Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11)

by Cherise Sinclair

  Beth stared at the beautiful, curvy brunette who was still lusting after Sir…even after being told he wasn’t interested. Seriously?

  She saw Nolan’s dilemma. If Alyssa had been a male, he’d have swatted the guy out of his life like a buzzing mosquito. He wouldn’t put up with being pushed, yet his Texas code didn’t allow swatting women—not if it wasn’t consensual.

  Nolan was a hero; guess it was time for her to get with the program. Super Submissive to the rescue. A fetwear cape was going on her shopping list. Beth stepped around Nolan, planting herself between him and the villainess.

  Heroes always gave the villains a warning first, right? But Beth’s annoyance prevented her from keeping her voice quiet. “Alyssa, I asked you to do physical therapy for my Master. Since his shoulder’s healed, your job is done. Leave him be, please.”

  Alyssa set her hands on her hips and tossed her head. “This is between me and Master Nolan. You shouldn’t interrupt. You shouldn’t even be speaking without permission. Obviously, he doesn’t care enough to train you properly.”

  The weak insult didn’t even hurt. Her Master had gone overboard to show how much he loved her—both her body and her personality. If war was going to be conducted with insults, she could now hold her own.

  “You shouldn’t be touching without permission.” Beth’s huff of exasperation was loud. “If you knew him at all, you’d know he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean. What part of ‘I’m not interested’ did you miss? Honestly, Alyssa, trailing after a Dom who doesn’t want you is simply pathetic.”

  Alyssa stepped back as if she’d been punched.

  A second later, to Beth’s disbelief, the damn woman tried again to get to Nolan.

  Not. Going. To. Happen. Beth blocked her and, thoroughly fed-up, drove the heel of her hand into Alyssa’s upper sternum, knocking her back a step. The next move should have been shattering her kneecap, but fracturing bones might be over the top. “Listen, dumbass. Try for him again, and I’ll mess you up—yank out your hair, bust your nose, and smash your lips in.”

  “You-you…”

  Feeling evil, Beth stared at the woman’s breasts. “And since you have those cow-sized tits sticking out like an invitation, I’ll flatten them on my way past.”

  Mouth open in shock, Alyssa looked around, obviously in hopes of support.

  Instead, she collected frowns from everyone within hearing.

  Beside Sam, Linda wore the disapproving frown perfected by mothers of teenagers. “Why in the world would you hit on a Master who’s not only happy with his submissive, but married to her? What is wrong with you?”

  “But, I…” Alyssa took another step back before her pleading gaze returned to Nolan.

  He simply turned away to face the bar. “Raoul, how about drinks for me and my Beth?”

  When Alyssa still didn’t move, Beth leaned forward, her voice menacing. “Go. Away.”

  The woman did. She retreated two steps and finally turned and hurried toward the door.

  Sam’s barked laugh blended with Nolan’s chuckle.

  Beth glared at them both. “Did you think that we were funny?”

  “Not Alyssa—her behavior is just sad.” Nolan drew Beth so close her back was against his chest. “But you were fucking hilarious. Thanks for the defense, sugar.”

  Sorely tempted to shove an elbow into his gut, Beth snuggled against him instead…and discovered he was erect. Seriously? Men. Totally from a different species. Maybe even a different genus. Maybe even a different planet.

  “Nolan, here you go.” Raoul handed over a Corona and set a drink for Beth on the bar top. “You earned this, gatita.”

  Just what she needed. She picked up her drink and took a sip. Single malt whiskey. Her favorite—it was like getting a war prize. “Thank you, Master Raoul.”

  He smiled at her before telling Nolan, “You have a most effective guard subbie, my friend.”

  “Quite effective indeed.”

  At the grim voice, Beth went rigid. Oh no, no, no. Surely he hadn’t heard the argument. Her voice came out hoarse. “Master Z.”

  His unreadable silvery gaze ran over her. “You’re back to fighting weight, I see.”

  Fighting weight. Oh, God, he must have heard everything. “I’m sorry.”

  Z’s lips twitched. “No you’re not. But, if you start a fight in the Shadowlands, you will be.”

  Her instinctive retreat pressed her harder against Nolan—and his erection.

