Protected by a Hero

by Susan Stoker, Cristin Harber, Cora Seton, Lynn Raye Harris, Kaylea Cross, Katie Reus, Tessa Layne

  Without a doubt, the best antidepressants in the world had four legs and a wagging tail. Even Wyatt and his demons didn’t stand a fucking chance against that kind of medicine.

  Holding the dog to him, he sighed, his voice rough as he spoke to the empty room. “So now what the hell am I gonna do with myself?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  His personal monsters were out in full force tonight. Even worse than usual, and at this stage he’d assumed that wasn’t possible.

  Times like this made him wish he had the guts to kill himself and get it the hell over with. Anything to stop the memories and the cycle of self-destruction that had led him to this point.

  Shutting his truck door behind him he headed through the garage into the house. The piece of shit house he was forced to rent because he’d lost pretty much everything.

  In the kitchen he went straight for the bottle of Jack sitting on the counter. This time he didn’t even bother pouring it into a glass, he just drank straight from the bottle, the burn igniting a mellow heat that spread out from the pit of his stomach.

  After a few swallows he set it down and reached with a shaking hand for one of the prescriptions sitting next to the sink. The instructions warned not to consume alcohol with them, but fuck it. Mixing them hadn’t killed him yet, and it was a risk he was more than willing to take. He craved the oblivion that only getting wasted could bring.

  The nights were always the hardest, with mornings a close second, when everything hit him all over again. Now that he was alone there was nothing to quiet the static in his head. At this point he wasn’t sure if the pain he felt was all in his head or not. The alcohol helped numb him for a little while, but tonight he planned to get good and shitfaced.

  Glancing around the empty kitchen, the walls began to close in around him. Desperate to escape the loneliness and the memories that ate him alive, he shoved his way through the screen door and onto the back porch that looked out onto the tiny patch of grass he called a yard.

  Above him the night sky stretched out in a blanket of black. Crickets sang in the distance as he watched the clouds pass over the face of the moon. A few months ago he’d lived in a four-thousand-square-foot home set on two acres of land. He’d had a wife, a beautiful wife—

  No. He didn’t want to think about that heartless bitch. She’d kicked him out of her life and moved on, telling him she was done with him and his addictions. She’d vowed to stand with him through sickness and health, but she hadn’t meant it. Not really.

  A wave of self-loathing and pity washed over him as he stood there surveying the state he now found himself in. His life was as fucked-up as he was, but nobody cared. Not his ex or his family. Not even his friends. Oh, they had sympathized at first, but now they all said this was his fault. That he’d brought all this on himself with the booze and drugs.

  They didn’t get it. Just because his wounds weren’t visible didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  It enraged him that people blamed him for the way his life had turned out. If he’d been like that damn Wyatt, with the marks of his personal demons right out there in the open for everyone to see, things would have been way different.

  People in this town might pity Wyatt for what had happened to him, but at least they still respected him. But Wyatt was a Colebrook. A family that had been in the Valley forever and damn near revered by the people here. They had money, they had connections, things that made their lives so much easier than his.

  He was sick to fucking death of hearing about them all, of having the wounded paragon that was Wyatt rubbed in his face every damn day.

  The more he thought about it, the more bitter he became. Unlike Wyatt, no one respected him anymore. No one cared that his entire life was falling apart all around him. Here he was, stuck in this dump and scraping by from month to month, while Wyatt lived for free on his family’s land.

  And Piper always there to check on him.

  Thinking of her made the knife of jealousy twist harder. She was beautiful, and always seemed to wind up coming out on top no matter what life threw at her, while he sank lower and lower.

  He scowled up at the moon as the resentment grew. Why the hell did she still care about Wyatt so much? What power did he hold over her? Even after all this time she was always there for him, always calling or popping by with cookies and pie or whatever.

  She went to Wyatt, while he suffered alone. It wasn’t fair.

  Rage built inside him, growing hotter with each passing minute. It was all Wyatt’s fault. All of it. When he thought of that arrogant bastard he wanted to punch him in his scarred fucking face. He wanted to see the high-and-mighty Wyatt Colebrook hurt as much as he was hurting.

  The tantalizing thought took root in his brain and wouldn’t let go. It had been forming in there for a while but now it was irresistible. He could even the score. Make Wyatt suffer for everything he’d caused.

  His steps were uneven as he staggered back into the house and down the peeling linoleum hallway to the room he slept in. A box and mattress sat on the stained carpet next to the footlocker he’d kept.

  Kneeling in front of it, he undid the lock and opened the lid. With a shaking hand he reached in for the pistol sitting on top. He cleaned it every day and took it to the range at least four times a week, always made sure it was fully loaded and ready to go.

  And he had other weapons too. Rifles and knives and various tools of the trade he kept for protection.

  Now they could serve another purpose.

  Sooner than later, he was going to die. Either by drinking himself to death, or from overdose. Maybe one day he’d eat a bullet, either by his hand or someone else’s. Whatever form it took, his death was unavoidable and he knew it would happen soon.

  But in the meantime, he didn’t have to be the only one hurting.

