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

by Jamie Begley

  “I wish my obstetrician had known that. One of the questions when I was admitted to the hospital to have Valentine was whether I was afraid of anyone. She asked me in front of Scott. How was I supposed to answer? I was too afraid to tell the truth. God help me, I should have. My daughter would still be alive.”

  “Sutton, I learned a long time ago that ‘what’ and ‘if’ are the two most painful words in the world. I still blame myself for not going fishing with my parents the day they died.”

  “I want her back so badly. Sometimes, I can’t breathe because I want it so much…” She broke off as tears she didn’t know how she was still capable of crying slid down her cheeks.

  Tate’s arm tightened around her, giving her the strength to finish the horrific account of the way her beautiful daughter’s life had ended.

  “When I came home from the hospital with my baby, he became even more controlling, saying I didn’t want to have sex anymore. It was true. I couldn’t fake it. He made my skin crawl when he touched me.

  “Scott was critical of everything. I wasn’t holding her right or making her take naps. He made me write down the times I breastfed her and for how long. One day, he shoved me when I was holding Valentine, and I almost dropped her. He blamed me, of course.

  “When she was three months old, she developed colic, and he said the foods I was eating were to blame, giving her gas, so he made me put her on formula.” Sutton began shaking, the memories becoming too painful.

  “One night, he came home from working an emergency, and he went to bed. I couldn’t get Valentine to quit crying. I tried everything, but she wouldn’t stop. Scott came into the nursery, and I could tell by the way he was looking at her that, if he had the chance, he would hurt her. I laid her back in the crib and told him to stay away from her. When I woke up, I was lying on the floor, and he was sitting on the rocking chair, holding my baby. He said he would kill me if I ever tried to come between he and his daughter, and that was the end of it for me. I wasn’t going to take the chance he would hurt Valentine again.

  “When he went to bed, I slipped into the bedroom and stole his cell phone. I called a domestic abuse hotline, and the next day when Scott went to work, two of the most beautiful women in the world showed up at the door. I took Valentine and the clothes on our back and ran.

  “They gave us a place to stay where Scott couldn’t find us, clothes, and food. Without their help, I don’t know what I would have done. They helped and counseled me through my divorce, provided me with doctors that could testify to the damage he had done to my body. He had broken my arm, several ribs, my nose had been broken so many times it was deformed, and my left eye drooped.

  “I was given a divorce and a restraining order for both me and Valentine. I didn’t even ask for spousal or child support, because I knew it would infuriate him even more, so they helped me find a job and start over.

  “For two blissful months, I had a life that I was beginning to enjoy. Scott stayed away. I should have known he wouldn’t let us go. I had even warned my parents through one of the domestic abuse shelters to be careful. I thought Scott would be too afraid of losing the respect of his friends and co-workers to violate the restraining order.

  “I went to pick up Valentine from daycare two months after our divorce. When I was buckling her into her car seat in the backseat, he knocked me out and pushed me into the car. I woke up with him driving around the city, ranting at me. I tried everything I could to calm him down, but it didn’t work.

  “He pulled off the road and dragged me to the trunk of the car and shoved me in, slamming the lid down before I could escape. I was so proud of myself for buying that piece of junk so I would have my independence and be able to pick up Valentine from daycare. It was so old it didn’t have the emergency release for trunks.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I kept screaming at him to stop and let me out, that he better not hurt Valentine.

  “I don’t know how long he drove around, because I was in and out of consciousness. I woke when he stopped the car and threw Valentine at me. I held her as he drove, not having any idea of what he was going to do next. I don’t think he did, either. I was so scared, and all I could do was lay there in the dark, holding Valentine.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Believe me, I prayed. I prayed for God to help me. I prayed my parents would save us, though I hadn’t talked to them in years. I even prayed that you would rescue me. I know it was unrealistic, but I kept praying someone would save us in time.

  “Finally, the car stopped, and everything was quiet. I wanted the trunk to open, but I was afraid at the same time. I was terrified of what he would do to us when it did. I heard the sound of a gunshot, but after that, nothing. I started screaming for help over and over again, pleading for Scott to open the trunk, but he never did.

  “I lay there in that trunk, thinking sooner or later, I would get help. None came. Even when I knew my baby was dying, I still held out hope someone would find us in time. No one did, and when she took her last breath, I didn’t want to be saved anymore. I wanted to die with her.

  “When I heard someone at the trunk, I didn’t make a sound. I wanted them to go away. It’s funny, but when I quit wanting to be found was when I was.

  “I fought the deputy who tried to help me. It took two EMTs to get me out of that trunk and take my baby away. In the hospital, they told me Scott had parked in an isolated parking lot, gotten in the back seat, and shot himself. One of the abuse workers I had remained in contact with had reported me missing, and all the members had banded together to search for us. One of them found the car in the parking lot.”

  Tate had remained silent so long she raised her head, finding his own eyes brimming with tears and his cheeks wet.

  “If I hadn’t left that day …”

  “If I hadn’t listened to Lisa …”

  Tate’s tortured expression had her protective instincts rising. She couldn’t bear to see the big, outrageously confident man believe he was responsible for any part of the disaster her life had become with Scott.

