Keeping What's His: Tate (Porter Brothers Trilogy Book 1)

by Jamie Begley

  Sutton silently agreed. Tate and his brothers would never win a popularity contest. Most of the townspeople would probably cheer if he was locked up.

  Sutton stood in the doorway, watching the men ride away with mixed feelings. The bikers were intimidating on and off their bikes.

  She checked on Tate, seeing he was asleep. His cheeks were flushed and his hair damp. Sutton’s hand went to his forehead, checking for a temperature. He was warm but not hot. She hoped the antibiotic she had given him would prevent him from getting an infection.

  Using the hot water, she washed his hands and chest, wiping the dried blood away. Tate didn’t wake. When she finished, she pulled the blanket she kept at the foot of the couch over him then carried the dirty water to the bathroom to dump it down the drain.

  Going back to the living room, she straightened up the mess, feeling her own eyes droop with fatigue. She hadn’t slept last night, and it was catching up with her.

  She sat down at the end of the couch, placing his feet on her lap. If he moved, she would feel it and wake up. Letting her head fall to the back of the couch, she stopped fighting to stay awake, dozing off while wondering if she had lost her mind again by trying to help a man who wouldn’t appreciate it, much less thank her for risking her own freedom.

  Sleepily, she opened her eyes to check on him. “You haven’t changed. You never could stay out of trouble.”

  Chapter 10

  Tate woke, wondering why in the fuck he was so sore. Opening his eyes in the dark room, he stared around, disoriented. Thinking he had drunk too much the night before, it was only when his gaze fell on Sutton that his memory returned.

  Wincing, he tried to maneuver his body to take the pressure off his sore ribs. His hand rubbed the spot where he was sure someone had kicked him after knocking him out.

  “Can I get you something?” Sutton’s husky voice drew his attention back to her.

  His feet were laid casually across her lap, and her drowsy gaze hardened his dick despite his body being unable to do a damn thing about it.

  “Water and another pain pill,” his voice croaked out the request.

  Sutton raised her arm to look at her wrist watch. “It’s almost time for it, anyway.”

  She scooted out from under his feet, stiffly rising to go the kitchen. It was only a moment before she was back, holding out the pain pill and a bottle of water.

  Tate took the pill, chasing it down with the water thirstily.

  “I’ll heat you up some soup. If you don’t eat something, the medication will make you sick.” She didn’t wait to hear if he wanted it or not, going back to the kitchen.

  Tate tiredly rested his head back on the pillow, listening to her movements in the kitchen. When he smelled the soup, his stomach growled.

  “What time is it?”

  “Three in the morning,” Sutton said, coming back, carrying the cup of soup and setting it on the end table. Then she helped him to rise to a sitting position, and he thought he might pass out.

  “The blood you lost will make you dizzy for a while. The knock on your head will make it worse.” She sat down next to him, handing him the soup.

  His hand shook when he took it from her.

  “Careful. It’s hot,” she warned.

  Tate took a small sip, feeling as if he would hurl it up immediately. Sutton’s hand under the cup encouraged him to take another drink.

  “The more you drink, the less you’ll feel sick.”

  “Why in the fuck do you care?” Tate regretted the harsh words as soon as they left his mouth. His throbbing dick was aggravating the hell out of him. How could he still be attracted to the cheating liar?

  “I don’t.” Her hand dropped to her lap.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “You’re being nice by letting me stay here, and I was being an ass.”

  Sutton gave him a cold smile. “It comes naturally to you and your brothers. That’s why you’re holed up here.”

  “We’re not ass-kissers; that’s for sure.”

  “You’re in your thirties now, Tate. Don’t you think it’s time you grew up?”

  His mouth twisted. “That’s twice this week I’ve been told that.”

  Her head tilted to the side. “Who else said that to you?”

  “Your father.”

  Her expression became even more remote. “Then that’s the first thing we’ve agreed on in years.”

  “Really? According to him, you haven’t talked to him in years. He said to tell you to call your mother, she’s not doing well.”

  Sutton stood up, going to the window to look out, remaining silent.

  “Must have been a pretty bad argument to cause a rift between you and your parents. From what I remember, you three were pretty tight.”

  “Things changed.” She didn’t turn around or elaborate on the distance that had developed between her and her parents.

  At one time, she would have told him without asking. She had been an open book. Now, she was closed off emotionally and physically, not just from him, but others who had been important in her life. Could her husband’s death have affected her so badly?

  “Your father said you’re a widow.”

  “Is that all he told you?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “No reason, just curious. I didn’t know if he knew Scott was dead.”

  “That must have been some fight you had with them.”

  Sutton turned back from the window. “Can I get you some more soup?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be lucky if I can keep this down.”

  Without a word, she left the room. She was gone several minutes, and he was beginning to wonder if she had gone to bed when she returned.

  “I made Pap’s bed for you. You’ll be more comfortable there.” She held her hand out to help him up from the couch.

  Tate stared at it for a second before taking it, trying not to give her too much of his weight. He grimaced as the pain in his chest and ribs nearly made him fall back, but Sutton grabbed his belt, steadying him.