  A burst of excitement burned through his veins. He could make Wyatt suffer as much as he was. The bastard deserved it after what he’d done.

  Gently he placed the pistol back on top of the articles packed into his footlocker, a plan slowly taking shape in his mind. Killing him was too easy. He wanted to show Wyatt what true pain felt like.

  All he needed was to figure out Wyatt’s greatest weakness. Then he’d know how to hurt Wyatt the most and make him pay for all the lives he’d ruined.

  * * *

  Austen lugged the last of the supplies she’d need for the day up to the counter of the hardware store and dug out her credit card as the man behind the counter rang everything up. The owner, a man in his early fifties she’d gotten to know a little bit over the past week.

  “You sure got your hands full with that house.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she said with a wry smile. Every muscle in her body ached from all the work she’d put in already, toiling from morning until well past dark just to put a dent in it. In the end all her effort was going to be worth it though.

  “Find a contractor yet?” he asked with a friendly smile.

  “No, everyone I’ve called is booked up for months.”

  “Busy time of year for them.”

  Yeah, her timing kind of sucked. Of course there was one name that kept coming up over and over, although she had no interest in calling him.

  Wyatt Colebrook.

  Since their inauspicious introduction on her front porch last week she’d learned quite a bit more about his background from the locals who’d mentioned him to her. He’d been in the Marines and had lost his lower leg and an eye in an IED explosion in Afghanistan.

  After coming home to Sugar Hollow he’d been helping his disabled father out on their family horse farm, and taking on contracting or renovation jobs here and there. At first it had surprised her that people had talked so openly about such personal details with an outsider, but she was getting used to it. Gotta love small towns.

  According to the locals she’d talked with, Wyatt was one of the best builders around, though he didn’t take on a lot of projects because of other things he had to
juggle. His family was well-respected here in the Valley, had been here for generations, and he seemed to be well-liked.

  That last part surprised her too, but it sounded like she’d gotten a bad impression of him and she supposed he had a right to be annoyed with her since she’d bought the house he’d wanted for so long. She wouldn’t hold it against him.

  Two of the guys working in the shop helped her cart everything out to her truck. So far she’d managed to do a chunk of the demo work on the main floor but the progress was painfully slow with just her doing the labor. Her hands were already blistered and her whole body hurt from wielding the sledgehammer for the better part of two days.

  With her skills she could handle the bulk of the carpentry work on her own. She even knew the basics of electrical and some plumbing. But she needed a crew and licensed tradespeople to do the things she wasn’t qualified to tackle. Trouble was, she had limited funds—she was using all her savings and John’s life insurance settlement to do this—and everyone was booked.

  Well, almost everyone.

  Slamming the tailgate closed, her stomach rumbled and she stifled a yawn. The motel she was staying at was right on the freeway and not exactly soundproof. She knew far too much about the young couple in the room beside her, since they’d been up most of the night screaming at each other.

  By three in the morning the epic fight had worried her enough that she’d almost called down to the front desk to have management intervene, but then things had quieted down. Immediately followed by the rhythmic thump of the headboard against the wall between their rooms.

  Annoyed and embarrassed for them, Austen had rolled over and stuffed two pillows over her head to try and block out the sound, but it hadn’t helped. This morning she hadn’t been able to look either of them in the eye when she’d bumped into them as they left their room.

  Stretching her stiff neck, she glanced down Main Street toward the Garden of Eatin’ Café. This area of downtown was super cute with its pretty row of shops and restaurants, all the Victorian-style buildings restored to their original glory in a rainbow of colors, all decorated with gingerbread trim and covered porches. In the few days she’d been in town she’d already taken dozens of pictures of it to send to her friends back home.

  No, that wasn’t home, she reminded herself. This was home now.

  And while she might be lonely, she liked it here and she knew she’d make friends soon enough. The people were friendly and the town was so quiet and peaceful, like something out of a painting. Once the house was completed she’d decide whether she wanted to go back to firefighting or maybe flip a few houses to make some money.

  She waited for a truck to pass before crossing the street. From what she’d seen, the Garden of Eatin’ did a steady stream of business all day long, seven days a week. She’d become a regular here already, stopping at least once a day for a snack or a coffee. Right now she was starving and needed something to fill her up so she could get some serious work done at the house.

  The lineup was five people deep when she stepped inside, and the scents of freshly brewed coffee and homemade cinnamon cake made her mouth water. She perused the glass case at the front while she waited in line, then ordered a big slice of quiche along with a vanilla latte and a freshly made yogurt parfait to go.

  Giving her order to the girl behind the counter, Austen thanked her with a smile and started to turn away.

  “Austen.”

  She glanced to her right, spotted Piper, a real estate agent she’d met here at the café a few days ago. “Hey.”

  “Got enough to fuel you up for the day?” The end of her dark blond ponytail swished against the tops of her shoulders when she nodded at Austen’s bag.

  Austen smiled. “For a few hours, anyway.” She was tall and had a solid build. It took a lot of fuel to keep her going.