  “Like I told you, Z, Alyssa needs help,” Nolan said. His arm around Beth’s waist kept her in place.

  Master Z glanced at the path the submissive had taken. “So I see. I doubt she comprehends how irrationally she’s behaving. After I talk with her, I’ll arrange for some Doms to take her under command and ease her need to be dominated. She’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks. She’s a good woman when she’s herself.”

  As Z headed in the direction Alyssa had gone, Nolan picked up his Corona while keeping Beth anchored against him. Leaning a hip against the barstool, he looked down at her. “You know, that day when Alastair made a house call, I had a couple of uncomfortable thoughts about you and him. I understand how much Alyssa bothered you.”

  At his easy tone, Beth’s shoulders relaxed. If he’d been displeased with her threatening Alyssa, it would have been difficult to take. Then his words registered. “Me and Alastair? You were worried? Seriously?”

  Okay, she would never want her Master to feel worried or unsure about anything, but maybe there was a tiny bit of delight there. Just a little.

  He shook his head in reproof at her uptilted lips. “Seriously. Listen, sugar.” He frowned, obviously trying to find the right words. “Yeah, I enjoyed Alyssa back when. But now… I’ve got no interest in touching anyone else. None.”

  “Oh.” Her breath came out in a soft sigh.

  “You taught me the difference between empty fucking and making love.” He gave her a slow kiss. “I’m not interested in going back.”

  To keep from dissolving into tears, she knocked back a good gulp of the whiskey.

  He only grinned. “Gotta say, though, I was kinda hoping for a girl fight.”

  Men.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Grant finished his super-biscuit-egg-sausage thing that Beth’d made. “Mmm.” His stomach felt happy.

  On the other side, Beth smiled at him.

  Already finished eating, Nolanman was sipping his coffee. “If you’re done there, tiger, want to help me build a chair?”

  Get to play with hammers and nails again? That’s a no-brainer. “Sure.” Yesterday, he had helped replace the broken window, pulling out the strips that’d kept the busted glass in place, handing Nolanman tools, holding the glass for him. Seeing the new pretty window had felt…good. It was fixed, and he’d helped make it that way.

  Nolan pointed his cup at Connor. “You want to build, too?”

  Although Grant had already eaten two sausage things, Connor was still on his first. Mouth full, he shook his head no, frowned, and nodded yes.

  “I hired Connor to help me weed the south garden,” Beth told Nolan. “But he can work with me for a while and then join you. He’s a fantastic assistant, so I know you’ll find him useful.”

  Connor’s eyes got big, as if he was thrilled but thought she was lying. Only Beth didn’t lie.

  It was weird—nice, but weird—to have grownups saying nice stuff about them. Nolanman said he got a kick out of having his own work crew at home. He pointed out mistakes, but he’d tell Grant and Connor whenever they did good, too. And he never said they were stupid or brats or in the way.

  Grant picked up his milk and took a sip. Last night, the cop—Dan—and Kari had said nice things, too. They’d told Nolanman that Connor and Grant had been good kids and could come and play with Zane anytime.

  Remembering Zane, Grant smiled and finished off his milk. The kid wasn’t even two years old but talked almost as
good as Connor did and was always asking, “What’s that?” He ran pretty fast but with wide legs because he still wore a diaper so it looked funny. He and Connor’d had fun with Zane and the big dog named Prince.

  Now, Connor wanted to ask Beth for a dog, but Grant told him no. Grownups didn’t like kids who asked for stuff. Or money.

  But they had money now without asking. When he and Connor had helped Beth clean the house, she’d given them each a dollar. The next day, Grant helped rake the yard after a storm, and Nolanman said he was a good worker and gave him another dollar.

  He’d earned money like a grownup. And he was a good worker. The funny feeling in his chest came back, all warm and…happy.

  After the dishes were done, Grant and Nolan walked to the workshop. Near the lake, Connor and Beth were weeding a flower garden, and Beth was laughing at something Connor said.

  She had a pretty laugh. It made him want to smile when he heard her.

  Nolan pointed to them. “Sure you don’t want to help Beth pull weeds?”