  “Put your arm over my shoulder,” she ordered.

  Tate hesitated, but he knew he couldn’t make it to the bedroom alone, and if he spent another minute on the old couch, he would be a cripple come morning.

  He placed his arm over her shoulder as they walked in the direction she led him.

  “Do you want to use the bathroom before you lie back down?”

  “Yes.”

  She opened the door next to the open bedroom door, leading him inside after she flicked on the light switch.

  “Open the door when you finish,” Sutton said, leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

  Tate used the toilet then went to the bathroom sink. The man reflected in the mirror wondered how Sutton didn’t believe him capable of killing Lyle. His hair was plastered to his head, and he had a drugged-out look in his eyes. He looked like a serial killer.

  He ran the water, making it as cold as he could. Using his hand, he splashed water onto his face and hair. When he finished, he opened the door to find Sutton waiting patiently.

  He let her help him into the bedroom where he dropped onto the mattress, feeling too weak to bend over and take off his boots. As Sutton crouched down in front of him, doing it for him, Tate felt his dick stirring again.

  She glanced up, catching him staring at her.

  “Do you need some help to get out of your jeans?”

  He was tempted to ask for her help, but decided his dick wouldn’t be able to handle her hands anywhere near his belt buckle.

  “I can do it.”

  Sutton nodded. Going to the boxes stacked against the wall, she rummaged through the one on top, pulling a pair of pajama pants and top from inside. She handed them to him.

  “They might be a little short, but they should fit well enough.”

  “I usually sleep naked,” he taunted to see what kind of reaction he would get.

  “Go for it, but if the state police come to arrest your
ass, don’t blame me if they carry you out of here with your dick flapping.”

  Unable to help himself, he laughed then held his ribs from the pain it caused.

  “You’ve become sassy. At one time, you would have turned bright red and taken off.”

  “I’m not seventeen anymore.”

  “No, you’re not,” he agreed, his eyes going to her full breasts and curvy hips.

  She ignored his appreciative gaze. “Do you need anything else? If not, I’m going to bed.”

  “You ever regret dumping me for Cash?” Tate didn’t know why the question came out of his mouth other than it had been one he wanted answered.

  “Really?” She stared down at him angrily. “You want to ask that at three in the morning?”

  “Never mind. I don’t give a fuck about the answer, anyway.” He wasn’t about to let her think it had bugged him over the years.

  “If you didn’t want to know, then why ask? No, I never regretted Cash. What’s wrong, Tate? Does it burn your Porter pride that you weren’t the one who broke up with me?”

  “You were replaced”—he snapped his fingers—“like that.”

  Her mouth gave a curl of contempt. “Do you honestly think I didn’t know that? The Monday after prom, half a dozen of my friends told me by the end of first period that you spent the night with Lisa in the motel room you had reserved for us.”

  He stiffened as he sat on the side of the bed. For a split-second, the controlled mask she kept on her face had dropped, and her agony and humiliation were revealed before being concealed once again by her nonchalance.

  “Sutton…”

  “Forget it. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t now.” She went out the door, leaving him alone, heading into the bedroom across the hall.

  He wanted to go after her; instead, he changed into the pajamas she had given him then lay down on the bed after turning off the bedside lamp.

  He stared up at the ceiling as the hurt she had shown played over and over in his mind. Had she regretted breaking up with him? Had it been a ploy to get him jealous?

  Tate didn’t even know why it mattered after all this time. Then again, the sexual chemistry was still there between them, so maybe he wanted a taste of what he had been denied back then. Maybe he wanted to even the score and be the one to dump her this time.

  Tate closed his eyes, the pain pill finally making him drowsy enough to ignore the pain. He wouldn’t be able to leave for the next few days. If he was lucky, he would finally be able to put his past with Sutton to rest. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither was she. Sutton was a widow. She probably had a couple of lovers before she married, and after the death of her husband. They both were adults, and if he decided he wanted to get her out of his system, there was nothing to stop him, not even Sutton.

  Chapter 11

  Sutton stretched, yawning, feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. She looked at the clock on her bedside table.

  A scream escaped her when she saw a man standing at the window outside her bedroom.

  “Shut up!” Greer’s loud voice could be heard through the glass.

  Sutton stormed toward the window, unlocking it then raising it halfway. “What in the world are you doing outside my window?”

  “I’m not a damn pervert. Let me in; I want to talk to Tate.”

  “Why didn’t you just go to the door?” She stubbornly refused to budge.

  “I didn’t want the cops to see me.”

  “What cops?” Sutton became frightened that her pap’s home was going to be raided. Visions of police raids ran through her mind.

  “The ones watching me. Now move.”

  “Let him in,” Tate ordered from behind her.

  Her fingers trembled when she realized he was standing so close to her.

  She raised the window the rest of the way before sliding sideways so she wouldn’t touch Tate’s bare chest. She was glad he had at least worn the pants, although they were loose and hung low on his hips. His muscular body was illuminated by the early-morning sun shining through the window.