  “How’s it going over there?” Piper asked, adding a sugar to her drink before eyeing Austen as she put the lid on.

  “Slow. It’s just me so far.”

  Piper took a sip of her coffee, raised her eyebrows. “Still no luck finding anyone?”

  “No.”

  She frowned. “Did you talk to Wyatt about it yet?”

  Piper had been one of the first to recommend him. “No, I only talked to him on the day I bought the house. He showed up to let me know he wasn’t happy about it, and that he wanted to buy it back. I told him I wasn’t interested.”

  Piper winced, her eyes full of sympathy. “Yeah, I heard.”

  Small towns. She had to remember that word traveled fast here. “So no, I haven’t called him.”

  Piper motioned toward the front door and Austen followed her out onto the sidewalk into the cool May morning air. Warm golds and rosy pinks painted the eastern horizon where the sun was still hidden by the Blue Ridge Mountains, promising a gorgeous day.

  “I think you should call him,” Piper said. “I can imagine what you thought of him after the first impression you got, but he really is a good guy and he’s awesome at what he does. His bark is way worse than his bite, trust me, and even though he doesn’t take on a lot of contracting jobs, he might do this one.”

  “It sounds like you know him pretty well.”

  “We go way back,” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. “He’s gruff and intimidating at first, but once you get to know him a little you’ll see right through all that. The man’s got a big, marshmallowy heart underneath that crusty, alpha male exterior that he doesn’t like anyone to know about, and he loves animals, especially dogs. So he’s not all bad,” she added with a grin.

  Austen wasn’t sure why Piper was telling her all this. “I think I’d feel too awkward having him work on the house. I can tell the place means a lot to him. The last thing I need is a bitter contractor to deal with.” Asking him to do it would be like rubbing salt in his wound, and she wasn’t that kind of person.

  Piper nodded. “It does mean a lot to him. And that’s a good thing, because if he agreed to take on the project, he’d make sure everything was done right. Believe me, he’d do a fantastic job. He’s a perfectionist.” Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her purse to check it.

  Whatever showed on the screen made her face tighten and her shoulders tense. She flashed Austen a slight smile that didn’t take the weariness from her eyes. “Sorry, I’ve gotta take this. Just think about what I said, okay? And call me if you have any more questions. Have a good one.”

  “You too.”

  “I’ve asked you not to call me,” Piper said in a hushed tone as she walked away, clearly not wanting anyone else to overhear the conversation. “If you can’t respect me even that much, then I’ll have to…” Her voice trailed off as she rounded the corner. But from what Austen had heard, yikes, it didn’t sound good.

  As she drove to the house, Austen weighed Piper’s words about Wyatt and enjoyed the picturesque scenery she passed. The south side of town was filled with residential lots, most of the houses from the mid-to-late nineteenth century. People here took pride in their homes and their town, and it showed in the well-maintained lots, the pretty gardens bursting with colorful roses and clematis, the lawns neatly trimmed.

  Here the tidy, quiet streets were lined with oaks, cherry trees and the sugar maples the town had been named after. She’d missed out on seeing the cherry blossoms this year, but the summer foliage was going to be gorgeous and she couldn’t wait to see the explosion of color that would happen in the fall.

  As she turned up her driveway and drove along the row of sugar maples lining either side, her heart filled with warmth at the sight of the grand old lady ahead of her. She was so in love with the property and wanted the house to reflect her vision once it was done. This was definitely a home to sink her heart into, and a place to put down roots in. To do that, she needed to hire some help.

  Her first meeting with Wyatt hadn’t been the friendliest, but this house wasn’t fixing itself and she couldn’t do it alone. If he really was as good as people
said, then maybe it was worth at least calling him to see if he was interested. And, if he took the job, maybe getting to work on it would give him some sense of peace, once he saw that she intended to take good care of it.

  Or not.

  Parked in front of the sagging front porch, she sat there for a long moment, gazing up at the house. It really was a crime, the way this place had been let go. Its faded, peeling and frankly ugly mud-green paint cried out for help.

  Well, the truth was they both needed help. A simple phone call wouldn’t kill her.

  Mind made up, she pulled out the business card he’d handed her and dialed Wyatt’s number, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in the pit of her belly as she waited for him to answer. As far as conversations went, this was going to rate up there with the most awkward she’d ever had, but she was at the end of her rope and finding good help for this project took precedence over her pride.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wyatt didn’t recognize the out-of-state number calling his cell phone. For a second he thought about ignoring it, then changed his mind. His youngest brother, Easton, was due in today. Maybe he was calling from a new cell phone or something. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Colebrook?”

  He paused in the act of pulling the fixings for a sandwich out of the fridge, that husky feminine voice somehow familiar. “Yes.”

  “This is Austen Sloan.”

  He set the mayo jar down before he dropped it. “Hi.” For some reason, his heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice. Why was she calling him? Had she changed her mind about the house?

  “I just want to say up front that I still haven’t changed my mind about selling, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  Damn. At least she was candid about it. “Okay, fair enough.” He was still hoping she’d change her mind in the end though.