  “It was no one’s fault besides mine. I should have brought Valentine back to Treepoint, but my pride held me back. I didn’t want to face my parents with my mistake. I didn’t want to see you around town, hating me, gloating that I was divorced.”

  A groan passed his lips.

  “I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”

  “That you thought I was the biggest walking asshole imaginable? You were wrong. I wouldn’t have gloated. I would have been chasing after you.”

  “Yeah, right. You didn’t exactly welcome me back to town.”

  “Maybe not, but I wasn’t able to stay away, either. Why do you think I was out in the woods the night Lyle was killed?” He picked up one of her hands, turning it over and rubbing the scarred flesh of her wrist with his thumb. “You …”

  “In the hospital, without Valentine, I didn’t want to live. I think Scott didn’t shoot us because he wanted us to die a slow, painful death, but the bastard didn’t have the courage to do it himself. I locked myself in the bathroom and slit my wrists with a razor I stole from a male patient’s room next to mine. A nurse found me in time, and they managed to save me.”

  “Are you still suicidal?” No one would ever accuse a Porter of being tactful.

  “No, I received counseling and the support of the domestic violence group that helped rescue me.” She gave him an ironic smile. “It didn’t take long for my mountain blood to kick back in. I decided to live just to spite Scott. It wasn’t much of a reason to keep living, but then I began helping other abused women. I put them in contact with those who could help, plastic surgeons to repair physical damage that is a constant reminder of the abuse they suffered.” She ran a finger down her perfectly shaped nose. “The worst thing is to be reminded every time you look in a mirror.”

  “I’m thankful they were there for you.” Tate lifted her hand to his mouth, his lips delicately brushing the scars on her wrist.

  “I
don’t give Scott any power over me any longer, but my wedding band reminds me not to trust in my heart ever again. It’s let me down two times.”

  “Your heart didn’t let you down; the men you loved did,” Tate said. “I can’t change the past. I would give my own life to bring back your daughter for you, but I can’t. I can only prove I’ll be there for you from now on.”

  Sutton pulled away from him, tugging her hand out of his firm grip. “I’m not going to give you or any other man another chance. I’m finally content with my life.”

  “You might have a million reasons not to trust me when I tell you I want to start over with you.”

  Sutton shook her head. There was no way she would have a relationship with Tate. He might crack the wall she had created around her heart to protect it.

  “Don’t say ‘no’ yet. We’ll take it slow. I’ll even let you set the rules.”

  She stared at him doubtfully. Tate letting a woman be in control was beyond his capability.

  He grinned at her expression then stood and reached down to pull her to her feet.

  “You might have a million reasons not to trust me, but I only need one chance to prove you wrong.” He lifted her into his arms.

  “Tate, put me down! You can’t carry me down this mountain. You’re too weak. You’ll fall!”

  He buried his face in her neck and she slid her arms around his neck, careful not to press against the wound on his chest.

  “Your heart is telling you to give me a chance … Look where we are, Sutton.”

  She gazed around her, and it took her only a moment to realize where they were. It was the exact spot where they used to meet when they were teenagers, where they would lie on the old quilt and talk about their future.

  Like a wounded animal, she had unconsciously sought the place she had found her greatest happiness, feeling safe in Tate’s arms.

  Her heart was telling her what her mind wouldn’t accept: she was going to give him another chance.

  Chapter 16

  “You’re cheating,” Sutton accused him.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. You said we could move at my speed. You walking around the house half-naked is cheating.”

  Tate gave her a saccharine smile. “It’s hot.”

  Sutton couldn’t disagree with him. He was hot, and his body awakened desires she hadn’t felt in years, reminding her she was still a flesh-and-blood woman. She unconsciously licked her bottom lip when she noticed the growing bulge in his jeans.

  Tate was leaning back on the kitchen counter, drinking a beer, wearing jeans that fell to his hip bones. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which showed off his broad shoulders. The man was rock-hard. He didn’t have a six-pack; he was too muscular for that.

  The sexual tension was building, every time she came in contact with him, the hair on her arms would stand up from the electric charge that passed between them.

  “Want a sip?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I thought, from the way you were staring, you wanted some.”

  Sutton gritted her teeth. The man was too experienced not to know that she was attracted, just like a cat wanting catnip.

  “If I want one, I’ll get one all by myself,” she taunted.

  “Really? Can I watch?”

  “Sure.” Sutton walked to the fridge, taking out a beer and popping the top. Taking a drink, her eyes met Tate’s. The tension between them escalated with the deliberate challenge in her gaze.

  Tate slammed his beer down on the counter then made a sudden move toward her.

  Her desire died as she took a step back.

  Tate stopped a few feet away from her, his chest heaving as his hands clenched at his sides.

  “Sassy pants, I can take the teasing, but I can’t take the fear. I would never hurt you. I would give you my rifle to shoot me if I ever did.”

  Her body relaxed against the counter. “I believe you.”

  “You better.” He slowly walked closer, placing a hand on each side of her on the counter, pinning her in place. “I’m not going to rush you. You deserve to be courted and made to feel special.”

  “You’re not exactly a man I would take for being patient.”

