by Pamela Tyner
“We’re here.” Tricia dropped down on the couch.
“I know you hate this,” Jenny said, her tone soft and soothing. “But it really is the safest place for you.”
“The man practically kidnapped me! The last I heard, that’s a crime.”
“I don’t agree with his methods. A part of me wanted to smack him for it. His actions were inexcusable, but his intentions were good.”
“Look, you might be fooled by this white-knight-in-shining-armor routine, but I’m not buying it. Clint couldn’t care less what happens to me.”
Which led to the question of why was he involved at all? Maybe he was doing it as a favor to Neil. Or maybe he was doing it out of pity. The thought had her squeezing her eyes shut in shame.
“I think you’re wrong. According to Neil, the minute Clint heard you were in trouble—”
“No, I’m not wrong. He just wants to play hero. But I’ll let him. I can survive a few days here.”
She’d just stay out of his way and ignore him. It shouldn’t be that difficult. She had a lot of experience doing exactly that. A great deal of her time had been spent trying to stay out of Matt’s way.
A nagging little voice in the back of her mind insisted on pointing out it might be more than a few days.
“Why didn’t you tell me he had moved back to Oklahoma?” Tricia asked. “If I had known, it might not have been such a shock to see him strolling through the door.”
“I would have told you eventually, I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. He moved back a little over a year ago, after his uncle died and left the ranch to him. It was about the same time he got divorced.”
“He mentioned the divorce,” she murmured. Although, now that she thought about it, he hadn’t actually said the word divorce. He’d just said he no longer had a wife, and she’d assumed.
“From what I can piece together, it was an ugly one.”
“Didn’t they have a child?”
She knew they did, remembered in vivid detail the day Jenny had told her Clint was going to be a father. Ironic news, since he’d informed her less than a year earlier, in no uncertain terms, that he had no intention of ever getting married or having children.
“Yeah, she’s in Texas with her mom.” Jenny paused for a moment when the baby fussed in the background. “I need to go. We’ll be out this weekend. If things get unbearable and you need to talk, call me. I’m at my parents’ house. Do you remember the phone number?”
“Yes.” While growing up, she’d dialed the number hundreds of times. “But I can’t call you there. They don’t know I’m back, do they?”
“Geez, you’re right. Well, call Neil. He’ll call me, and I’ll call you.”
Tricia smiled at Jenny’s ‘tag-team’ plan. “All right. So what excuse did you give your parents for your arrival?”
“I told them Neil and I had a fight, and I wanted to stay with them for a few days while we work things out. My mother, of course, is distraught at the thought that our marriage is in trouble.”
Tricia knew Jenny’s mom would be questioning her endlessly about the situation. She also knew that since the day they married Jenny and Neil had never spent a night apart. But now, because of her…
“I’m sorry. I never should have put you in this situation. It was st—”
“Hush,” Jenny ordered. “It’s not your fault.”
The conversation halted as AJ progressed from fussing to full-blown wails.
“Go take care of your son,” Tricia said over the baby’s cries. “Be careful, and thanks for everything.”
“Anytime, honey. We’ll be in touch.”
After hanging up the phone, Tricia rubbed a hand over her forehead, massaging the pain that threatened to grow into a pounding headache. Hoping to find some aspirin in a medicine cabinet, she went in search of a bathroom.
As she wandered down the hallway, the first door she came to was open. She peeked inside to find a bedroom. Like the other rooms in the house, it was neat, clean, and sparsely furnished.
The next door, a little further down the hall, was also open. The walls were…purple. An unusual color to paint a room, but with the all-white furniture, the color scheme worked very well. The twin-sized bed, piled high with stuffed animals, and the toy chest setting in the corner, made it obvious the room belonged to a child. Clint’s daughter, no doubt. This room, like the others, was neat and clean.
The door directly across the hall from the purple room was closed. When Tricia opened it, her brows lifted at the sudden contrast. Stacks of papers surrounded the computer in the corner of the room. The bed was a rumpled mess, and clothes littered the floor and hung off the dresser. The nightstand contained an opened bag of chips and several empty beer bottles. And to her surprise, a picture, the first one she’d seen.
She walked over and picked it up to find herself staring at an adorable little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes—Clint’s eyes. The child’s shoulder-length hair tumbled in a mass of curls to frame her face. Her skin was pure perfection. A wide, sincere smile covered her face, and Tricia wondered what she’d been doing at the moment the picture had been snapped.
“My daughter, Heather.”
At the unexpected interruption, Tricia’s heart skipped a beat. She whipped around to see Clint leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
The panic eased its grip on her body, to be replaced by awkwardness. She felt like a little kid who had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She shouldn’t be in his room poking around in his personal things.
“I’m… I’m…” she stammered. Drawing her brows together in determination, she swallowed the rest of the sentence. Why should she apologize to him for anything? After the way he’d behaved, he should be apologizing to her. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she is.” Pride filled his voice.
