yeah, you might have trouble getting around it.”
“It would be awful.” A breeze drifted over them, and she lifted her face. “No one has seen me naked since my mother passed.”
Funny how there were things you knew, logical assumptions, but you didn’t think about them. Being a virgin, it made sense that no one had seen her, and yet, until this moment, he hadn’t considered it.
Finding a small rock in the grass, he tossed it into the stream. “You’re putting thoughts in my head.”
“What thoughts?”
“You, naked.”
“Oh.” And then with more meaning, “Oh.”
“I wanted to talk.”
Glad for the change, her shoulders relaxed. “So talk already.”
“Soon, I’m going to see you naked.”
Clearly that wasn’t what she’d expected. Tucking in her chin, she glanced at him. “You think so, do you?”
He’d fought it...a little. Not enough, obviously. But now that he’d given in? Now he wanted to put all his concentration on her, on protecting her, making her happy, showing her how special she was. “You and me...we’re meant to happen.”
Pleasure slowly took away her embarrassment until she smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”
That brought him full circle and he stared out over the fields. He’d deliberately chosen this spot because it was secluded, but no one could sneak up on them. He didn’t trust Newman and would never take chances with Charlotte.
He protected what was his, and whether she knew it yet or not, whether she’d consider him a caveman or overbearing, she was now his.
Best to get it over with. “I almost killed a guy.” He plucked a clover bud just to give his restless fingers something to do—other than reaching for her. “And so that you understand, I mean that literally. If the guards hadn’t dragged me off him, I would have finished him.” Sights and smells crowded his brain. The image of blood and gore, the shouts and the shock of pain that hit the back of his knees... One deep breath, then another, and he managed not to crush the clover.
Her expression searching, then softly sympathetic, she asked in the gentlest voice ever applied to him, “Why?”
Why? That single word nearly knocked his heart through his chest. She left him at a l
oss for words. He’d prepared for a variety of reactions, just not that one.
She didn’t look appalled, or frightened. No, not Charlotte. She only wanted details. She’d withhold judgment until she knew the facts.
In this case, the facts might repulse her even more than the brutality of what he’d done.
And the reasons he’d done it.
His throat tightened, making him swallow hard.
Charlotte didn’t move—so he had to. Stretching out on his back, he dropped a forearm over his eyes. Maybe if he didn’t see her, it wouldn’t shame him quite as much.
“Prison... It’s all about dominance.”
Silence, and then he felt her settling beside him. Her hand came to his chest, right over his heart, and rested there. Her lips touched his. With startling perception and uncompromising compassion, she whispered, “Tell me.”
Yeah, that was the point, right? To let her know how he was, to see if she could handle it.
To see if they had a future.
He didn’t want to. He fucking hated the idea of repeating it. Before meeting her, he would have sworn that he never would. How to describe humiliation and rage and fear and retaliation?
Burying it, shoving it to the back of his mind, was easier.
But this was Charlotte, and she had a right to know him. “Two men pinned me down so another could rape me.”
She went perfectly still, her hand on his chest heavier...and suddenly she was full against him, hugging him fiercely. So tight, as tight as a woman of her size could, he imagined.
“He didn’t succeed,” Mitch whispered, wanting to soothe her.
“You got hurt.”
“Yes, I did.” Badly, so badly that for a time he hadn’t known if he’d recover. “I think that’s what kicked me past reason. I was an animal fighting for survival.”
“I wish you had killed them all.”
The tears in her voice leveled him. “What? No, honey, you don’t mean that.” He locked his arms around her.
“Yes, I do,” she said, without loosening her hold or raising her head, and that made it easier. “Tell me what happened.”
“I was new, but my cell mate had been in and out of prison his whole life. He wasn’t a bad guy.” Such a subjective term, so he clarified. “A miserable thief, yes, but not a rapist or murderer or child abuser.” Those were the worst, because those men had no conscience at all. They weren’t even men, just monsters living in human shells. Unpredictable and immoral. At times, they’d hurt people just to break up the boredom.