One Night with the Wealthy Rancher Page 10

  “Kev, were you informed that Huntington had reduced the number of security guards at Helping Hands?”

  “No.”

  An angry Darius went on to tell Kevin about the incident that had occurred last night. “Huntington has no right to make those kinds of decisions without discussing it with the committee first, and I am part of that committee,” Kevin said, almost livid.

  “The man’s been a part of the TCC for so long I believe he thinks he owns it, which is why he constantly overlooks anything the younger members have to say,” Darius said.

  “And how is Summer Martindale?”

  “She’s a little shaken up, although she was trying not to show it. The staff here is nervous—first Green breaking doors down and now this tire-slashing incident. It doesn’t bode well. There have been revenge-type incidents reported in various cities around the country, and they are aware of it. We need to make sure they feel protected.”

  Darius tried to convince himself that his concern for Summer was no different than his concern for any other woman he’d once been involved with, but deep down a part of him knew that wasn’t true. He would even go so far as to admit missing her whenever he spent time away from Helping Hands.

  They were feelings that he didn’t want to feel. One way to remedy that was to start keeping his distance, but then he wouldn’t be able to make her feel the way he had felt when she’d left. He just needed to make sure he kept things in perspective.

  “I totally agree,” Kevin said, bringing Darius’s attention back to the matter at hand. “I’ll confront Huntington myself, and if I have to, I’ll call a special meeting of the board.”

  Moments later, Darius hung up the phone feeling a lot better than he had before making the call to Kev. He knew his friend wouldn’t like the “executive” decision Huntington had made regarding the security at the shelter any more than he did. As usual, the man was trying to throw his weight around, fighting for power he really didn’t have. But Darius relaxed a bit, knowing Kev was on it.

  He glanced at his watch. He needed to leave for a while to attend to business concerning the fire at the refinery—he had to talk to several guys who had been off work the day he’d met with the employees the last time. But he intended to return to the shelter before Summer left for lunch. The thought of her walking anywhere alone troubled his mind.

  From now on, he would make sure that she was well protected. At all costs.

  Three days later, Summer glanced over at Darius before looking down at her watch. It was a little past eight in the evening. She had volunteered to stay for a few hours to help man the abuse hotline, and he had surprised her when he volunteered to assist her.

  At first, she hadn’t been sure whether women on the other line would want to unload their pain and anguish to a man, but from overhearing bits and pieces of his conversations, she could tell he was handling things quite nicely. She would be the first to admit that he had a good demeanor for assisting those who called in, male or female.

  “What time are you leaving?” she asked him. Since the night her tires had gotten slashed, he had made it his business to return to the shelter every day after being at the refinery in the mornings, to walk her to the café for lunch. And if she remained late in the evenings, he did so, as well. Then he would not only walk her to her car, but would follow her home to make sure she got in safely.

  “I’ll leave when you leave,” he said, glancing over at her.

  In a way, his protectiveness irked her. She didn’t want him to feel like she needed him in any way. “There are two security guards now, so I’ll be all right.” She really hadn’t been surprised when, the day after the tire-slashing incident, two guards were on duty. There was no doubt in her mind that Darius had had something to do with it, although what exactly, she wasn’t sure.

  “I plan to leave in a few minutes,” she said.

  He smiled over at her. “Then so will I.”

  And he did. After she had handled the last call she would take, she gathered up her belongings and headed for the door with him by her side. He nodded to the guards on duty as they passed.

  “Nice night,” he said.

  She looked up at the sky and saw the full moon and the stars, and how they illuminated the otherwise dark sky. He was right. It was a nice night.

  “I’ll be following you home again.”

  She glanced over at him. “It’s your gas.”

  She said nothing as they continued walking. When he opened the car door for her, she slid inside, noticing how his gaze shifted to her legs when her skirt accidentally showed a little bit of flesh. She started to say something about his wandering eyes and decided not to. It probably wouldn’t do any good anyway.

  The drive to her place was uneventful and whenever she glanced in her rearview mirror, he was there. She would admit that, considering the incidents of the past two weeks, she felt a semblance of security knowing he was near, just like the days and nights following that episode with Tyrone.

  She parked her car in the driveway and was surprised when he parked behind her and got out of his vehicle. The other times he had followed her home, he had stayed in the car while she went inside and then left. She wondered why he had changed the routine, and she didn’t like the way her skin seemed to feel warm all over as he came closer.

  “You have a two-car garage. Any reason you aren’t parking in it?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of her.

  “It’s full of boxes. I haven’t unpacked everything yet.” She paused. “Why did you get out of the car?”