Tricia set the picture back on the nightstand. Sticking her hands in the pockets of her shorts, she shifted uncomfortably under Clint’s silent gaze. “I was looking for aspirin. I have a headache.”
Without a word, Clint pushed himself off the doorframe and disappeared down the hall. Seconds later he returned with a bottle clutched in his hand. He crossed the room and held out the bottle for her to take, but when she grasped it, he held tight to it. Confused, she looked up into his eyes.
“I startled you. You didn’t hear me at all. I came into the house, walked down the hall, and stood in the doorway staring at you for five minutes without you knowing it.”
At the censure in his voice, she straightened her back and planted her hands on her hips. “You couldn’t have been staring at me for five minutes. I wasn’t in here that long.”
He merely lifted a brow in response.
The condemnation in his eyes annoyed her. She looked away and inhaled deeply, trying to restrain the urge to tell him exactly what she thought about the fact that he had the gall to stand there and scold her as if she were a child. From the corner of her eyes, she caught a glimpse of his feet.
“You took off your shoes,” she accused as her gaze met his again. “No wonder I didn’t hear you.”
“That’s irrelevant. Do you think Matt would announce his presence? You’ve got to be more alert.”
“I thought I didn’t have to worry about him finding me here. Isn’t that what you said?”
Clint expelled a breath of air. “I don’t want to argue with you. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”
Without giving him the promise he’d requested, she jerked the aspirin from his hand and stalked off to the kitchen for a glass of water.
What was wrong with her? She was well aware of the magnitude of the danger she faced. Letting her guard down, even the slightest degree, was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Being distracted to the point of being unaware of someone entering the house and sneaking up on her could get her hurt. She knew better. It wouldn’t happen again.
* * * *
Clint walked into the ba
throom, stripped, and stepped into the shower. Bracing his hand against the wall, he stuck his head under a full force spray of freezing cold water.
Pull yourself together, man.
When he’d seen Tricia standing beside his bed, his mind had immediately filled with a picture of her in his bed. In his little fantasy she’d smiled and held her arms out in invitation. Ready, willing, welcoming. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had to keep from stripping her down and turning those mental images into reality.
He rolled his eyes and snorted at the thought. He highly suspected he would have been risking his life if he had tried.
After a quick shower, he dressed and headed for the kitchen. On the way, he passed Tricia sitting rigidly on the couch. Her gaze was glued to the TV where a weatherman was predicting clear skies for the remainder of the week with high temperatures hovering in the nineties.
An hour later, Clint placed two plates of spaghetti on the table then stood back and surveyed the meal. Salad, spaghetti, bread. Not a feast exactly, but better than the sandwiches he usually had for dinner.
“Let’s eat,” he yelled as he walked to the refrigerator.
A brief search of the shelves produced a can of Parmesan cheese and, to his surprise, a bottle of salad dressing. He checked the bottle for an expiration date. It was dangerously close to expiring. Twisting off the lid, he sniffed the contents, deemed it acceptable, and carried it to the table.
Tricia still hadn’t appeared, so he called out to her again, this time a little louder. When he failed to receive a response for a second time, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. The TV still blared in the background, and he hadn’t heard anything unusual, but…
He strode into the living room and let out a mental sigh of relief when he found her still sitting in the same spot. She had removed her shoes and sat with one leg tucked underneath her. Her elbow was propped on the arm of the couch, her head laying in her hand, and she looked so miserable it almost broke his heart. What he wouldn’t give to see her smile, her eyes light up with happiness.
Be patient. You’ll get to see that smile eventually. The day she’s walking out of your life, she’ll be grinning from ear to ear.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said.
She didn’t so much as glance in his direction. “I’m not hungry,” she replied, her voice flat, totally without emotion.
“You have to eat.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You’re being childish, Tricia.”
She straightened in her seat, squared her shoulders, and shot him a look that clearly said she had no intention of moving from that couch.
“I won’t be joining you tonight for dinner, Mr. Owens, but it was so very kind of you to ask.”
Taken aback by her haughty tone, he stared at her silently.
“Go eat.” With a flick of her wrist and a wave of her hand, she dismissed him as if she were royalty and he a servant.
He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “Fine. If you want to starve, go right ahead.” Although tempted to tack the phrase your highness onto the end of his words, he resisted the urge and marched back to the kitchen.
A short time later, dinner eaten and dishes washed, he returned to the living room. When he saw Tricia, he considered turning around and heading out to the deck just to avoid the tension. Within seconds, he tossed the idea aside because, damn it, he refused to be uncomfortable in his own home.
Since there was nowhere else to sit, he took a seat on the couch, careful to leave a good three feet of space between Tricia and himself. The second his butt touched the cushion, she jumped up.
“I assume I can sleep in that extra bedroom—the non-purple one?” she asked.
Apparently, she’d toured all of the rooms in his house. Not that there were many to tour.
“Yeah.”
“Good night then.”
Clint glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s barely seven o’clock.”
“I’m tired.”
