She was in obvious pain as they walked to his car, and once again rage coupled with fierce protectiveness filled him.
Their first stop was at the pharmacy, where they filled the prescription for her pain pills. He wanted her to wait in the car while he ran in, but she insisted on going in.
From the drugstore, he drove to her house. He’d never been inside it before. Their dates had usually taken place in Oklahoma City when she was there on business.
They’d had two dates here in Cotter Creek when he’d come back to visit his father, and it had been on those dates he’d met Hope, but he’d never been invited into her personal space.
As he stepped into her living room, two things struck him: the lime and lavender color scheme that was both soothing and sensual, and the magnificent scent of jasmine and vanilla that lingered in the air.
When Grace disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom, he walked around the living room, taking in the furnishings and knickknacks that showed the nuances of her personality.
The sofa looked elegant yet comfortable, and the bookshelf held an array of paperback books and framed photos of both Hope and William. What was curiously missing were any photos of her mother. Again Charlie wondered about the whereabouts of the elusive Elizabeth Covington and the relationship she had with her daughters.
Right now, what he really wanted to know was what Grace’s bedroom looked like. Was her bed covered with luxurious silk sheets that smelled like her? Did she still own that sexy little red nightgown that hugged her curves and exposed just enough skin to make his mind go blank?
He sat on the sofa and mentally chastised himself. He had to stop thinking about things like that—had to stop torturing himself with memories of how her long hair had felt splayed across his bare chest and how she loved to cuddle and run her finger through his thatch of chest hair.
He remembered the two of them running naked into his kitchen to bake a frozen pizza after a bout of hot, wild sex, slow-dancing on his balcony and the philosophical debates that usually ended in laughter.
She was smart and sexy—everything he’d wanted in a woman—but he’d thought she was playing for fun and hadn’t realized she was playing for keeps. She’d breezed into his life every weekend or so. She hadn’t been inclined to share much information about her personal life. Instead they had spent their time together living in the moment.
Now, as he sat on the sofa with those old regrets weighing heavy, he realized that despite their intense relationship there were many things he didn’t know about her, many things they hadn’t shared.
He stood up when she returned to the living room with a small, flowery overnight bag in her hand. He took the bag from her, and moments later they were in his car, headed toward his ranch.
“You want to tell me exactly what happened tonight?” he asked.
“I figured you already knew. Somebody tried to rob the store.”
He glanced at her. She was ghostly pale in the light from the dashboard. “That’s the short version. I want all the details,” he said gently.
She leaned her head back against the seat, winced slightly and closed her eyes. “I was in the back in the office and went out to greet whoever had come in, but I didn’t see anyone so I went back to the office to lock up my desk and get ready to leave. I was halfway to the front door when he came out of the rack of clothes.”
Charlie’s hands tightened around the steering wheel as he heard the slight tremor in her voice and felt her fear grow palpable in the car.
“And then what?” he asked.
“He had a bat or something like that in his hands. I ran back toward the office. I knew if I could get inside I could lock the door and call for help.” She drew a tremulous breath. “I almost made it.” She opened her eyes and gave him a wry smile. “I guess I shouldn’t have stopped to admire that cute blouse on the mannequin.”
Her smile began to tremble and fell away as tears filled her eyes. “I’d just reached the office door when he hit me in the back of the head. I fell to my knees and he started to kick me.” A small sob escaped her, but she quickly sucked in a breath to stop her tears. “If Dana hadn’t come in for her paycheck, I don’t know what would have happened.”
“You didn’t see who it was? You couldn’t make an identification?”
“No. All I saw was a big, dark shadow.” She sucked in another breath and wiped her eyes before the tears could fall. “I guess I should be grateful that he didn’t get the money in the cash register.” Once again she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
Charlie said nothing, but his blood ran cold. What kind of a robber would walk right past the cash register and hide in a rack of clothes? If he’d truly been after quick cash, why not take the money from the register and escape out the front door?
His hands clenched tighter on the steering wheel as alarms rang in his head. What she’d just described didn’t sound like an attempted robbery. It sounded like attempted murder.
Under any other circumstances, Grace would have never agreed to go to Charlie’s for the night, but the truth was that she was afraid to be alone. The attack had shaken her up more than she wanted to admit, and even now as she closed her eyes, all she could see was a vision of the big shadow leaping out at her.
Almost as upsetting as the attack itself was the fact that she couldn’t think of a single friend who would welcome her into their home. Over the last couple of years she’d been so focused on the store, she hadn’t taken the time to nurture friendships. Her relationship with Rachel was the only one she’d managed to maintain, and she was reluctant to barge into Rachel’s happy home where she lived with her adoring husband and baby boy.
With William gone and Hope in the hospital, she really had no place else to turn but to Charlie. At least Rosa would be there.
A surge of anger swelled up inside Grace. Her mother should be here. Her mother should be the person calming her fears, offering her support and comfort. The anger was short-lived. She was unable to sustain it as her head pounded and her ribs ached.
