Justice For Abby

by Cate Beauman

  Despite her goose bumps and chattering teeth she grinned, flushed with the successes of her day. Mary officially turned over the hen house duties, dubbing Abby the Quinn Family Farm’s new egg gatherer, and Uncle Jimmy finally let her hook one of the cows up to the milking machine. Sighing her contentment, she stared at the big, beautiful house, watching the smoke plume from the living room chimney into dull, gray skies. She shivered, blinking her tired eyes, and laughed, twirling once, careful not to damage the eggs as she continued down the frozen path, reveling in her happiness.

  Life was so simple here, the pace so slow and easy. The townspeople were kind and the stores small and charming. She could actually think without the familiar burden of fear. The constant nightmares she’d experienced in LA had yet to make an appearance, and the ceaseless need to look over her shoulder was gone. She was free and safe. She laughed again with the heady power of liberation, silently thanking Jerrod for giving her this opportunity.

  She glanced toward the kitchen windows, smiling, shuddering as delicious tingles rocketed through her core, remembering the way he’d kissed her breathless and surprised her with his hungry demands. Last night opened her eyes to the real Jerrod Quinn. Not only was he a bodyguard and former US Marshall but also a reluctant farmer who helped mama cows birth their calves. He’d shared his story over a mug of tea, finally letting her in, then he’d ravaged her, his mouth feeding on hers like he’d been starving; his hands touching everywhere, stoking fires that were still burning. His calm, laidback façade would never fool her again. Beneath the recesses of those steady baby blues lay an inferno of toe-curling sexy she’d never experienced until now.

  So why did she walk away so easily when he unexpectedly slammed on the brakes? She cursed herself again as she had a hundred times while she lay awake in the dark, staring at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, tossing and turning like a top ready to blow. Jerrod said he “couldn’t” as he’d held her cheeks in his strong hands, staring into her eyes, but Jerrod most certainly could, and she planned to enjoy the ride.

  Another slow smile crossed her lips with an anticipation she hadn’t felt in a very long time. The cool Mr. Quinn had officially stirred her libido back to roiling. Now that she knew how it could be, she wanted more; she planned to have all of him very soon, but how?

  She nibbled her lip as fragrant baths, sexy nighties, and a midnight visit to Jerrod’s room came to mind, but she needed to purchase her tools of seduction first. She swallowed the small lump of guilt, thinking her underhanded thoughts, and shook it away. Sometimes a woman had to take charge, and she was ready. Jerrod definitely wouldn’t be sorry, but first she needed to wash the eggs, then she would track him down—not that he was ever hard to find—and they would be off to the town’s one department store for something spectacular and lacy.

  She pressed her hand to her stomach, calming her jitters as she climbed the steps and twisted the knob, walking into the blessed warmth. She pulled off her hat, stopping short, staring in disbelief as Shelby and Jerrod stood by the counter, his hands gripping her shoulders, Shelby cupping his cheeks, in a full-on lip lock.

  Jerrod broke free, pushing Shelby away as the beautiful redhead smirked. “Damn it, Shelby.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes going wide before he closed them. “Abigail.”

  Her heart sank as she set down the basket, afraid she would drop it from her trembling fingers. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, walking up the stairs blindly, forgetting Mary’s rules about boots in the house in her hurry to get to her room as Jerrod called after her. She stepped inside and closed the door, clutching the knob as her breath came too quickly. She wished she had the strength to lock herself in, but she opened the door a crack and sat on her bed, gripping her arms across her chest in the heavy wool coat, despite the heat flooding through the vents.

  Shaking her head, she rested her forehead in her hands. Did she actually just see that? She closed her eyes and puffed out a breath as her stomach churned with nausea. Jerrod had assured her there was nothing left between him and Shelby, and she’d believed him. He’d never given her a reason not to.

  Abigail, I can’t do this. I can’t. His voice echoed through her head like a nightmare. He could, just not with her.