  She appreciated him seeing her home, but she had no intentions of asking him inside. Her house was her place. Her own private space. When she had moved to Somerset and found what she thought was the perfect neighborhood along with the perfect house, she had moved in, determined to keep bad memories from past experiences outside. Darius was a reminder of a bad past experience.

  “I overheard you mention to Marcy that you had a dripping bathroom faucet that was keeping you awake at night. I thought I’d take care of it for you.”

  “Now?”

  “I don’t have anything else I have to do.”

  Summer sighed. She did. She wanted to take a shower and go to bed. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll get around to calling a plumber later this week.”

  “No need. It will only take a minute. Then I’ll be out of here.”

  Standing in the shadows, she could barely see the features of his face in the moonlight. But what she did see was a man who had first been her friend and then her lover. She didn’t know what he was now, aside from very determined to look out for her.

  From the look of things, his mind was made up. She really wanted the faucet fixed. Since he had volunteered, she might as well take him up on his offer. “All right, then. Thanks.”

  “I’ve told you more than once that you don’t ever have to thank me for doing what I do when it involves you, Summer.”

  She swallowed. Yes, he had said that more than once. Most times had been when they were sitting on a sofa, hugged up while watching television. She’d enjoyed those nights when they would sit curled up with a movie, sharing a bowl of popcorn in her living room, talking.

  Another thing she had appreciated about him was that he had never tried pressuring her into sex. That night when they had finally made love, it was because it was something they both wanted, not something he had pushed her into doing.

  “Yes, I know you don’t need my thanks, but I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it,” she finally sa
id.

  “Fine. Let me grab my toolbox out the car.”

  She waited while he went back to his car. Moments later, she grabbed her mail out of the box and opened the door, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake letting him inside.

  He followed her and closed the door behind them. The click of the lock made her fully aware that they were alone, totally and completely. Trying to ignore her nerves, she threw the mail on the table. Since she paid most of her bills online, she knew the majority of it was nothing but junk mail anyway.

  “Nice place,” he complimented, glancing around. She knew he was taking stock of her place.

  She tried to ignore how at home he looked in her living room. Like he belonged there. “Thanks.”

  This house was a lot more spacious than her apartment had been, and since she had a job that paid well, she could afford nice furniture.

  “Which bathroom has the dripping faucet?”

  “The one in my bedroom.” Too late she realized that he was going to go into her most private room.

  “Which way?”

  “Down the hall to your right.”

  When he disappeared around the corner, she inhaled deeply, deciding she needed to do something other than just stand there while he repaired the faucet. She needed to at least appear busy. Unfortunately, there weren’t any plants she had to water, nor were there dishes in her sink that she needed to wash. Her gaze lit on the junk mail that she had placed on the table and she decided now was as good a time as any to go through it.

  Darius moved down the hall toward Summer’s bedroom, thinking she had a lovely home. It was an old house, but very well cared for and maintained. He also liked the vibrant colors that suited her decor and the furnishings that blended in so well. And she was still neat as a pin, he thought, entering her bedroom and glancing around. His gaze came to a stop on the queen-size bed and he couldn’t help but wonder what man had probably shared it with her. A rich, older man, no doubt.

  Overhearing the conversation about her dripping faucet had given him the perfect excuse to invite himself in. For some reason, he had wanted to see the house that she was living in without him. Although they’d never actually discussed marriage seven years ago, as far as he was concerned, it had been the next thing on the agenda for them. He’d known that after what Whitman had put her through, it would be hard for her to put her trust in any man, but he had been willing to be patient and give her whatever amount of time she needed to learn to trust a man again. She’d needed to know that he was someone she could depend on. Someone who would always be there for her. Too bad she hadn’t given them a chance.

  Forcing those thoughts from his mind, he headed toward her bathroom. He had just stepped over the threshold and placed the toolbox on the floor when she frantically called out his name.

  He rushed to the living room and saw total shock on her face. “Summer? What’s wrong?”

  She stared up at him, barely able to force words past her lips. But he did hear the one single name she said.

  “Tyrone.”

  He looked at her, confused, not sure why she was bringing up the man who’d caused her nothing but grief. “What about Whitman, Summer?”

  She glanced down and he followed her gaze to the mail sprawled at her feet. He quickly figured that something in one of the letters must have upset her.

  He bent down, picked up the envelopes and flipped through them. Then he saw a letter from the Texas Parole Board. From the look of the envelope—specifically, all the stamp marks all over it—the post office had made several attempts to deliver it to her.

  He pulled out the letter and read it, and then took a deep breath. As a former police officer, he was familiar with Texas law regarding those who’d been victims of violent crimes. A standard letter was issued to notify victims of the parole board’s decision to release an inmate.

  Darius glanced up at the date of the letter. It had been sent over a month ago. Tyrone Whitman was now a free man.

