Protected by a Hero

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

  “I’ve got it.” More than anything, she wanted to turn into him, bury her face in his neck and drink in his strong, masculine scent.

  “Here, let me. I noticed it can stick.”

  His hand covered hers, firmly moving the latch into place and pushing the seat forward. But there was no way she could unbuckle Dax without climbing back into the truck. She was simply too short. Travis must have come to the same conclusion because he stepped around her and easily released the seatbelt. But what made her throat catch was the smile on Dax’s face when his arms went around Travis’s neck. Travis held Dax like he weighed nothing. Even though Dax was on the small side for a seven-year-old, he was still too big for Elaine to pick up. He’d grown out of that before they’d moved to Prairie. Seeing him in Travis’s arms did something funny to her insides.

  Dax clambered down and made a beeline for the oak tree that stood off the corner of the house. “Mom, mom, mom. Can I, can I, can I?”

  “Not right now,” she called across the yard. “I don’t want you to fall and get hurt. I brought your favorite toys for you to play with inside.”

  Travis snorted. “That tree has seen three generations of Kincaids. No one’s fallen out yet.”

  Elaine reached for the bag she’d filled for Dax and slung it over her shoulder. “And until this spring, a tornado had never touched down in Prairie, either.”

  Travis unlocked the front door and paused, hand on the knob. “He’ll be fine.”

  She started to say more, but the words died in her mouth as she stepped inside and took in the giant open space. A thick rug lay in front of an enormous stone fireplace. A long leather couch stood opposite the rug, and behind it a long sturdy table. Beyond the table was an open kitchen with two bags of groceries and a bottle of wine on the counter.

  Dax darted around her and pounced on a box of toys waiting on the floor by the couch, activity bag forgotten.

  “Advantages of having a family attic.” Travis gave her a sheepish smile before shutting the door and turning the bolt.

  She froze at the sound, heart pounding in her throat.

  “Something wrong?” His eyes filled with concern.

  This was Travis. He’d never hurt her. She swallowed, finding it hard to breathe. “Would you mind leaving the door open?”

  Travis’s face pulled taut as they locked gazes. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then releasing a heavy breath, Travis nodded once. “Sure.” He turned the bolt and pulled the door halfway open.

  The easy connection that had been there on the drive over disappeared. All business, Travis strode to the table, gesturing for her to follow. “Travis?”

  “Here.” He handed her a cell phone.

  “What’s this?”

  “Moving forward, you’re a key member of this campaign. I’m going to need to reach you. You’re going to need to make phone calls.”

  A flush raced up her spine, and she shook her head vehemently. “Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly. You’re already paying me too much.” She couldn’t let herself become indebted to him like this.

  He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve loaded it with key numbers. The election office. My cell, the police station and fire station. Dottie’s number, and Weston’s. You can add whatever you need.” He pressed it into her hands.

  Didn’t he understand she had to do things on her own? “Travis, I can’t. This is too much.”

  His mouth firmed into a line. “It’s not too much. But if it bothers you that much, you can return it after the campaign. The laptop too.” He tilted his chin to the brand new laptop at the end of the table.

  “You got a laptop too?” Her voice sounded unnaturally high to her ears.

  Travis raised a hand. “Before you trot all the excuses why you can’t, hear me out. We’re both going to need to use a computer at the same time. And once we get your house wired for internet, you can do extra work after Dax goes to bed. Or watch Netflix.”

  Her body went briefly numb. Clearly, her brain had overloaded. Travis had called her pathetic little trailer a house. She didn’t even call it a house. She knew better. But he was right, with her salary, she’d finally be able to afford internet. Which meant instead of watching Netflix like he assumed, she could finish studying for her GED.

  Travis’s voice went gravelly. “Say yes, Elaine.”

  The way he said it took her right back to the other night and his barely-there kiss. The heat in his eyes told her he’d gone there, too. But he’d made it clear kissing was off the table, so she’d ignore the riot of butterflies in her stomach. Not trusting herself to speak, she cleared her throat and nodded.

