Sheltering Annie

by Lauren Giordano

It wasn't working this time. Because she was feeling—all of it. Shame. Anger. Futility. It wasn't working—because she was telling the person she might . . . love. Someone she'd hoped would respect her. Until now. When he learned how she'd allowed herself to be treated.

  It took every ounce of courage to meet his direct, kind, I'd-never-hurt-you gaze. "Beat me . . . instead of the boys."

  Hank's breathing stilled, as though he were holding his breath. The space between them electrically charged with the current of his anger. "Please . . . tell me he's not still around." His voice had gone hoarse, yet she knew he was trying to be careful. Trying not to upset her. "Tell me he's not . . . still h-hurting you. That he doesn't have access to the boys-"

  She willed herself to meet his gaze. "He doesn't want them. I doubt—he remembers their names," she admitted. "We've been divorced two years—apart for nearly three. "What you saw tonight at the restaurant is why I finally left. That's the residue . . . we all have," she admitted. "The boys are still afraid of him."

  "You are, too." His quiet voice rang with conviction. "Why are you still afraid, Annie?"

  She released a gusting sigh. Her gaze shifted, homing in on the boys. Tommy still on the monkey bars. Jason . . . drawing in the mulch with a stick. She scanned the area. No one skulking in the shadows. Every adult there, focused on their own child. Yet, her skin was prickling . . . as though-

  Forcing herself to not look over her shoulder, she shook off the crazy notion. Her heart was in overdrive. Reliving the nightmare always reawakened it. But, it wasn't Phil upsetting her. It was the story. The telling of it. To a man like Henry—who could never imagine treating a woman as her ex had. "He . . . drinks. A lot."

  "What happens then, sweet?" His deceivingly innocent question belied the glint of fury in his gaze.

  "He . . . comes looking for us."

  Chapter 9

  Hank's head was spinning—with anger. Despair. Sadness. And wonder for the beautiful woman beside him. She could still smile. She could still . . . hope for the future. Be enthusiastic and loving to her children. That she could still love. That she might one day . . . love him. When her ex had taken so much. The bastard who still breathed. Polluting their air.

  "Annie, you're one of the strongest women I've ever met." He released a steadying breath to dispel the fury churning within him, unwilling for even a drop of it to spill over on her. She'd been through enough. He wouldn't risk her being collateral damage to the battle raging inside him. "You telling me what he's done-" He swallowed hard. "Only confirms what I believe about you. You're unbelievably smart—to have escaped him. And you're tough to have survived it."

  "Henry-" Her beautiful eyes leaked tears.

  "And you're the best damned mom I've ever met." Swearing under his breath, Hank tugged her gently into his arms. And held her. His head resting on hers, he released several cleansing breaths. Brushing his lips against her forehead, he felt himself calm. Something about having Annie in his arms settled him. Made everything feel right. As though she, alone, was meant to be there. And he was meant to be in her life. To comfort her. To make it a little easier. To help her repair the damage done to two, loving, guarded boys.

  Unable to resist, he trailed his mouth along her hairline. Heard her shudder and was thankful for it. He wanted her. He wanted them.

  She lifted her mouth to his. "Henry-" She opened for him. Unable to resist, he swallowed her sigh, sliding his tongue into her warm, welcoming sweetness. She met him eagerly, her soft moan muffled as he ravaged her mouth, tasting, exploring, giving and taking from her. From her overwhelmingly eager response. Sweet Jesus, she was the most beautiful, responsive woman he'd ever-

  Too soon, his blood heating to an inferno, heart bouncing off his ribcage, he gently pulled back. Her whimper of protest had him dropping kisses along the corner of her mouth. "I want you, Annie," he whispered, his mouth drifting to her ear, where he nipped the delicate flesh with his teeth. "I'm half-crazy wanting you."

  Her luscious breasts pressed to his chest, Hank could barely think straight. But, when she lifted her gaze to his, he found only honesty shimmering there. "I want you, too."

  "Maybe . . . y'all could spend the day out at the farm . . . soon."

  She kissed a path up his throat. "How about Saturday?" Her gaze turned mischievous, as though she could read his disjointed thoughts. "I want to see goats."

  "Saturday?" He gulped in a ragged breath of much needed air as her mouth continued its trek along the underside of his jaw. How could that feel so unbelievably good? "Would—would be great. We could hike with the boys. Have a picnic in the orchard-"

  "And see goats?"

  "Nelson and Mildred would love to-" He swallowed a groan when her mouth traced a path up his bristled cheek. "Meet you," he rasped.