  “I want you to drink this and please don’t tell me that you don’t need it because you do,” Darius said, walking over to where Summer sat on the sofa with a cup of coffee laced with brandy in his hand.

  Something had had him on edge all day, and he hadn’t been able to figure out what. But now he knew. The thought that the man who had caused Summer so much grief had only served seven years of a twenty-year sentence made him very angry. But right now, Summer didn’t need his anger. More than anything, she needed his support.

  Surprisingly, she took the cup without giving him a hard time and took a sip. A frown appeared on her face and he knew why—he had made it a little too strong but if anything, it would help her sleep.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, breaking the quiet stillness of the room and leaning forward to place the cup on the coffee table. “How can Tyrone be out of prison? That makes no sense.”

  Darius had to agree with her. It definitely made no sense given the man’s crime. They should have put him in jail and thrown away the key. There was no way Whitman should be free to walk around. At least not on this planet. How could they have done such a thing?

  He cringed whenever he thought about the final days of the trial and the threats Whitman had shouted out to Summer, saying what he would do to her if he ever got out. He wondered if Summer was remembering those days. He doubted she could forget. She stood and began pacing the floor. He watched her. He of all people knew how she felt, how upset she had to be.

  “Tomorrow I’ll make a few calls and try to pinpoint his whereabouts,” he said, trying to make her feel secure. “Usually when someone who has committed a serious crime is paroled, they’re released with a number of restrictions. I bet Whitman can’t leave Houston.”

  She stopped pacing and glanced over at him with blatant hope in her gaze. “You think so?”

  “I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  Seeing the panic she was fighting to control gave him pause. At that moment she was no longer the confident, self-assured woman he had watched over the past two weeks. Now there was real fear in her eyes and a sign of helplessness in her voice, and he didn’t like it.

  Crossing the room he pulled her into his arms. And when she began to tremble while he held her close, whatever hard casting surrounding his heart began to crumble. She needed him and there was no way he could not be there for her.

  As if she was relieved to be able to hold on to something solid, she wrapped her arms around him. He was unprepared for the slew of emotions that rushed through him. He would protect her with his life if he had to, and would never let Whitman get close to her again.

  He pulled back slightly, wanting to look at her, to make sure she was okay, and when his gaze settled on her lips, he was drawn to them like a magnet. Without any control, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  The moment he drew her tongue into his mouth and began feasting on it, he felt sensations all the way to his toes and couldn’t do anything but shiver with the pleasure of their intimacy. He drew his arms around her, tightening his hold to bring her body flush with his.

  Summer felt his hardness, firm and rigid, pressing against her and marveled that his body was letting her know how much he wanted her. The only times she’d ever been kissed with such heat and passion was when he did the kissing.

  He shifted the angle of his head, which caused her to follow as she tilted the curve of her mouth to his and nearly moaned out loud when his tongue took hold of hers with an intensity that made her weak in the knees.

  When he finally released her lips, she leaned into him and sighed deepl
y. She had needed that kiss. She had needed the connection.

  He felt firm, warm and solid—everything she needed at that moment. And in his arms she felt safe and secure. Protected. The thought that Tyrone was no longer locked up behind bars sent real fear through her, fear she was trying hard not to show. But every time she remembered those threats he’d yelled out in the courtroom while being taken away, she couldn’t ignore the real panic that wanted to overtake her entire being.

  “I don’t want you to stay here tonight. You should come home with me, Summer.”

  She leaned back in his arms and met his gaze. “I can’t do that, Darius. I’ll be okay and—”

  “No, Summer, think about it. I don’t want to scare you, but until we know for sure that Whitman is in Houston, I don’t want you here alone. What if those two incidents at the shelter had nothing to do with a disgruntled husband or boyfriend? What if Whitman is in violation of his parole and is not in Houston but here in Somerset and responsible for leaving that note on your windshield as well as slashing your tires?”

  Darius saw the glint of real fear in her eyes when she considered those possibilities. What he’d said was true. He was not deliberately trying to scare her but she had to face the facts. And until he checked to see just where Whitman was and what he was doing, he would not let her feel safe. Hell, as far as he was concerned, as long as Whitman walked the streets he wouldn’t advise Summer to feel safe. She had become an obsession to the man. In Whitman’s eyes, she had betrayed him and he intended to teach her a lesson for doing so. He had made that threat in the courtroom with a crazed look in his eyes. Darius would never forget it.

  “I’ll go back to the shelter and sleep on the sofa in my office, and—”

  “And what if word gets around to the women at Helping Hands that you, the woman who counsels them, is in the same predicament they are? Will that offer them any real hope for a brighter future when the man who disrupted your life seven years ago is still doing so?”