A Good Man Walks In

by Ginna Gray

  He sighed again,.no longer even hearing Raphael's chatter. Face it; he more than liked her.

  And he hated the very thought of her returning to that arrogant bastard she'd married.

  In the past two weeks he'd come to care for Rebecca in ways that he'd never dreamed of before. One corner of Travis's mouth twitched. Hell, he'd been so sure that they could be friends. And they were. However, the feelings between them were developing into much more than that. What, exactly, he wasn't certain—he wasn't even sure he wanted to find out—but he knew that she felt it, too.

  So why hadn't she let him stay? If she wanted to discourage the guy, then what better way?

  Jaw set, Travis glared at the house again. How long did it take to tell a guy to get lost, for Pete's sake? He sure as hell wasn't going to stay out here all night, cooling his heels. One more minute—that was all he'd give them. Then, like it or not, he was going back inside.

  The silent threat had no sooner formed than Evan Hall appeared at one of the French doors. He paused briefly with his hand on the knob, then strode out. Against the light spilling from the house he was just a black silhouette, but that was all it took to read his mood. He marched across the deck and stomped down the steps, each stiff, jerky movement radiating anger.

  The sight cheered Travis immensely, and he came away from the rail grinning. So, Rebecca had sent him away with a flea in his ear, had she. Good for her.

  "Sorry, mi amigo," he said, interrupting Raphael's long discourse on the correct bait to use for catching swordfish. "But it looks like your passenger is ready to shove off. I'd better get going. See you around. Tell Pepe and Constanza that Rebecca and I will be over in a day or so," he added as he hopped onto the pier.

  Evan Hall strode toward the Juanita so fast the two men drew even before Travis had covered a quarter of the pier. Travis cocked his eyebrows and grinned. "What? Leaving so soon?"

  The other man shot him a furious glare and brushed past without bothering to answer.

  Travis chuckled. Whistling a jaunty tune, he stuck his fingertips into the back pockets of his jeans and sauntered toward the house. Hot damn, he felt good.

  When he stepped through the French doors, Rebecca was in the kitchen, standing at the sink with her back to him. Some of his cocky elation drained away when he noted the hunch of her shoulders and her utter stillness. Ah, hell. Had she wanted to reconcile with that jerk? Was it possible that she still loved the guy?

  The thought did not set well with Travis, and his features fell even more. He stepped farther into the room and stopped. All of a sudden, he didn't know what to say. "Well, uh...how did it go? Did you get everything settled?"

  Rebecca jumped at the sound of his voice, and hastily tossed something into the sink. Travis frowned. He watched her shoulders square and her head come up.

  "Yes. I... I think we came to an understanding."

  "I see. Good. Good." He waited, hoping she would elaborate, but she remained silent, her back ramrod straight and stiff. He shifted his weight to one hip and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. "Umm... do you think he'll be back?"

  A visible shudder rippled through her, and his mood immediately brightened again.

  "No... that is... I don't know. I hope not."

  "Look. If you don't want to see the guy again, you don't have to, you know. If he comes back I'll get rid of him for you."

  "That's sweet of you, Travis. But I can't involve you in my problems."

  "Hey, it'd be my pleasure," he said with gleeful relish. "No offense, but to tell you the truth, sweetheart, something about your ex rubs me the wrong way. Kinda makes me question your taste in men, too, if you know what I mean."

  Though the first was true, he had added the last to tease her and lighten the mood. He waited for her to laugh, or to retaliate with one of her sputtering comebacks, but she didn't make a sound. She simply stood there.

  Travis frowned at her stiff back. What the devil was wrong with her? The least she could do was turn around and look at him.

  He rounded the end of the counter and came up behind her on her left side. "Rebecca? What's wrong?" he said gently, laying his hand on her shoulder.

  She jumped at the contact and turned her face away. "Nothing," she denied quickly. "Nothing at all."

  "Then why won't you look at me?" He tried to turn her to face him, but she resisted and craned her head even farther around the other way. "Rebecca, sweetheart, are—?"