  "Maybe . . . we could spend the night, too?"

  He stilled. Glanced down at her. Read the answer in her eyes. Hooyah. Hell, yes, they could spend the night. "That would be amazing, but—only if you're sure. When you're sure." His pulse soared, before tattooing a warning. Glancing up, he located her sons before she asked. "They're comin' this way, sweet. We should probably head back to the shelter so you can pick up your car and get these little guys home to bed."

  She startled against him. Gazing down at her, he absorbed her suddenly troubled expression—as though she felt guilty for the actions of her bastard ex-husband. "Darlin', let me reassure you of one thing. He is never—ever going to touch you again."

  "I should've told you sooner." Annie stared up at him, her eyes shadowed as she chewed the perfect bottom lip he wanted to taste all over again. "But, I was afraid it would scare you off. And I wanted it to last a little longer."

  "Being with me?" He stroked her back, loving how she relaxed against him, how she seemed to crave his touch as much as he did hers.

  She stared up at him, her beautiful, golden eyes heating with emotion. "Henry, you don't know what you've done for me. You . . . make my day. Just seeing you each day has been wonderful."

  "I feel the same about you." Her delicate, flushed cheekbones warmed under his thumbs, her skin like satin to his touch. How could anyone . . . strike her? Her stunning, perfect face? The fragile, fine-boned beauty. Her delicate, tapered nose. The honest, loving eyes staring back at him. How could anyone use his fists-

  "It's o' dark hundreds." Tommy announced his arrival.

  Still staring into her eyes, Hank shook free of the disturbing image. A madman. A bully. A weak, manipulative- He released a cleansing breath, forcing a smile for the boys. "That means we should probably be getting back, guys."

  "Why's you kissin' my mommy?" Jason wedged between them, raising his arms for Hank to lift him up.

  "Your mommy is incredibly nice," he answered, pleased the little boy wanted him to carry him. He hoisted him to his shoulder. "And look how beautiful she is," he pointed out, smiling when she blushed.

  Jason nodded. "I needs to kiss her, too." He glanced at Hank. "Swing me over so I can reach," he ordered.

  Hank smothered his laughter as he complied, relieved to set aside the disturbing conversation. There would be plenty of time later to address his jumbled thoughts. Plenty of time to think about the bastard who'd nearly broken her. To learn more . . . about Phil McKenna.

  After a smacking kiss, Jason clutched his neck. "I's tired from playin'"

  "How about you, Sport?" His gaze shifted to Tommy. "You tired?"

  The little guy's nod was interrupted with a yawn. "Uh-huh." He leaned against his mother's leg. When Annie went to lift him, she stilled, suddenly glancing over her shoulder.

  "Everything okay?" Hank liked the feel of Jason's soft, little arms around his neck. When she shivered, he noticed her sudden paleness. "Need my jacket, sweet?"

  She scrubbed her arms, her gaze still searching the baseball field beyond them. Distracted, she finally nodded. "Thank you—no. I'm f-fine. We should—get going."

  As subtly as possible, Hank turned with Jason, pointing out the st
ars over the darkening field. His antenna raised, he scanned the far side of the field, looking for what . . . he wasn't certain. But, something had made Annie go quiet. In deepening shadows, he noticed a man resting against the base of a tree. A dark hoodie. Black or navy. Hood up, covering his head. His neck prickled. On a perfect spring night—why was the hood up?

  For a fleeting moment, he wished he was alone. That he could cross the field- As the man was absorbed in the deepening shadows under the thick grove of trees, he reluctantly turned back. Get them safe. He wanted Annie and the boys in his truck. "Who wants to help fold the blanket?"

  He was met with a duet of 'I do's. The task took twice as long as it should as each boy battled for control over the corners. But, he was warmed by Annie's laughter as she finally stepped in to re-establish order. After catching her glance, he whispered his question. "Can I tell them about Saturday?"

  "Not all of it, I hope." Her smile suddenly shy, she blushed furiously as though second-guessing her teasing remark. But, luminous, golden eyes told an entirely different story. Annie was eager about Saturday, too. Maybe more than her boys would be. And he—was damned near ecstatic.

  He waited until the boys were safely strapped into their car seats—a purchase he'd debated for nearly twenty minutes the previous night when he'd run by the store after work to pick up toothpaste and shaving cream. The display had caught his eye . . . the baby aisle of all places. He'd wandered past, intent on finding the items on his list and gettin' the hell out. When he'd seen them. Car seats. A whole row of 'em. For people with babies. Families with children. People vastly unlike him. He'd seen tiny clothes in bright patterns. A cute, little, pink dress with the word Handful emblazoned across the front. Toys. Cribs. Blankets.