  Tate gave her a seductive look. “I’m very patient.”

  A nervous laugh escaped her as she placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. “I need to cook dinner. Go into the living room and finish your beer.”

  Tate was turning to head that way when a knock sounded on the kitchen window at her back.

  “Are your brothers ever going to come to the front door?” She stared at Greer who was gawking at her from the other side of the glass.

  “I think he and Dustin are getting a kick with all the sneaking around. Don’t spoil their fun.”

  “I’d rather kick them in the ass.” Sutton pushed the window up higher so Greer could clamor inside. “Don’t knock anything over,” she sneered at him.

  She quickly moved the crockpot of beans she had spent the day cooking, if the big goof knocked them over, she would knock him over the head with the pan of fried potatoes sitting on the stove.

  “Do I smell soup beans?” Greer sniffed the air, his feet still hanging from the window. “And cornbread?”

  “No,” Sutton lied. Deliberately, she reached out, tugging his feet loose.

  “Wait …” Greer fell to the floor and glared up at her.

  “Sorry.”

  “I bet.” Greer stood, picking up his baseball cap from the floor and placing it back on his head. “Woman, you have a vicious streak, but I can deal with it if you give me a bowl of those beans.”

  Sutton raised a brow, remaining still.

  Greer sighed. “I came by to tell you there’s been another shooting in town.”

  “Anyone hurt?” Tate asked sharply.

  “No, but Rider has a big hole in his helmet.”

  “Rider? He gave me a ride home the night I went out with Cheryl,” Sutton butted into the conservation. “Is he okay?”

  “You gonna give me a bowl of them beans?”

  Before she could tell Greer where she would shove those beans, Tate answered her.

  “He’s fine. The son of a bitch is a Last Rider, and they each have nine lives.”

  “Thank God he wasn’t hurt.” Then another thought occurred to her. “When did it happen?”

  “A couple of hours ago. Knox, his deputies, and the state police are swarming all over town, trying to find Tate.”

  “He couldn’t have done it. He’s been here with me the whole time.”

  “Whoever is doing the shootings doesn’t know I’m here with you, or they would have waited for you to go into town,” Tate stated.

  “Is that good or bad?” Sutton asked, going to the oven to take out the cornbread. Lifting the heavy, cast-iron skillet, she placed it on the stove.

  “Bad. It means either the fucker is getting ready to leave town, or …”

  “Or?”

  “He’s about to escalate the attacks.”

  Sutton gave Tate a worried glance. “Knox said he would come back and arrest you if one more person was hurt.”

  “Knox knows Tate didn’t do it. A witness gave a description of someone smaller than Tate running away down an alley.”

  “Then Tate’s in the clear?”

  “Not just yet. Knox sent the message to keep low. The state police aren’t exactly willing to remove Tate from their suspect list, and they said the two killings might not be connected to Rider. They sent the bullet off to the state lab. It’s going to be a few days before they can say if it’s from the same gun that killed Helen Stevens.”

  Greer reached out to pinch off a large chunk of cornbread and popped it into his mouth. “Damn, I haven’t had cornbread that good since Ma died.”

  “Have a seat at the table, and I’ll fix you a plate.” Sutton ignored Tate’s amused gaze as she turned to the cabinet to take out plates and bowls.

  She fixed both men h
eaping plates of food before placing them down on the table in front of them.

  “What do you want to drink?”

  “What do you think?”

  Sutton went to the refrigerator, taking out the milk jug and placing it on the table with glasses. She had eaten at their home a few times before their parents had passed away and remembered how they liked to eat their cornbread.

  She sat down after fixing herself a much smaller plate, enjoying watching the men eat the food she had cooked.

  “I could fucking cry,” Greer complimented. “They taste just like Ma’s.”

  Sutton blushed with pleasure at Greer’s compliment. “They should. She’s the one who taught me how to cook them.”

  When the men were done eating, she watched as they each tore the cornbread up into their milk and ate it with their spoons.

  “Never thought I’d say I would enjoy someone’s cooking as much as Ma’s.” Greer’s praise had her smiling.

  She hadn’t noticed how good-looking he had become before now. His features were more handsome than Tate’s and more sculpted than Dustin’s. His nose would benefit from a plastic surgeon. Sutton thought it looked like it had been broken more often than hers. His body was leaner than Tate’s, but he was taller. Sutton could understand why the women in town would have trouble picking between the Porter brothers.

  Tate’s frown showed he wasn’t happy with the way she was looking at Greer.

  A fly suddenly flew by, and Sutton forgot about Tate’s frown and became angry at herself for not lowering the screen after Greer had climbed through. The aggravating thing would drive her crazy until she managed to kill it. She was about to get a fly swatter when Greer’s hand smacked down with the speed of lightning on the table, killing it. He used his fingers to flick it off the table then casually went back to eating his milk and cornbread.

  Her eyes went back to Tate at his chuckle. “How am I looking now?”

  “Better.” Sutton laughed with him.

  Greer looked at them suspiciously. “What?”

  “There’s soap and water over at the sink.”

  “Why, because I killed that little fly? I have an immunity to germs,” he bragged.