  “Uh-uh.” Grant stared at his feet. “I like flowers, but I can’t tell which ones are weeds.” Connor was only a little kid, and he could tell.

  Nolan ruffled his hair. “Me, neither. Beth won’t let me help unless she can sit right beside me and make sure I don’t screw up.”

  Grant checked, but Nolan didn’t look like he felt bad about it.

  “We all have different talents, tiger. Beth can’t build houses like I do; I can’t design gardens like she does. Part of getting older is figuring out what you’re good at and what you love.”

  Like Lego pieces, the words snapped into Grant’s mind, fitting right into place. It was good Connor had something he did well, ’cause Grant had other things he did better than Connor.

  In the building—Nolan called it a shop—they got to work. Grant helped Nolan measure the boards and helped hold them as they were cut.

  By the time they had a stack made, Connor appeared. “I heared the saw. Can I help?”

  “We’re going to screw in the chair slats now.” Nolan set a piece of wood on the chair frame. “Line up the holes, put the screw in, then use the screwdriver. Connor can start the screw. Grant, take over when it gets hard to turn.”

  Grant helped Connor get the screw started. Connor did the first turns, Grant did the harder turns—and Nolan finished.

  The boys had done a fine job, Nolan thought as he leaned against the workbench and watched. They were on the last slat.

  Connor looked over. “We better finish and find Beff. She might have cookies she needs to give us.”

  “She probably does.” Good kids. Grant had a real knack for the wood. Connor, not so much. He mostly wanted to be wherever Grant was.

  “Dumb wood.” Face scrunched up, Connor turned the screwdriver, but got nowhere. Undoubtedly, the screw wasn’t lined up with the second piece of wood.

  “It’s not in the right place. Let me do it.” Grant reached for the screwdriver.

  Connor pulled it away. “This is my part.” He tried again, his frustration increasing as he wiggled it. He jabbed at the screw with the screwdriver.

  Uh-oh. Nolan headed for the two. “Connor, stop.”

  The kid’s face turned mulish, and he pushed harder.

  “Stop now.”

  Before Nolan could reach the boys, the screwdriver slipped and jabbed into Connor’s other hand. Gashed it good. Connor screamed.

  Nolan spun back, grabbed the first aid kit off the workbench, and flipped it open as he dropped onto a knee beside Connor. Jesus, he should have stayed closer. Should have caught that the boy was getting frustrated and not being careful. Guilt burned in his gut.

  He ripped open a gauze packet, applied pressure, and kept his tone mild. “It’ll be fine.”

  God, he hated seeing the child crying. More guilt slid in as he saw Grant had tears in his own eyes. Give the boy something to do. “Can you turn the water on in the sink and fetch me a clean towel?”

  Grant nodded and ran across the shop.

  Washing the cut made Connor cry harder, but finally, they were done. As the bleeding slowed, Nolan butterflied the edges together and applied a bandage. Wasn’t deep, although it’d sure bled enough. It hurt to see an injury on a hand so fucking little.

  “What happened?” Beth stood in the doorway, concern in her face.

  Connor pulled free, ran over to her, and shoved his face against her. Holding him with one hand, she crooned her sympathy and examined the bandaging. “Hey, you got a cool bandage.”

  Without moving, Connor nodded.

  “Nice job.” She gave Nolan a gentle smile. “Of course, you probably get a fair amount of first aid practice on those construction sites.”

  “It happens,” Nolan muttered. But it happened to men, not little boys. Fuck, they shouldn’t even be in the damned shop. “You want to give them some lunch?”

  Her brows drew together at the flatness of his voice. “Sure.” She kissed Connor’s head and hugged Grant. “You two head up to the house, and I’ll be right there.”

  As the boys ran out of the shop, she walked over and slid her arms around Nolan, leaning into him, merging her body with his. She was warm from the sun outside, her skin scented with the herbs she’d been working with. “You okay, Sir?”

  “It was my fault. I should’ve watched more carefully.” He led her out of the shop—he’d clean up later. “Go feed the kids. I’ll be up in a while.” When he had his emotions back under control.

  “But—”

  He shook his head, stopping her protest. As she headed toward the house, he walked down to the lake, leaving the gate slightly ajar behind him. He might need to run up to the house if Connor started bleeding again.