  A knock sounded at the door, and Elaine dragged her gaze away. Weston stood in the entryway, a funny expression on his face. “Am I interrupting something?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The shocked look on Weston’s face was priceless. “Am I interrupting something?”

  Hell yes, Travis wanted to shout, irritated by more than the unlocked door. Why did Elaine have to fight him at every turn? He was just trying to help. And then her face had gone all soft. Her lips had parted and her tongue had darted out to wet the bottom one, and he’d been transfixed by her pulse rapidly fluttering at the base of her throat.

  But interrupting them wasn’t what had put the look of surprise on Weston’s face, and they both knew it. It was a one-time deal, leaving the door open and unlocked. But he’d seen the panic ripple through Elaine’s body when he’d bolted the door, and as uncomfortable as he felt with an open door, he wouldn’t do that to her. He could suck it up for a few hours.

  Weston strolled into the room, and arched a brow. “Redecorating too, I see.”

  Travis scowled at him and shook his head. Elaine didn’t need to know that he’d spent most of yesterday hauling his weights up to his old bedroom. It was only for the campaign. And Dax. He didn’t want Dax climbing all over his weight set and possibly hurting himself. And he had to admit, the room did look nice with the big leather couch he’d hauled back from Manhattan.

  He cleared his throat. “I was just briefing Elaine on the campaign equipment.”

  Again, Weston’s knowing smile. “Ah, yes.” He turned to Elaine. “Travis is right, you know. You can’t work a campaign in this day and age without equipment.”

  She gave them a nervous smile. “I’ll do my best to earn it, then.”

  “You don’t have to earn it,” Travis snapped, done with her resisting. “Maybe you deserve a few nice things.”

  “Whoa there, Tex,” Weston interjected and turned to Elaine. “You’ll have more than earned these by the time the campaign is over, so don’t worry about it.”

  “It’s just–”

  Elaine looked distraught, and the thought that he’d put that look on her face, cut.

  Weston raised his hand. “We’re a team. The only way we’ll win is if we work together, and that means you need the necessary tools.” He cocked his chin at the kitchen. “And it looks like Travis grabbed the tools for a good meal. Is that a loaf of French bread I see? Are we celebrating?”

  Heat licked at the back of his neck. He’d wanted to have real food on hand for Elaine and Dax. He hadn’t wanted anyone, especially Weston, to make a big deal about it.

  Elaine’s eyes widened and filled with admiration. “You cook, too?”

  Her look warmed him. What he wouldn’t give to receive that appreciative look from her every day. It buzzed his insides. And thanks to her gorgeous blue eyes staring up at him, he wasn’t about to let on that this was his first time in the kitchen. He snuck a glance at Weston, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. He’d buy the man a beer next time they were out if he didn’t bust his chops.

  “Can I help?” She offered shyly.

  “Not this time.” She worked so hard, he’d wanted to do something nice for her, and in the heat of the moment standing in Millie’s grocery store, cooking seemed like something simple. Something with no strings attached. But then Millie’d had him b
elieving he could give Mario Batali a run for his money when he was done making what she’d called “the world’s best spaghetti recipe.” What a sucker. “But maybe Dax would like to help? What do you say, Dax?” he called. “Wanna help me cook dinner?”

  “What are we eating?” he asked, rolling a dump truck across the rug.

  “Spaghetti with meat sauce, salad, and garlic bread.”

  “Can I butter the bread?”

  “Sure thing.” It never ceased to surprise him what interested little kids. Especially someone like Dax.

  Dax picked up the dump truck and brought it with him, placing it on the counter.

  Travis reached for a cutting board and the bread. “Can you grab the butter?” Too late, he realized his mistake.

  Truck in hand, Dax opened the fridge and looked in. “You have a lot of burritos in here.”

  Busted by a seven-year-old.

  Across the room, Weston snorted. “We call that bachelor food.”

  “I want bachelor food. Mom, can I have bachelor food?”

  “Only if you eat all your salad,” Elaine shot back. Two pink spots stained her cheeks. “So I take it spaghetti is a special occasion food?”