  Whatever question he had been about to ask shot right out of his mind when he spotted bloodied paper towel lying in the bottom of the sink. "What the—?"

  His gaze snapped to Rebecca, but all he could see of her averted face was a thin sliver of her jaw and temple, right in front of her ear. His heart began to slam against his chest.

  "Rebecca, look at me," he ordered, but when he tried to turn her again, she gripped the edge of the sink.

  "No. Please, no. Just leave me alone."

  The pathetic plea came out in a whimper that tore at him. No power on earth could have made him do as she asked. Reaching around in front of her, he caught the tip of her chin between his thumb and forefinger and urged it toward him.

  "No. Oh, please don't," Rebecca begged tearfully, grabbing his wrist.

  She fought against the inexorable pull, but her strength was no match for Travis. Slowly, her profile came into view. Her lips were pressed tightly together to stop their trembling. Tears seeped from beneath the fan of lashes that lay against her left cheek, and under his fingers her chin wobbled pathetically.

  "C'mon, sweetheart," he urged, turning her face slowly but surely. "Let me look at— "

  Travis sucked in his breath.''Good... God!"

  He stared at her, and felt as though he'd received a blow from a sledgehammer right in his solar plexus.

  The entire right side of Rebecca's face was swollen, and already her creamy skin showed a purple discoloration. A cut at the corner of her right eye oozed blood and the lid was so puffy she could not open the eye but a slit. Already an angry, dark red ring surrounded it. By tomorrow it would turn purplish black.

  "That bastard did this to you?" Travis snarled. "He hit you?"

  Rebecca pressed her lips together tighter and nodded, but she still did not open her eyes.

  "Why that sorry, son-of-a—" His head snapped toward the French doors. He took an instinctive half-step in that direction before he realized the futility of the action. The Juanita was already far out to sea, her running lights only a faint glow in the distance.

  Travis let loose a string of vivid curses. Rebecca whimpered and turned her head aside again.

  "Oh, God, sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said fervently when he became aware of her distress. "If I could get my hands on that bastard I'd kill him. I swear I would."

  When he tried to pull Rebecca into his embrace, she resisted, but Travis was having none of that. He wrapped his arms around her and with gentle but firm pressure settled the uninjured side of her face against his chest. He held it there with his big hand cupping the back of her head, his splayed fingers buried deep in the glossy curls. "Shh. Shh. Take it easy. Don't fight me, sweetheart."

  Though she stopped struggling, she stood stiff and unyielding within his embrace. He felt the awful trembling that seemed to come from her soul, the choppy sobs that shook her chest, which she fought so hard to hold back. Travis's own chest felt as though it were being squeezed in a vise.

  A sob broke free, and then another, little choking sounds that tore from her throat.

  "Go ahead and let it out, sweetheart," he crooned. "It's okay. God knows, you've got a right to cry."

  Her whole body jerked as, one after another, three more sobs burst forth, each stronger and less controlled than the one that had preceded it.

  "That's it. That's the way. Come on, baby, let go. You'll feel better when you do."

  The soft coaxing rent asunder her already cracked defenses, like water bursting forth through a collapsing dam, the tears she had
been holding back erupted. She sagged against him, her hands clutching fistfuls of his wrinkled chambray shirt as though it were a lifeline. Great racking sobs poured from her, raw, raspy cries that shook her whole body and were terrible to hear. Her tears flowed freely, the warm wetness soaking the front of his shirt and melding it to his hairy chest.

  Travis laid his cheek against her crown and rocked her gently. The hand not cupping her head rubbed up and down her back as the agonizing cries went on and on. The vise around Travis's heart tightened. He swallowed hard. His eyes began to burn. His nose stung.

  Rebecca clung to him and cried until there were no tears left. When her sobs had tapered off to shuddering sighs and occasional watery hiccups, Travis put his finger beneath her chin with the intention of lifting her face.

  At the first touch she stiffened and tried to pull away, taking a half step back before he caught her arms and stopped her.