  Unconsciously, she licked her bottom lip, lowering her eyes when she saw Tate was staring at her. Realizing he wasn’t the only one half-dressed, she snatched up the robe she had placed on her bed the night before, coving the thin T-shirt that came to the top of her thighs.

  Greer climbed in through the widow with a dexterity that showed it wasn’t the first time he had used the method to enter a home.

  Once he was inside, he studied his older brother with a critical eye. “You okay?”

  “Been better,” Tate answered, his hand holding his ribs.

  “What happened?”

  As Tate started to describe to Greer what had happened, Sutton interrupted long enough to tell them she was making coffee.

  “Close the curtains in the living room.”

  Sutton stopped, glaring at Greer’s order. “I will. I’ve already been frightened once this morning. If I look out and see Dustin’s face, I’ll have a heart attack.”

  Greer ignored her jibe, turning back to question Tate.

  Sutton made a pot of coffee and toast for herself. She drew the line at feeding Tate. He could fix his own breakfast.

  She was about to take a bite of the grape jelly smeared toast when Tate and Greer entered the kitchen, taking chairs at the table.

  “Can I get a cup of coffee?”

  “I’m not a waitress. Get Greer to pour you a cup.”

  Both brothers stared at her mutely before Greer’s chair scraped back and he went to the coffee pot, pouring them both a cup.

  “Why are you holding your ribs?”

  “The son of a bitch must have kicked me while I was unconscious,” Tate answered with a grimace as he tried to get comfortable on the chair.

  “Want me to tape you up?”

  “No. I think they’re just bruised. I’m not having trouble breathing, so nothing’s broken.”

  “You’re damn lucky whoever did it didn’t kill you.”

  “They didn’t want me dead. If they did, they had the chance when I was unconscious.”

  “Any idea who it could be?”

  “No.” Tate ran his hand through his hair. “Go see Jo today and see if she knows why her dad was out in the woods so late.”

  Greer set their cups down on the table before sitting back down.

  Tate took a drink then asked for his pain pills. Sutton went into her bedroom to get the pills, and when she came back, they were discussing the different people in town who had grudges against Lyle.

  “Lucky is still angry that he nearly ran Willa over when he was drunk.”

  “Lucky wouldn’t have killed him. He’s a pastor. He would have sent Shade after him, and that bastard doesn’t shoot from behind; he likes to pop them between the eyes.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw him take someone out when he didn’t know I was watching.”

  Sutton slid her plate of toast to Tate, not wanting him to get sick on an empty stomach. Greer reached out, taking a piece of the toast. That was when she decided, if she was going to get anything to eat, she was going to have to feed them first. She made a stack of toast and nuked a couple of packets of oatmeal. Setting the food down, she snatched one of the toast slices before the men could take it all.

  She chewed on the toast as Greer filled Tate in on the different agencies searching for him.

  “The state police came by during the middle of the night. They tore the house apart then went to Cash and Rachel’s house.”

  “They tear it apart, too?”

  “What do you think? Cash was standing there, watching every move they made.”

  “They were too afraid of Cash to tear his house apart, but you let them tear ours apart? I’m disappointed in you.”

  “Fuck off,” Greer grumbled. “I wasn’t there. I was in the woods with Dustin, trying to find any signs of who killed Lyle.”

  “Find anything?”

  “No.”

/>   “If Jo doesn’t know anything, ask if she will let you look through Lyle’s room.”

  “I’ll try. Probably won’t be anything left once the police are done.”

  Tate shrugged. “They might miss something.”

  Greer stood. “It’s gonna get busy, so be careful and stay inside. The police aren’t the only ones who might be searching for you.”

  “Leave me your gun. Whoever knocked me out took my shotgun. I stashed the one they used to shoot Lyle in our hole. When it gets dark, get it and give it to Cash. Maybe he can figure out who it’s registered to.”

  “Will do. The only good part of this mess is that we had already cleared the land and stashed the product.”

  “Do you think whoever did this could have been searching for your weed?” Sutton asked the two men.

  “Could be, but they’ll never find it,” Greer snickered. “It’s probably the best batch we’ve grown. They would have smoked it up before turning it in to evidence.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Don’t. It’s some of the best. Most of what’s been grown lately is shit. The growers are trying to develop strong product for better buzz. Instead, they’re making it weaker. Others are selling that synthetic shit that’ll make you crazy as fuck. Ours is the best out there right now. I don’t care what state you live in. Tate is the best grower around,” Greer bragged.

  Sutton was curious despite herself. “If Tate is the grower, what do you do?”

  “I protect the fields then sell it when it’s done. Anyone who comes near our fields is either going to be left a cripple or dead.” He gave her a sinister grin, which ran chills down her back. She didn’t doubt his words.

  “What’s Dustin’s job?”

  Greer’s eyes narrowed on her. “You a Fed?” he asked suspiciously.

  “If I were, would I let Tate hide out at my house?”

  “You tell me.”

  Sutton rolled her eyes at Greer. He was still as obnoxious as he had been when he was younger.