  On the dock, he took a seat in one of the two chairs. The boys probably hadn’t noticed, but the one they were building was kid-sized. He planned to make two, one for each boy, but damned if he wouldn’t finish them himself.

  How could he have been so careless? Nolan stared out over the water, blindly watching an egret trolling for frogs and minnows in the shallows. A few butterflies flitted over the yellow canna lilies along the banks.

  He kept hearing Connor’s scream. Seeing his tears.

  The gate’s squeak caught his attention. Grant walked out onto the dock, carrying a paper plate as carefully as if it were glass.

  Nolan frowned, and the boy stopped. “I brought you… Beth said you should eat.” Grant took a step back. “She did.”

  Scaring children now. Way to go, King. He made his lips curve up as he took the plate. “She’s a bossy wife.”

  Relief flashed across Grant’s face. Yeah, he had scared the kid. And he’d thought he wanted to be a father? Crap job he’d make of it. He nodded at the other chair.

  The boy slid onto it halfway, stood back up, and pulled a can of Red Bull from his pocket. He handed it over.

  “Thanks.” Not hungry. Not thirsty. Feeling obligated, Nolan opened the can, but simply held it. After a minute, he noticed Grant was watching him carefully. “Problem?”

  “Beth said you felt bad ’cause Connor got hurt, and so you wouldn’t eat.” Grant kicked at the legs of the chair and admitted, “I can’t eat if…if I don’t feel right. My stomach gets all twisty.”

  The easy sympathy smoothed some of the knots in Nolan’s gut. “Yep. That it does.”

  “You didn’t make Connor get hurt. You told him to stop, only he didn’t listen.”

  “Kids don’t always listen. I shouldn’t have had you two in the shop.”

  “You’re wrong.” Grant’s eyes fired with anger. “We want to learn. To do stuff. I’m your home crew.”

  “But you can get hurt.”

  When Grant lifted his chin, he looked uncommonly like Beth. Yeah, the resolute movement was hers. Maybe the next generation wouldn’t inherit her genes, but her influence would damn well survive.

  “Maybe you can get hurt.” The kid pointed at Nolan’s scabbed knuckles—skinned-up when helping the roofing
crew move stacks of shingles. “I guess you better stay home.”

  Sheer disrespect.

  Nolan grinned.

  The worry disappeared from Grant’s eyes, and he grinned back. Problem solved, he dropped to his hands and knees to peer at the catfish in the shallows.

  So young. So fucking fragile. So much like Beth—who had no problem telling him when he got overprotective.

  Hell. Grant had a point. Injuries were part of life. A part of growing up. He couldn’t shield the boys from everything. Not really. All a man could do was guard the youngsters and try to keep accidents to a minimum. Wrapping them in cotton batting would hurt them more in the end.

  It wasn’t as if he’d given the children power tools. In fact, his father taught Nolan and his brothers to use hand tools at Connor’s age. And they’d gotten banged up some in the process of gaining skill, independence, and patience. Mastering the art of building came with the price of cuts and bruises and the occasional smashed finger.

  Life had its own balance. Took a kid to make him remember it.

  Took a kid to remind him to call his own father—and offer his heartfelt thanks.

  Nolan started eating his ham and beef sandwich, enjoying the spicy mustard…and something else. When they’d first been together, he’d asked Beth what she’d whispered as she spread the mustard. She’d turned an adorable red and silenced him completely with her answer. “Adding a bit of love.”

  Her sandwiches always tasted better than the ones he made himself.

  As he took the last bite, he realized Grant was waiting patiently. “Yeah?”

  “Beth said to bring you back when you finished, an’ she’d give us cookies—or pie.”

  Pie? Got a bribe for both of them, did she? Sneaky submissive.

  Watching out the kitchen window, Beth smiled as both guys headed back to the house. From the anticipation displayed by Grant’s dancing feet, Nolan had finished his sandwich. Cookies were expected.

  “Why didn’t Nolan eat lunch wiff us?” Seated on the counter, Connor licked a batter-covered spoon. “Is he mad?”

  “No, baby.” Beth brushed his silky, soft hair out of his face. “He felt bad because you got hurt.”