  "No, don't look at me. Please." She hunched her shoulders, and pulled against his hold. Turning her face to the side, she closed her eyes and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  "Rebecca? Honey, come on—"

  "No, please don't look at me. Please don't. I can't stand it."

  Travis stared at her profile. Her spiked lashes lay against her pale left cheek like a wet fan. Fresh tears seeped from beneath them, and despite her efforts to hold them still, her lips quivered uncontrollably. Utter misery stamped her features—misery and, he realized with astonishment, humiliation.

  "Sweetheart, listen to me." He cupped her chin in the V between his thumb and fingers and firmly turned her face around. "You have absolutely no reason to be embarrassed. Hurt? Sure. Angry? Hell, yes. But not embarrassed. You haven't done anything wrong, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.''

  Her lashes lifted slowly and she looked at him with desolate, tear-drenched eyes. "You don't understand—"

  "That's right. I don't," he agreed, brusquely cutting her off. An unaccustomed anger consumed him. It swelled inside his chest and spread, filling every cell in his body, making him want to lash out at something, but for the moment, for Rebecca's sake, he knew he had to subdue it. "I'd be happy for you to explain it to me later, but right now I'm putting you to bed.'' Before she could respond, he swooped her up in his arms and headed for her room.

  He ignored her protests. In her room, he laid her down on the bed, issued instructions for her to stay put, and disappeared into the bathroom. Minutes later, he returned with a pan of water, a washcloth and a first-aid kit.

  "Travis, you don't have to do this."

  He sat down on the bed and, without a word, tenderly bathed her swollen face and the cut at the corner of her eye. Every time she flinched, he felt as if someone were twisting a knife in his gut. Throughout the ordeal, whenever their gazes met, Rebecca's immediately skittered away. The sadness and defeat in her eyes filled him with Savage fury.

  When he finished bathing her face he smeared antibiotic cream on the cut. "I don't think it needs any stitches, but I'll take you to San Cristobal to see a doctor if you want."

  "Thank you, no. I'm sure it'll be fine," she said in a meek voice that made him grind his teeth.

  He firmed his mouth and held on to his temper. Barely. He wanted to beat the living hell out of Evan Hall.

  He had to get away from her—at least for a few minutes—before he vented his wrath by putting his fist through the wall, and scared her even more.

  "I'll be right back," he muttered, and stomped into the bathroom. When he'd emptied the pan of water and returned the first-aid kit to the cabinet, he prowled the small room, fists clenched, jaw clenched, his face contorted.

  A red rage engulfed him and ate at his soul like corrosive acid. He felt violent. He, who rarely got angry over anything, who most people swore hadn't a nerve in his body, who let all the ugliness and brutality in the world, all of mankind's greed and vice and viciousness, roll off him like water off a duck's back, wanted to commit murder.

  The emotions that roiled through him were stronger than anything he'd ever experienced. He hadn't known it was possible to feel something to that degree and not explode. The thought of that son-of-a-bitch hitting Rebecca was almost more than he could bear.

  Glancing toward the bedroom, he raked a hand through his hair and sighed. Somehow, though, he was going to have to get a grip on his fury. There was nothing he could do about Evan at the moment, and Rebecca needed him.

  After rummaging through the cabinets for a moment, he returned to the bedroom and handed Rebecca a glass of water. "Here, take these," he said, and shook two aspirin into her palm. She started to protest, but Travis forestalled her with a gruff, "And don't tell me you don't need them. I've been in enough fights to know that your cheek and eye have got to hurt like hell."

  Unable to meet his stare, Rebecca nodded meekly, tossed back the painkiller and settled back on the pillow.

  "Here. I couldn't find an icebag, but this will help." Travis laid a cold wet washcloth against her swollen cheek, and Rebecca made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

  Travis sat down on the bed again, facing her. For a moment he didn't speak but merely watched her adjust the cloth to her satisfaction,, and try to avoid his gaze. "How long has this been going on?"

  She flinched and shot him a stricken look, her one good eye widening. She looked down at her hands. "Almost from the beginning of our marriage.''