Clint studied her for a moment. She did look tired, but he suspected her retreat had more to do with his presence than her fatigue. He tapped a finger against the side of the couch as he chewed over the situation. If they were going to spend any time in each other’s presence, it was imperative that they clear the air between them. Otherwise, they’d both be miserable.
“We need to talk, Tricia.”
“No, we don’t.”
Her open hostility might have had another man backing down, but not him. He could do this. It just needed to be handled the right way. He’d be patient, calm, rational.
“I disagree. If we—”
“Okay, you want to talk? Why don’t we talk about how you tried to force me to come here against my will?” She propped her hands on her hips, tilted her head, and looked off into space, her face taking on the appearance of someone deep in thought. “Hmm. I could be wrong...” She brought her gaze back to him. “But I do believe that may be illegal.”
“In the end, you agreed to come. In fact, you claimed you were about to agree to it on your own without any further persuasion from me.”
“That’s beside the point. If I hadn’t, you would have brought me here anyway, whether I wanted to come or not. My God, Clint, you threatened to tie me up.”
“We needed to get out of there fast. We didn’t have time to sit around leisurely discussing the issue.” When she didn’t reply, merely stared at him with an unforgiving look on her face, he tried again. “You’re safe, and that’s what’s important.” To ensure she understood exactly where he stood, he added, “I’m sorry I was physical with you, but make no mistake about it, I’d do it again if I had to.”
Her expression hardened, and he almost expected to see fire shoot out of her eyes.
“Look, buster, I’ve spent the last three years being controlled by Matt. It wasn’t my plan to trade in one controlling jerk for another.”
“Don’t compare me to him. I’m nothing like him.” Clint worked hard to keep his tone mild, but there was no mistaking the warning in his voice.
“Really? Matt used to make decisions for me. Isn’t that what you did? It was your decision to bring me here, and when I didn’t immediately agree with it, you resorted to force, threats, and intimidation. It’s exactly the kind of thing Matt would have done.”
“I’m just trying to help you. If you’d stop fighting me—”
“I generally do fight when people are threatening to tie me up.”
There was that prissy tone again, and it grated on his nerves. His temper climbed another notch, and his plan to remain patient, calm, and rational was all but forgotten. He stood and stepped toward her until his face was mere inches from hers. He had to give her credit, though. She stood her ground, firmly rooted to the spot, not moving back so much as an inch.
“Is that so?” he asked. “I can remember a time when you enjoyed me tying you up.”
Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped.
“As a matter of fact,” he continued, “it was your idea.”
Every bit of color drained from her face. “You… I never…not…” she sputtered. She took a step back, shaking her head as if to deny his words.
He silently cursed himself, wishing he could snatch the words back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
Although it had been the truth, a massive difference existed between the two incidents. That night she’d been a willing participant, allowing him the privilege of binding her hands, knowing he’d never hurt her or force her to do anything she didn’t wish to do. The situation this afternoon had been entirely different.
“You’re despicable. I hate you.” Her words were spoken softly, but they were ice cold. So cold that his body chilled.
He knew how she felt, had known it for eight long years. But the words still stabbed at his heart.
Hoping that his efforts to keep his face expressionless were successful, he focused on speaking calmly. “I know you do. But whether you hat
e me or not, you need me. You’re stuck with me because, right now, I’m all you’ve got.”
She shook her head slowly, and her eyes teared. But almost immediately she blinked a few times and the moisture disappeared. He said a silent prayer of gratitude. Tears were the last thing he needed now. He definitely wouldn’t be capable of handling that.
“It’s not like you’re stuck with me forever. As soon as Matt leaves town, you can go back to Neil and Jenny’s.” Because he thought it would make her happy, and because it was the truth, he added, “You’ll never have to see me again.”
“I’m looking forward to that. If we’re finished now, I’d like to go to bed.”
Sure, they were finished. He’d done enough damage for one night. Hell, he’d done enough damage for the year. He should have just gone out onto the deck and never spoken to her.
“Wait a minute, and I’ll get you something to sleep in.”
He went to his bedroom and dug through a drawer until he located a clean t-shirt. When he stepped out into the hallway, he found Tricia waiting for him outside the door of the guest room. She snatched the shirt from his hand, stalked into the bedroom, and slammed the door behind her.
* * * *
Clint was awakened from a restless sleep by a noise. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand, squinting against the glare of the red illuminated numbers. 2:37 AM. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he focused on listening, bolting to an upright position when he heard a thud followed by some type of scraping sound.
Quietly, he slid out of bed. Since he had no desire to face a possible intruder in his underwear, he grabbed his jeans off the dresser and tugged them on. Easing his bedroom door open, he cursed silently at the squeak of the hinges. He stepped into the hallway and stood still, listening. The creaking of a floorboard confirmed that someone was definitely moving around in the house. He crept down the hall, being careful to avoid making any noise at all.
Passing the guest bedroom, he saw the door ajar and pushed it open. Light from the moon filtered in through the curtains and shined on the bed. The empty bed. Panic and dread poured through his body before he had a chance to ward it off.