  And to think she’d been ready to try her hand at seduction. She laughed, her eyes filling as she stood, walking to the window, staring out at the snow-covered fields. Jerrod may have left Shelby behind, but he certainly wasn’t over her as he’d claimed. Her breath shuddered out as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. How could she have been so stupid?

  She unzipped her coat and took it off, laying it on the chair by the fireplace as she glanced at the phone on the side table, yearning to call Lex. Alexa would know what to do; she would know what to say to make all of this make sense, but she couldn’t put her family at risk just because she was having a Jerrod crisis.

  She nibbled her nail as she paced in small circles, well aware that she would have to deal with this problem on her own. She’d been certain pursuing a relationship with Jerrod was the next healthy step in her road to healing. Dr. Tate had assured her she would know when she found the right partner, and she thought she had. Now nothing was clear.

  She walked back toward the window and stopped as a whole new thought occurred to her. What if her abduction was part of the problem? What if Jerrod was attracted to her but realized he couldn’t be with someone who’d lived as she did for two hellish months? She’d hardly endured what the other girls did, but she’d done several things she wasn’t proud of—lap dances, stripping her body bare in seedy clubs, poll dances to catcalls. What if somewhere below the recesses of Jerrod’s compassion he thought her dirty? She’d thought herself dirty until several sessions into her therapy and numerous meetings with her support group.

  Jerrod had been supportive from the beginning, but dealing with panic attacks and offering comfort after her dreaded nightmares was easy when he could take a step back. A relationship meant delving into the thick of it all, and he probably didn’t want to.

  Everything had been different since the photo shoot. Perhaps the forced connection reminded him she wasn’t just any other woman, and his job had been a convenient excuse. Alexa was married to a bodyguard, as were Morgan, Sarah, and Hailey, and soon Wren would be too. Their husbands had handled their protection just fine.

  Surely last night had been a mistake in Jerrod’s eyes. He’d been too caught up in the excitement of the birth and vulnerable after he shared so much of himself with her. He’d forgotten where she came from for a moment and pushed her away when he remembered.

  Her stomach sank lower as the truth became apparent. Jerrod couldn’t handle who she was—and her experiences in the Baltimore stash house and strip clubs were part of that whether he liked it or not. She straightened her sagging shoulders, reminding herself that she would not be ashamed of what she’d lived through or what she’d done to survive. If Jerrod was, well, she couldn’t help that, even if the possibility broke her heart.

  She caught sight of her own devastated eyes in the mirror and looked away, trying desperately not to care as Shelby’s smooth voice grew loud. Seconds later the door slammed, making Abby jump.