  And busted by the mom.

  What a clusterfuck.

  Weston came to the rescue. “Hell yes. It’s campaign kickoff night. And everyone knows that on campaign kickoff night, the candidate cooks for the staff.

  Elaine made a disbelieving noise in the back of her throat. But a smile pulled up the corner of her mouth. “This I have to see.”

  “You doubt my prowess in the kitchen.”

  “Given you eat two meals a day at Dottie’s, yes,” she shot back.

  He threw his head back, laughing. He liked it when she showed her fire. “Prepare to be amazed.”

  For the most part, dinner was a success. Weston only had to step in once, right as the spaghetti was about to boil over. And Dax had made the salad almost all by himself.

  Elaine tossed her napkin on the table. “I’m impressed. This was delicious.” She craned her neck at the couch where Dax had stretched out, then turned back, delight in her eyes. “And you’ve tired him right out.”

  He warmed under her appreciative gaze.

  “Now we can include on your introductory mailer that you’re an excellent cook,” Weston teased. “That’s sure to garner you a couple dozen votes.”

  Travis rolled his eyes.

  Weston grew serious. “Given the hour, I’m gonna suggest we strategize tomorrow. Be prepared to put in long nights from here on out. There’s lots to do and not much time.”

  “But the election’s two and a half months away” Elaine said, looking surprised.

  “That’s about a day in campaign time. Remember, most campaigns start a year or more before election day. This is a special election, so we have to scramble.” Weston stood. “I’ll let myself out.” At the door, he turned. “Goodnight, kids. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” He gave them a salute and left, shutting the door behind him.

  Silence settled between them, punctuated by Dax’s soft snores on the couch.

  “Why don’t I do the dishes?” Elaine pushed up from the table and moved to the sink, turning on the water.

  “I’ll help.” Why wouldn’t he? He knew where things went.

  It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he could stand next to her, legs flush, brushing her hand as she handed him dish after dish.

  It had nothing to do with the fact that she smelled like spring and roses.

  And it had absolutely nothing to do with the way his heart tap-danced at the delight on her face when she’d first seen the ranch, or when she’d reluctantly accepted the electronics. Nothing at all.

  “Thanks for bringing the toys out. Dax was thrilled.” She rinsed a plate and held it out. “He’s in love with the dump truck.”

  Travis took the plate, letting his fingers brush hers simply to enjoy the snap of awareness that twined up his arm.

  “Yeah, my brother loved the dump truck too.” For a moment, he saw his brother at Dax’s age. Long before the troubles had started.

  “You’re not an only?”

  He was surprised she hadn’t heard that through the town gossip mill. Surely someone would have let it slip that he’d turned in his own brother, and kicked him out of the house. His stomach slowly sank to his toes. Worst night of his life. And that was saying something. He shook his head, pressing his mouth closed. “We’re not… close.” That was a polite way of putting it. “We disagreed on the path his life should take. He rodeos now.” Travis was sure she was curious. He’d be, if the roles were reversed. But he made sure his tone of voice conveyed the subject wasn’t open for discussion. That chapter of his life was closed, and there was no sense drudging it up.

  “Oh.” Her voice was small. Wistful. “I always wished for a sibling.”

  He didn’t know how to answer that. So he fixated on her soapy hand circling the inside of the spaghetti pot, watching as the bubbles slid off to reveal her tiny, strong hand.

  “Do you miss him?”

  Her words slid under his carefully constructed armor, stabbing him in the underbelly. Bringing up all sorts of emotions he wasn’t prepared to unpack. Not now, maybe not ever. His body went tight, pain winding through him and squeezing his throat closed. He took the pot from her, hiding behind its bulk and moving it to the stove, as much to avoid her question as to give it space to dry.

  But her eyes still lifted in question when he returned. He nodded, barely. “Yeah. I do.” His answer came out just above a whisper. The farther he got from the incident, the more he questioned his action. But it was too late to change anything. And after the words they’d exchanged… a simple apology wouldn’t cut it.

