Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11)

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Then do your job carefully.”

  By his heightened color, the social worker heard the unspoken threat.

  Nolan dumped Price in the formal living room, rounded up everyone, and tucked the boys between him and Beth on the long couch.

  Poor little men. He couldn’t imagine a childhood without his mother. She’d cheered her kids through every sport, even while cringing at the football pileups. Admired their art projects and kept the fridge covered with drawings. Helped with their homework, although she sucked at calculus. Cooked the fish and game they caught…if they cleaned it first. Pitched baseballs so well they were never struck out. Endured and babied a true menagerie of pets, including the snakes she feared.

  These boys would never have that. Sadness filled him as he slung an arm around Grant’s shoulders and tugged him closer.

  “Do you guys remember Mr. Price?” Nolan asked. “He’s been checking on your mother at the hospital.”

  The boys nodded.

  Seeing Nolan’s grim face, Beth closed her eyes for a second, then gently pulled Connor onto her lap.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that your mother passed away today,” Price said without any build-up. Or emotion.

  Sorry, my ass. Nolan’s temper surged until he had to grab for control. No. This wasn’t the appropriate time to beat the crap out of the asshole.

  Connor looked up at Beth as he’d been doing more and more when confused. “What’s passed? Did she go somewhere?”

  “Oh, baby. Remember how we talked about her being ill?” Face soft with compassion, she waited for his nod. “Sometimes when someone is very, very, very sick, her body stops working.”

  The color faded from Grant’s cheeks. “D-did Mama die?”

  To hell with treating him like a little man. Nolan scooped the boy onto his lap. “She did. I’m sorry, Grant.”

  Connor probably didn’t know what dying meant either, but he was sensitive to the emotions in the room. His eyes filled with tears. “Does that mean she can’t come home?”

  “She can’t come back to us anymore, honey. Your mama has gone on to the next life and won’t be back here. Not ever.” Rocking him, Beth kissed the top of his head. “She would never have left you if she’d had a choice.”

  Connor burst into tears and buried his face in Beth’s shirt. On Nolan’s lap, Grant was crying silently.

  “Well.” Price stood. “I need to check their bedroom before I go.”

  Beth cast him a look of disbelief.

  Can’t hit him. Best to simply get the asshole gone. Nolan set Grant down next to Beth. When she immediately curved an arm around him, the boy leaned into her, giving her his sorrow.

  She was the most comforting person he knew—the children would be all right, exactly where they were. “Let’s go, Price.”

  After Price gave the bedroom a cursory perusal—as if he gave a damn—Nolan escorted him to the front door. “What happens to the children now?”

  Price brushed at lint on his jacket sleeve. “We located their grandmother, but haven’t talked with her yet. With luck, she’ll take guardianship of Grant and Connor.”

  The boys would go away? “How long will the home studies and background checks take?”

  “Not long at all. The process is expedited for near kin. Most of the steps are eliminated.”

  Nolan stared. “Have the children even met this woman?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Price shrugged. “I’ll be in touch.” Without further discussion, he walked to his car.

  Frowning, Nolan closed the front door. Dismissing the asshole from his thoughts, he concentrated on more important worries—like where the fuck had Grandma been all this time?

  * * * * *

  That night, with jagged sorrow filling her chest, Beth tucked the covers around Connor. Her poor, poor babies. Everything inside her wanted to make their hurting stop, to bring their mom back, and there was nothing she could do. How could the world be so cruel to the little innocents?

  After the boys had recovered from hearing of their mom’s death, she and Nolan had kept them involved in quiet activities—a sunset walk beside the lake to see frogs and tadpoles and then coloring. Connor had asked if he could send his crayon drawing to his mother, and they’d had to explain Drusilla couldn’t get mail. The boy still didn’t understand exactly what had happened.

  Grant hadn’t wanted to talk. Not a surprise—he was as reserved as Nolan—but he’d never been farther than a step away from her all night. But she was okay with that. If he needed to, he could stay right there by her side forever. She blinked the tears back.

  Oh, Drusilla, why couldn’t you have caught a break? Have managed to come back to your babies?