  She looked to the sewing machine Mary was letting her borrow and her sketchpad—her solace. She made a beeline to the desk Jerrod had moved in from one of the other guest rooms. She opened the book to the next clean page and picked up a pencil, eager to escape. She didn’t want this stress or need it, nor did she want to feel the misery she was drowning in as she sat among her things. She positioned her paper, ready to begin, finding comfort in the familiar, finding power and strength as she drew the first line.

  ~~~~

  “Abby. Wait.” Jerrod started after her, stopping on the first step, shoving a hand through his hair as she quickened her pace and disappeared down the hall. “Damn it!” He whirled. “What the hell was that, Shelby? What are you doing?”

  “An experiment.” She smiled coolly, crossing her arms, l
eaning against the counter.

  He was still trying to catch up with the last two minutes. He and Shelby had been arguing, then out of nowhere she grabbed him, planting one on him seconds before Abby walked in. He narrowed his eyes as Shelby’s intentions were suddenly clear. “You saw her coming.”

  She shrugged.

  “Goddamn.” He jammed his hands through his hair for the second time as Abby’s stunned, pale face flashed through his mind. “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I wanted to see what I just did for myself. You two have a thing.” She rushed forward, giving him a shove. “Why did you come back here and throw her in my face?”

  “Throw her in your face?” He sidestepped her as she moved in again. “We hardly leave the farm. If you didn’t come around all the damn time...” He clenched his jaw, turning away, staring out the window as he braced his hands on the frame, struggling to gather his patience. As much as he wanted to throw Shelby’s ass out into the cold, he couldn’t. She was as pissed as he was. Nothing good happened when Shelby was angry.

  “Why are you doing this?” Her voice radiated with pain. “Why do you want to hurt me like this?”

  He gripped the wood tighter, sighing. How many times had he heard the same tired line in the same wounded tone? “I don’t want to hurt you, Shelby. I never have.” He turned, facing her, hoping they could settle this once and for all. “I don’t want to keep going round and round.”

  She reached up, touching his cheek as she looked in his eyes. “The night you left. You never let me explain. That thing you thought you saw with Rod was nothing. He didn’t mean anything. We were fighting all the time, and I was lonely. It was just a hug. I still love you, Jerrod.”

  “I don’t feel the same way.” He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away, blowing out a breath. Shelby’s embrace with her co-worker had been the perfect excuse to walk away from something he’d wanted out of almost from the beginning, especially when he was fairly certain she had staged the whole thing. “You and me, we’re over. We tried to make things work. They didn’t.”

  “Because you walked in when I was hugging Rod.”

  He shook his head. “Rod was the least of our problems.”

  “How can you say that? We were happy.”

  Did she not remember the constant arguments and days on end where neither of them spoke to the other? “No, Shelby, we weren’t. We would’ve come to an end eventually. You standing in our living room in another man’s arms just brought it around sooner. You need to move on.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she laughed bitterly. “The way you have?”

  “Abby’s my friend.”

  “Give me a break. Friends don’t look at each other the way you two do.”

  He squeezed the back of his neck as the truth hit the mark, realizing he was doing a crappy job of concealing his feelings. “We work together.”

  “Right. The dedicated son and his friendly office manager taking a much-needed break at the Quinn Family Farm. You’re a hell of a team player.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets as Shelby worked his last nerve, worrying that she wouldn’t be letting this obsession with Abigail go. “I don’t know what you think you’re seeing between me and Abby, but there’s nothing there. I’m not going to keep going over this with you.”

  She swiped at her cheeks. “When did you turn into such an asshole?”

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “The day you packed your things and walked away.”

  “I had to go. We both know it.”

  “You could’ve taken me with you. You could’ve gotten me the hell out of this town.”

  He crossed his arms at his chest. “You’re more than capable of doing that yourself. You’re a good journalist, Shelby. You can go anywhere you want and make it.”

  “Anywhere as long as it’s not with you.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Bastard,” she hissed.

  Enough was enough. Nothing was going to get solved this way; it probably never would. “Why don’t you go home and cool off for awhile?”

  She glared. “You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that. I hate you, Jerrod Quinn. I hate you!” She stormed to the door, slamming it behind her.

  He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and closed them, weary to the bone. Shelby exhausted him. She always had, with her constant demands and vile tantrums. He was rid of her for now, but she would be back soon enough with her crocodile tears and empty apologies. God, he just wanted her to stay away, but he would have to put up with her mercurial moods and endless need for drama until he and Abby left for the trial. Hopefully she would go back to town and focus on her job instead of him or Abby, but he doubted it. He would give Timmy a call and have him distract her for a while. His brother could do his part to keep Abby safe. God knows he’d tried.