She was grateful when Charlie pulled up to the ranch. Lights blazed from almost every window. All she wanted was a pain pill and a bed where she’d feel safe for the remainder of the night.
Rosa greeted them at the front door, fussing like a mother hen as she led Grace to the airy, open kitchen. “I’m going to make you a nice hot cup of tea, then it’s bed for you, you poor thing.”
As Grace eased down into a chair at the table and Charlie sat across from her, Rosa bustled around, preparing the tea. Despite the pounding of her head, Grace found the hominess of the room comforting. Maybe a cup of tea would banish the icy knot inside her chest.
It smelled like apple pie spices, and a vase of fresh-cut daisies sat in the center of the round oak table. The yellow gingham curtains added a dash of cheer.
“Tell me again what happened,” Charlie said.
“She will not,” Rosa said, her plump face wrinkling in disapproval as she shot a stern look at him. “There will be time for you to talk tomorrow. Right now what she needs is to drink that tea and get into bed. Haven’t you noticed that she’s pale as a ghost and in obvious pain?”
Grace looked at Charlie, and in the depths of his gray eyes, she saw compassion and caring and a flicker of something else, something deeper that both scared her and sent a rumbling shock wave through her.
She quickly broke eye contact with him and stared into her cup. Coming here had been a mistake. She didn’t want to see Charlie here in his home environment, one so different from his apartment in Oklahoma City.
“You want one of those pills?” Charlie asked.
She nodded. “I’d like a handful, but I’ll settle for one.”
“Your head still hurt?” he asked, as he got the bottle and shook out one of the pills.
“The only thing that takes my mind off how bad my head hurts is the pain in my ribs.” She forced a small smile that turned into a wince.
“I’m just going t
o go turn down your bed and fluff your pillows,” Rosa said, and left the kitchen.
Grace took the pill and sipped her tea, the warmth working its way into icy territory. She’d been cold since the moment the attacker had leapt out of the clothes rack. She would have given him any money she had if he’d demanded it. He hadn’t needed to hit her over the head and kick her.
She was aware of Charlie’s gaze on her, intent and somber. “What?” she finally asked. “What are you thinking, Charlie?”
“I’m thinking maybe we have a lot to talk about tomorrow.”
Instinctively she knew he was talking about more than William’s murder case, about more than the attack on her tonight. She frowned.
“Charlie, if you think I’m going to talk about anything that happened before three days ago, then you’re wrong. I have no desire to go back and hash out our past. I told you what I want from you. I want you to keep Hope out of jail. I appreciate what you’re doing for me tonight, but don’t mistake my need for your abilities as an attorney and investigator for a need for anything else. Don’t mistake my gratitude for anything other than that.”
Her speech exhausted her. Thankfully at that moment Rosa returned to the kitchen and Grace stood, a bit unsteady on her feet.
Charlie was at her side in an instant, his arm under hers for support. “Let’s get you into bed,” he said.
She was already feeling the initial effect of the pain medication, a floating sensation that took the edge off and made her legs a bit wobbly. She rarely took any kind of pain meds. She hated the feeling of being even slightly out of control.
Charlie led her down the hallway, and for a single, crazy moment, she wished he were going to crawl into bed with her. Not for sex—although sex with Charlie had always been amazing.
No, what she yearned for was his big, strong arms around her. He’d always been a great cuddle partner, and she’d never felt as loved, as safe, as when she’d been snuggled against him with his arms wrapped around her.
“You should be okay in here,” he said as they stepped into the room.
The guest room was large and decorated in various shades of blue. The bed was king-sized, the bedspread turned down to reveal crisp, white sheets.
“Do you want me to send in Rosa to help you get into your nightclothes?” he asked.
“No, I’ll be fine,” she replied. Her voice seemed to come from someplace far away. She looked up at him, his face slightly blurry, and again she was struck by a desire to fall into his arms—to burrow her head against his strong chest and let him hold her through the night.
“You need to go now, Charlie,” she said, and pushed him away.
He stepped back toward the door. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
He turned to leave but then faced her once again. “Grace? I could kill the man who did this to you.” His deep voice rumbled and his eyes flashed darkly.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “I appreciate the sentiment,” she said. “Good night, Charlie.”
“’Night, Grace.” He closed the door, and she was alone in the room.
It took what seemed like forever to get out of her clothes and into her nightgown. She went into the adjoining bathroom and brushed her teeth, then returned to the bedroom, where she turned out the bedside lamp and fell into bed.
It was only when she was finally alone that she began to cry. She didn’t know if her tears were for William, for Hope, for her mother or for herself.
And she feared they just might be tears because, in the past, Charlie Black hadn’t been the man she’d thought he was, the man she’d wanted him to be.
Chapter 6
It was just after two in the morning, and Charlie sat in the recliner chair by the window in the living room, staring out at the moonlit night.
He’d grown up on the ranch, and some of his happiest memories were of things that occurred here. He’d loved the feel of a horse beneath him and the smell of the rich earth, but in college, his head had gotten twisted, and suddenly the ranch hadn’t seemed good enough for him.