  What would happen to the boys now? Would they go to the grandmother Price had mentioned to Nolan? Hopefully, the woman was from their father’s side, since Drusilla had been incredibly negative about her mother. A fanatic, she’d called her.

  And what if putting them with their grandmother didn’t work? After all, they were comfortable with her and Nolan—and, oh, she loved them so much. Maybe…

  But this wasn’t the time to think about it. “There you go, all snug as a bug in a rug.”

  Connor’s faint giggle was the prettiest thing she’d heard all day.

  Gently, she tucked Grant in. Although the boys had chosen separate beds recently, tonight, Connor had crawled in beside his brother.

  “Sleep tight, sweeties.” She bent to give them squeezes.

  Connor, smelling of soap and boy, put an arm around her neck and kissed her cheek. “Night, Beff.”

  Grant didn’t say anything, but his big brown gaze had fastened on her face, and he seemed so lost. Unable to leave him, she sat back down beside him. “Do you know what lullabies are?”

  A frown puckered his brow, and he shook his head.

  “They’re songs that”—mommies—“people sing to children to help them go to sleep. Sleepy time songs.” She stroked his hair, still little boy soft. “My M-uh, family used to sing these to me.”

  Beth’s voice was nothing to write home about. On the other hand, neither was Mom’s, and her lullabies had eased childish heartaches in an almost miraculous way. Please, God, let me give my boys the same solace. “Rock-a-bye, baby…”

  Under her hand, Grant’s small body slowly relaxed.

  Voice quiet, she launched into the next. “Hush, little baby, don’t you cry…”

  Eyelashes brushed sunburned cheeks.

  “Lullaby and good night…”

  Connor was sound asleep. Grant’s fingers were curled around her wrist.

  “Hush little baby, don’t say a word…”

  Letting her voice trail off, she bent and kissed the sleeping, motherless children. Her heart ached at the telltale wetness on Grant’s cheeks. Her own were damp. Dammit, wasn’t life supposed to be kinder than this?

  The nightlight lit her way to the door where she found Nolan leaning against the frame. His eyes were dark, face gentle. Tucking her against his side, he guided her to the great room…and held her while she cried.

  Chapter Twelve

  When he woke the next morning, Grant realized his left leg was wet. Ugh. Tossing the covers back, he glared at his sleeping brother. “Look what you did.”

  Connor rubbed his eyes. “Huh?”

  “You wet the bed, you little bas-” He broke off, remembering Nolan’s talk. Calling names wasn’t right. Yet, rage burned like a fire within him. He shoved out of the bed and stomped around the room. “Why didn’t you get up?”

  Connor hunched into himself until he was a small ball on the bed. “Dunno.”

  Grant turned away, wishing the…the brat…had shouted back. Now the fury inside had nowhere to go, and it rolled around, getting bigger and meaner. There wasn’t even anything on the floor to kick.

  Was the anger why Mama broke stuff? Because she got all twisted up inside?

  Mama.

  Grant froze in the center of the room, breathless like when
Jermaine’d kicked him in the belly and he hadn’t thought he’d ever get air again. Mama wasn’t going to shout or scream or break anything. Not anymore. She was dead.

  Grief filled him again and drained his mad right out, leaving him empty inside. Mama. Come back, Mama.

  As he saw Connor’s white face and red-rimmed eyes, guilt swelled into the hollow places, making them hurt even more. I’m sorry. He hadn’t protected Mama, hadn’t kept her from being with Jermaine or from taking drugs. And he’d yelled at his little brother.

  Daddy had told him to take care of Mama and Connor, and he hadn’t.

  Rubbing his damp eyes, he frowned at the wet bed and Connor’s jammies. “We gotta—”

  At a tap on the door, Connor grabbed for the covers.

  Too late.

  Beth stood in the doorway. Silently, she looked at Connor and his wet pajama bottoms and at the soaked bed. And she snorted. “Oops. I guess we should’ve made a trip to the bathroom before bed.”

  Grant stared. She wasn’t mad?

  Connor’s lower lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Beff.”