  "Six years? My, God, Rebecca. Why? Why didn't you leave the bastard a long time ago? No, wait. Don't answer that." Shaking his head, he held his hands up, palms out. "I promised myself that I wouldn't badger you. You're in no shape for an inquisition. Tonight what you need is rest and care." He stood abruptly and stalked across the room to the dresser and began to rummage through the drawers.

  "Th-thank you, Travis."

  Pausing, he shot her a level look over his shoulder. "Don't thank me too soon, Rebecca. Tomorrow morning you and I are going to have a long talk."

  He went back to pawing through her things and finally pulled out a teal silk nightgown with small puffed sleeves. Holding it aloft, hooked on one finger, he surveyed the garment with disgust. "Don't you have anything more substantial than this to sleep in?" On one level, he was aware that at almost any other time the mere thought of Rebecca's delectable body swathed in the wisp of silk and lace would have turned him on, but at the moment all he could think about was making her warm and comfortable.

  "N-n-no. I don-don't th-th-think so."

  The broken reply brought his head snapping around. He frowned when he saw that she was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.

  Delayed shock. After what she'd been through, he wasn't surprised. Cursing, he dropped the nightgown back in the drawer. "Hold on just a bit longer, sweetheart. I'll be back in thirty seconds," he told her, and dashed out the door.

  He was back in ten with the top half of his fleece-lined sweats. "Here, let's get you out of these clothes and into something warm and comfortable." By the time he got the words out, he had unbuttoned her shirt, unsnapped her jeans and was peeling both off of her.

  "Tra-Tra-vis, wha-what are y-you.. .st-st-stop tha-that."

  "Don't fret, sugar. Trust me, I know what's best for you." He brushed her hands aside, effortlessly fending off her feeble attempts to stop him. Shoes, jeans and shirt were quickly stripped away and flung aside. With practiced ease, he dealt with the clasp on her bra and sent it sailing after the other items of clothing, leaving her clad in only the tiny navy blue panties and white cotton socks.

  Rebecca's hands came up to shield her bare breasts, but her embarrassed moan was quickly muffled by folds of fleecy knit when he dropped the sweatshirt over her head. With gentle but firm efficiency, as though dealing with a sick child, he stuffed her arms through the sleeves, tugged the banded edge down until it almost reached her knees lifting her with one arm, he whipped back the covers and tucked her beneath them.

  She lay stiff, gazing hopefully up at him with her one good eye, shaking so ha
rd the covers quivered. Her teeth chattered like castanets. "Be right back," Travis said, and hurried out again.

  He quickly turned out the rest of the lights in the house and sprinted back, bringing with him the afghan from off the back of one of the living room sofas. After spreading it over her, he stepped out of his shoes, unsnapped his jeans and lowered the zipper.

  "Wha-what are you d-d-doing?"

  "Just what it looks like. I'm getting ready for bed." He hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of his jeans and shoved them down. In seconds he had shucked pants, shirt and socks. Wearing only his white knit briefs, he calmly lifted the corner of the covers and slid into bed beside Rebecca.

  "Tr-Tra-vis, you can't—"

  "Shh." Wrapping his arms around her, he gathered her close and firmly settled her head against his shoulder. "Don't be frightened, sweetheart. I'm just going to hold you."

  "Bu-but-"

  "Shh. I'm not going anywhere, Rebecca, so you might as well save your breath. You shouldn't be by yourself tonight. Just relax and go to sleep and let me take care of you."

  Travis didn't think Evan would have the nerve to come back, but just in case, he wasn't about to leave her alone. Beyond that, he needed to hold her. And he was certain that—whether she admitted it or not—she needed him, too. She was fragile and hurting, and no power on earth could have driven him from her side; certainly not Rebecca's feeble protests.

  She ceased struggling, but lay stiff within his embrace. He nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head and felt her silky hair catch in his whisker stubble. In a slow, mesmerizing rhythm, he rubbed his hand up and down her back and held her close, absorbing her shivers, imparting his heat, giving the comfort and solace of his nearness and caring.