He’d been a fool. A shallow, stupid fool.
A year ago he would have never dreamed that he’d be back here on the ranch. He’d been living in the fast lane, making more money than he’d ever dreamed possible and enjoying a lifestyle of excess.
Meeting Grace had been the icing on the cake. He’d eagerly looked forward to the two weekends a month she came into town and stayed with him. Although he would have liked more from her, he got the feeling from her that he was an indulgence, like eating ice cream twice a month. But nobody really wanted a steady diet of ice cream.
He’d thought he was her boy toy. They’d never spoken about their relationship, never laid down ground rules or speculated on where it was going. They’d just enjoyed it.
Until that night. That crazy Friday night when things—when he—had spiraled out of control.
He shoved these thoughts from his mind and closed his eyes and drew a weary breath. He was tired, but sleep remained elusive. The attack on her earlier tonight worried him because it didn’t make sense.
If the goal of the person in the store had been to rob it, then why carry in a bat, why not a gun? Why leave the cash register untouched and go after Grace? Had he thought that her cash might be locked away in the office? Possibly.
He sat up straighter in his chair as he sensed movement in the hallway. He reached over and turned on the small lamp on the table next to his chair.
Grace appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a short, pink silk robe tied around her slender waist, and her hair was tousled from sleep. She didn’t appear to be surprised that he was still awake.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
“I had a bad dream. I tried to go back to sleep, but decided maybe it was time for another pain pill.” She walked across the room to the sofa and curled up with her bare legs beneath her. “What’s your excuse for being up this time of the night?”
“No bad dreams, just confusing thoughts.”
“What kind of confusing thoughts?” she asked, and then held up a hand. “Wait, I don’t want to know, at least not tonight.” She reached up and smoothed a strand of her golden hair away from her face. “Talk to me about pleasant things, Charlie. I feel like the last couple of days have been nothing but bad things. Tell me about your life here at the ranch. What made you decide to move back here?”
“You heard about Dad’s heart attack?”
She nodded. “And I’m sorry.”
“Initially I was just going to come back here to deal with whatever needed to be taken care of to get the place on the market and sold, but something happened in those days right after I buried Dad.”
He paused a moment and stared back out the window, but it was impossible to see anything but his own reflection. In truth, his life had begun a transformation on the night that Grace left him, but he knew she wouldn’t want to hear that, probably wouldn’t believe him, anyway.
He looked back at her. “I realized that I hated my life, that I missed waking up in the mornings and hearing the cows lowing in the pasture, that I missed the feel of a horse beneath me and the warm sun on my back. I realized it was time to come home to Cotter Creek.”
She leaned her head back against the cushions. “When I was planning to open a dress shop, William told me I could use the money he loaned me to open one anywhere in the country, but it never entered my mind to be anywhere but here,” she said. “Cotter Creek is and always will be home. I love it here, the small-town feel, the people, everything. Has the transition been tough for you?”
“Learning the ins and outs of ranching has been challenging,” he admitted. “Even though I grew up here I never paid much attention to the day-to-day details. I already had my sights set on something different than the ranch. My ranch hands have had a fine time tormenting the city boy in me. The first thing they told me was that cow manure was a natural cleaner for Italian
leather shoes.”
She laughed and that’s exactly what he’d wanted, to hear that rich, melodic sound coming from her. She was a woman made for laughter, and for the next few minutes he continued to tell her about the silly things that had happened when he’d first taken over the ranch.
He embellished each story as necessary to get the best entertainment value—needing, wanting, to keep her laughing so the dark shadows of fear and worry wouldn’t claim her eyes again.
“Stop,” she finally said, her arms wrapped around her ribs.
“You need that pain pill now?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think so. To be honest, what I’d like is something to eat. Maybe I could just fix a quick sandwich or something. I didn’t eat dinner last night,” she said with a touch of apology.
“I’ll bet there’s some leftover roast beef from Rosa’s dinner in the fridge. Want to come into the kitchen or do you want me to fix you a plate and bring it to you?”
She unfolded those long, shapely legs of hers. “I’ll come to the kitchen.” She stood and frowned. “We won’t wake up Rosa, will we?”
“Nah. First of all she sleeps like the dead, and secondly her room is on the other side of the house.” Charlie got up and followed her into the kitchen, trying not to notice how the silky robe clung to her lush curves.
He flipped on the kitchen light, and as she slid into a chair at the table, he walked over to the refrigerator, then turned back to look at her. “If you’d rather not have leftover roast, I could whip up an omelet with toast.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You never used to cook.”
He knew she was remembering that when they had been seeing each other he’d always taken his meals out, keeping only prepared food in his apartment that required nothing more than opening a lid or popping it into the microwave.
“When I came back here to the ranch, I learned survival cooking skills. Rosa takes three days off a week to stay with her son and his family, and during those days I’m on my own. So, cooking became a necessity, and to my surprise I rather like it.”
The Rancher Bodyguard Page 6