  “No worries. A couple of Nolan’s nephews are hit and miss at night, too.” She motioned to the bed. “You two strip the mattress down to the plastic cover while I turn on the shower. You’d better have a quick clean-up before getting dressed.”

  As she walked into the bathroom, Connor stared at Grant with big eyes before tumbling out of the bed.

  Together, they stripped the bed.

  In the kitchen, waiting for Beth to rouse the children, Nolan left a message for his secretary that he’d be in late and would leave work early, as well. If having both him and Beth around helped the kids feel more stable, he’d give them that. His staff and crews were getting accustomed to his creative flexing of hours.

  Beth was doing her own adjustments, working in the early morning hours before he left and on weekends when he was off. He enjoyed the time with the boys. Hell, the swimming pool had never been so lively.

  They’d been playing tag in the pool last weekend when Alyssa had shown up, and no one had wanted to quit while he had his therapy.

  His smile faded. Alyssa’s behavior was a problem, although easy to identify. Sub frenzy happened when a submissive grew desperate to be dominated. Although more common to newbies, sub frenzy occasionally happened with submissives released from long-term service.

  For whatever reason, Alyssa had focused on him as the perfect Dom to handle her needs, and she wasn’t listening to reason. He’d explained how her craving to experience submission was fucking up her judgment. He’d been damn clear he was interested in P.T. for his shoulder and nothing more. She wasn’t hearing shit. Next session would be the last, and if she didn’t listen to him, he’d get Z to chat with her.

  The sound of the children’s shower broke into his thoughts, and Nolan tilted his head. Odd. The kids usually showered at night.

  Not five minutes later, Grant wandered out.

  “Mornin’, Grant.”

  Dressed in shorts and a Superman T-shirt, the boy hesitated. Worry darkened his brown eyes. Drawing himself up, he advanced.

  Brave little squirt, wasn’t he? Nolan tucked an arm around him and pulled him in.

  After another hesitation, Grant leaned against his knee.

  “What’s the trouble, tiger?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Grant.”

  He got puppy-dog eyes. “Connor wet the bed. He didn’t mean to, he just couldn’t…”

  Hell, was that all? “It happens.” Another shit inequity of life. Not only could women have orgasm after orgasm with no recharging period, but they also stopped wetting the bed a fuck-of-a-lot sooner. When he’d been in the Army Corp of Engineers, he’d known guys who’d still had a problem. “Good news is we all outgrow it sooner or later.”

  Grant’s whole body relaxed.

  Nolan tapped the thin cheek. “Want to help me make pancakes for breakfast?”

  “Really? Pancakes?” His eyes brightened.

  “I think we’re due.”

  During breakfast, Nolan studied the kids. Grant’s moods were flipping from over-excited to anger to sullen. The little man was trying incredibly hard to be perfect. When he’d poured too much pancake batter into the pan, he’d almost burst into tears.

  Perfectionist behavior wasn’t uncommon especially in the abused. Beth still occasionally fell into the trap. But he figured Grant was less afraid of being smacked than of being rejected. Thrown away.

  Connor, even more sensitive to moods, was clinging, never more than a foot away from Grant. His speech had regressed, the double consonants like “th” disappearing again. A couple of pancakes also disappeared…right into his pocket. Did he subconsciously feel food might be in short supply in the future?

  Hell. As if their life hadn’t been a mess before, now the boys were completely cast adrift.

  Beth, as sensitive as Connor—and for much the same reasons—soothed them without even realizing she was. Hugs and squeezes and pats were dispensed as freely as her smiles and encouragement. When Grant admired the postcards on the fridge door, she’d given him the one with a child standing next to an elephant and handed the lion cub one to Connor, explaining how Nolan had mailed them when he was far away.

  Despite the sadness of the day, Nolan enjoyed seeing his little submissive at work. Beth could probably draw the sun out of hiding on an overcast day…because she cared.

  She’d be damned wonderful with a new baby.

  Having given the kitchen clock a confused study, Grant turned. “Nolanman? Are you gonna work today?”

  “Yep. But I felt like having breakfast with y’all. I’m going in a tad bit late.”