  With a sympathetic noise, she turned, reaching a soapy hand to squeeze his arm. “I’m so sorry, Travis,” she said sincerely. “I’m sure he misses you too. I hope… I hope that someday you can mend fences.”

  It was possible he loved her right then. Her belief in him shining on her face, so sweet and earnest. He didn’t deserve it. In spite of it, hell, maybe because of it, he couldn’t resist tucking a strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. Her eyes went dark and she gasped, her perfectly kissable mouth dropping open a fraction. Where in the hell was his willpower? Lost. Drowning in the dark pools of her eyes.

  “I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered. “It’s improper.”

  “I don’t want you to be proper, Travis,” she whispered back, eyes hazy with desire.

  “I’m too old.” He swiped a thumb across her lower lip, unable to help himself. He had to see if it was as soft as the day before. It might have been softer.

  “Age is a frame of mind.”

  “Too hardened.”

  “You have a soft heart.”

  “You’re my employee now.” He traced a finger across her delicate cheekbone.

  “I haven’t cashed the check.”

  “You live in town.” He dropped his fingers to the top of her ear, brushing it in the barest of caresses.

  She let out a little moan, a sound that went straight to his cock. “You don’t.”

  “You leave the doors unlocked.”

  She smiled faintly. “Always.”

  That alone should have been reason enough to stop him. But he was too far gone. She drew him like a moth to flame, and she would burn him up. Cupping her neck, he dipped his head, sealing his mouth over her cotton candy lips. She sighed, a sweet sound coming from the back of her throat, as he teased his tongue over the inside of her full lower lip, and yielded. The feel of her tongue against his set off a chain reaction, starting at the top of his head and racing down his spine to settle in his belly in a molten ball of need. Groaning and pulling her close, he plundered her mouth, stunned as she came alive in his embrace, her tongue thrusting and stroking with a fire that matched his own.

  He slid a hand down her back to cup her ass, high and firm from being constantly on her
feet. The curve fit his palm perfectly, and she canted her hips against him. But this wouldn’t do. The angle was wrong. Not breaking their kiss, he clasped her hips and lifted, setting her on the counter and stepping between her legs so he could press his cock where it belonged against her sweet spot. She hooked a leg around his waist and molded herself to him, breasts pushing against his chest in a form of glorious torture.

  Slipping a hand under the hem of her thin cotton shirt, he skated fingers up her satiny skin, stopping only when he encountered the lace of her bra. Brushing a thumb up the swell, he found her nipple, stroking back and forth through the material until she groaned into his mouth and arched into him.

  Pulling back, he peppered her jaw with nipping kisses, tongue drawing a line down the creamy column of her neck, tasting a different kind of floral sweetness that made his cock jerk against his jeans, begging to be set free.

  “Intoxicating,” he murmured into the space between her neck and collarbone, giving a little nip.

  “Oh, yes, Travis,” she moaned quietly, running her fingers through his hair. “So good.”

  God, she was gorgeous like this. Hair mussed, lips swollen and eyes drunk and heavy-lidded from his kisses. If they were alone, he’d ravish her right here on the kitchen counter.

  If they were alone, the sober recesses of his brain reminded him.

  Dax.

  The thought acted like a bucket of ice. The kid would be traumatized for life if he woke up and saw him pounding Elaine. All the reasons why kissing her was the worst idea in the world came slamming back with a vengeance.

  He pushed away, immediately missing her heat. “We can’t do this,” he said harshly.

  “What?” Her eyes were still fuzzy and unfocused.

  Every cell in his body argued against him, but he had to do it before he did something he’d truly regret. For both their sakes.

  “This was a mistake.”

  Her eyes focused to sharp points as understanding dawned and her face shuttered.

  Jesus, what kind of an ass was he?

  Might as well go for broke. She could hate him the way Colton did. He turned, making it to the door in half a dozen steps, pausing when the door swung open. “And in my house,” he said roughly, hand on the knob. “We lock the door. Always.”