  The floorboards creaked above his head as Abby walked around her room, pacing, he knew. She was a pacer when she was upset. Steaming out a long breath, he scrubbed at his face again, trying to figure out how the hell to fix this. Shelby left a mess with her selfish disregard, and he needed to clean it up. If he’d had any inkling as to what she’d been up to, he would’ve ended her game before it began.

  Starting up the steps, he searched for the right words, especially since he and Abby had yet to talk about last night. She’d been out in the barn with Uncle Jimmy before he had a chance to pull her aside and explain. He stopped outside her door and knocked. “Abby.”

  She didn’t answer.

  He knocked again. “I’m coming in.”

  Silence.

  He pushed open the door, stepping in, staring at Abby’s back as she sat at the desk he’d dragged in from the other room, listening to staticky Top 40 hits playing from the small AM/FM radio with tinfoil on its antennae. She was the picture of serenity, except for the frantic strokes of her pencil on paper. “Abigail.”

  “This isn’t a good time,” she said quietly. “I’m busy.”

  He walked closer, standing over her, watching the dark lines turn into a long skirt and some sort of fancy shirt. Her ability to make the difficult appear simple always fascinated him. “I think we should talk about…downstairs.”

  “I don’t.”

  They were going to anyway. “The whole thing was a mistake. That wasn’t what it looked like.”

  “It looked like your lips were pressed against Shelby’s, kind of the way they were pressed against mine last night.”

  He puffed out a breath. “Yeah.” He crouched down at her side, hoping she would look at him. “Shelby’s having a hard time accepting that we’re through.”

  “I can only imagine.” She picked up a dark brown colored pencil, adding a belt to her sketch. “Mixed signals are usually confusing.”

  He ran his tongue along his teeth. Abby’s cool indifference slapped at him more effectively than Shelby’s rants ever could. “There are no mixed signals where Shelby’s concerned.” He touched her hand. “There are no mixed signals, Abigail.”

  She pulled away. “I’m not sure I agree.”

  “Abby—” He clenched his jaw. “Will you look at me?”

  She stopped drawing and met his gaze with unreadable eyes.

  “Shelby and I are over.”

  “I’m don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

  “Because last night…” He stopped himself before he told her that he’d ached for her, craving her as he lay in his own bed. “Because I want to be sure you understand.”

  “I understand everything just fine.”

  He narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher what that meant. “Abby, last night in the kitchen,” he tried again. “You and me… My job… I got caught up.” He scratched at his jaw as he fumbled. “I can’t have a relationship.”

  She leaned in closer, dropping her voice. “This is pretty personal stuff. Close Protection Agents probably shouldn’t discuss such private information with their principals.”

  Jackson wa
rned him long ago that she had a spicy streak. “Damn it, Abigail.”

  She sat up straight, replacing the dark brown pencil with tan. “I really need to get back to work. We both have a job to do. You go ahead and be the bodyguard, and I’ll be the sex-trafficked fashion designer in need of your services.”

  He snagged her wrist, holding firmly, preventing the next stroke to her paper. “I’m sorry.”

  “Apologies aren’t necessary.” She tugged out of his hold, her eyes heating for the first time. “Go away, Jerrod. We have nothing more to say.”

  He stood as she began adding depth to her creation, leaving as she’d asked, when he wanted nothing more than to stay.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shelby stormed into her office, slamming the door, throwing her purse to her desk as she took her seat. “Damn it!” Her breath rushed in and out as she stared at the pile of paperwork littering her blotter and shoved the messy stacks to the floor. “Damn it!” Today was not going the way she’d planned. Her trip to the Quinn farm was supposed to have turned out entirely different. Jerrod was supposed to have accepted her dinner invitation instead of turning her down; he was supposed to have kissed her back instead of freaking the hell out when he realized Abigail saw the whole thing.

  She collapsed back in her chair with a huff. Why couldn’t she make Jerrod see that they belonged together? What did she have to do to make him love her? She wanted him and planned to have him, but he was too distracted by the blue-eyed city girl with her silky black hair and ultra trendy clothes. She chucked a pen across the room, ignoring the stirrings of envy.

  What did he see in the little twit anyway? She was short and too damn perky. She’d watched Abigail grin and laugh on her way back from the hen house, spinning around like she was freaking Liesl Von Trapp from the Sound of Music. Huffing out another breath, Shelby stared at her wall of accolades, trying to think past her crushing disappointment. Why the hell did he bring the fashion plate to flipping Parker, Nebraska? He hated it here. If he wanted time away from the office with his luscious little package why didn’t he whisk her off to Tahiti or Aruba—anywhere but here… unless the situation was something else entirely, as she’d suspected all along.