  The sweet smiles from both boys made his heart ache. Good kids. Fine boys. Simply needed some care and attention and they’d be wonderful men. Would they get that care and attention? Could he stand to see them passed around like unwanted kittens?

  Nolan eyed Beth. When they’d talked about preferences, she’d said she wanted to start with a baby. But…how old could a baby be? Connor would turn five this month. Was that too old?

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Saturday, Beth turned the air-conditioning up in her truck. Her last client’s home didn’t have trees tall enough for shade yet, and all the ice had melted in her cooler. Warm iced tea? Meh. As long as she was so close to home, she might as well restock and grab lunch before beginning the afternoon.

  Besides, she wanted to see how the children were doing. Connor had finally relaxed again and wasn’t sticking to Grant like glue. After three nights of bed-wetting, he’d been dry the last two.

  Grant, though… His emotions were still pretty volatile. His efforts to be grown up and brave simply broke her heart.

  As she walked in the front door, the boys’ voices came from the great room.

  “Hey, we gots a cop house…Max can work there.”

  “Yeah. The bridge should have trees. Put trees right here, Connor.”

  A train set in the great room, hmm? Well, they’d have more space, and the tile flooring would provide a better surface. Amusement tilted her lips up. And Nolan would play with them. It was a kick to see her so-serious Master on the floor, building whatever the guys decided they needed.

  “Beff!” Connor dashed over, followed by Grant. They hit her like small bullets. She couldn’t stop smiling. Was there anything nicer than little-boy hugs?

  “Beff, we gots a town.” Connor pulled her to the construction area where train tracks made a graceful, although incomplete, figure eight.

  “You’ve done a wonderful job,” she said sincerely. They were amazingly smart. “Is that a town?” She motioned toward the police station. Next to it, a post office sprouted a tiny flag.

  “Uh-huh. Grant’s making a bridge there.” Connor pointed to the gap, and Grant’s tiny chest expanded.

  “It’s going to be a beautiful bridge.” She glanced around. Odd that Sir wasn’t here. “Where’s Nolan?”

  �
�He’s lying down with the lady,” Grant said.

  “What? What lady?” The sharp stab of shock faded when Beth realized the lady was probably Alyssa. Nolan had mentioned the therapist had asked to move the appointment to Saturday—today. “You mean the one who helps him with his sore shoulder?”

  A nod from Grant confirmed.

  “Can we have a cookie and milk?” Connor asked.

  Grinning, she bent and patted his leg, tilting her head to listen.

  “Whatcha doing, Beff?”

  “Trying to see where you put all this food. Is your leg hollow?”

  The ripple of giggles from both boys made her laugh. “Cookies are probably fine, but let me check with the boss first.” After a couple of mistakes, she and Nolan had learned to see if the other adult had already told the children no. “I’ll be right back.” She started toward the patio.

  “The lady said it was too hot outside, so they’re back there.” Grant waved at the hallway.

  Oh, really. The temperature was cooler today than it had been for a month. Beth turned. They must be in the small living room. The very private living room. Why did the realization set her teeth on edge?

  Well, if she were going to interrupt, she’d do it the right way, Beth decided. Maybe she wasn’t from the south, but Kim and Gabi had taught her it was mandatory to serve food and beverages to guests. She’d hate to break some Southern law of hospitality, right?

  A detour to the kitchen provided a tray with cookies and iced tea. In the hallway, she frowned at the living room. The semi-closed door practically begged to be kicked open hard enough to bang on the wall.

  Bad Beth. Abrupt entrances weren’t polite Southern behavior. Bless my fucking heart.

  Through the narrow opening, she could see Nolan, shirtless, and lying face down on the couch. Seated on the ottoman, Alyssa was attired in a low-cut, red tank top and exceptionally short shorts. Her gaze held open lust as she massaged oil into his hard-contoured back. “I missed you at the club last weekend,” she said in a silky voice. “I was hoping you’d—”

  “Hey, people.” Beth shoved the door wide open with her hip. “Are you ready for something to drink?” Nolan wouldn’t cheat on her, not ever. Yet, the sick feeling in her stomach was surely jealousy. Maybe because she could see the desire in Alyssa’s face.