  "You boys have any interest in coming out to the farm on Saturday?" Hank winced when the boys started shrieking in the back seat, before peppering him with a million questions. Glancing at Annie, he grinned. "Guess they're not so sleepy anymore."

  Her eyes glinting in the street lights as he retraced their steps to New Beginnings, she cracked up. "Thanks for that."

  "No problem," he teased. "I'm super helpful like that." Her strong, capable fingers nestled in his, his thoughts drifted back to the previous night. The store. The aisle where, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, he'd started to sweat. Out of his element. As though he'd meandered over the border—into a foreign country where he could no longer read the signs. Yet, his feet had refused to move. He'd hesitated. He'd stared. He'd debated. Until he'd finally flagged down a girl in a red shirt . . . and proceeded to pester her with a dozen questions about car seats. Which one was the best? Safest. The easiest to use. Then, he'd bought two of them. But, when he'd left the store, rolling the overloaded cart out to his truck, his brain had still been preoccupied. He'd strapped each seat in place, exactly as the girl had instructed him, still puzzling through it. He'd tightened straps. Triple-checked them for looseness. As he'd crawled out of the backseat, he'd finally realized his confusion hadn't stemmed from his completely random purchase of two, relatively expensive car seats.

  He glanced at Annie, smiling in the seat beside him and gave her hand a squeeze. His mind drifted back. Remembering that little, pink dress.

  FURY STRUMMED THROUGH him. Sadness—that her actions tonight would force him to teach her a lesson. Phil set his binoculars in the grass, casually lowering the hoodie to scan the area. To make sure he wasn't attracting any attention. He'd driven to the damned shelter tonight. He'd taken a risk, walking into that hellhole . . . acting as though he were one of them. One of the pathetic, weak creatures who couldn't even manage to feed themselves without begging for assistance. Always whining about what they didn't have. As though hard-working people like him should be bailing them out.

  Only to discover—the bitch was out? She'd actually left the shelter. On a date? Two hundred yards away, she sat on a blanket in the park. With some older guy—who was sittin' too close to his wife. He raised the binoculars again, his grip tightening when the bastard kissed her. "Those are my kids, bro. Unless you're gonna pay for 'em . . ." Hell—wouldn't that be nice? Get the ex out of his wallet? To be free and clear of them. Finally.

  Today, he'd finally received confirmation on what he'd suspected for two weeks. They'd been outside . . . for some stupid dog and pony show. All the site guys, drivin' equipment around for the kids. Her blond hair had stood out like a taunting, neon beacon. Phil smiled. He'd wanted to yank her head back. Bring back any memories, hon? He wanted to twist it in his hands until she dropped to her knees, crying. But—he had the new one for that now. Betsy. A pill addict with steady money from her ex. He could pretty much do anything to her—as long as he controlled her stash of Vikes. Occasionally, he'd steal a couple for himself. To relax. De-stress. Living with Betsy was nearly as bad as his ex. She was always whining. But, hell if he'd end up like her. Weak-willed. Pathetic. Crying for the drug she craved.

  "But, that don't mean Annie gets a free pass." So, after leaving the shelter, he'd performed a simple radius check. Eight restaurants later with no success, he'd finally remembered the park. No matter where they'd ever gone for dinner . . . Annie had always wanted to run the boys around. A quick internet search revealed all the parks in a five mile radius of the shelter. Simple. She was pathetically simpleminded. "One 'a the reasons you got rid of her."

  Get 'em tired for bed. She'd always complained about him doin' more. Him takin' the drooling, little pains in the ass to the park. "Go have fun with them," he mimicked. How was that possibly in the realm of fun? Clumsy, useless kids he'd never wanted. Always stumbling. Always whining. Spilling stuff. Wanting to be picked up. Crying. Jesus—it never ended. Always the damned park. "Like—that's my job?"

  Phil lowered the binoculars. It was starting to get dark, his location too shadowed to see clearly. Should he move in closer? Return to the shelter? Watch the geezer bring his kids back? If he hadn't lost his temper and gone after the Hispanic woman . . . he woulda been able to return the next day to surprise Annie. But—he'd been furious . . . she'd made him lose his temper. Now that he thought of it, he shoulda popped a Viko himself. They always took the edge off. Made it easier to tolerate the idiots surrounding him.

  It was Annie's fault he'd made a move on the woman who worked there. Then, her stupid kid had been right behind her. Bad luck. The big, hulking guard had been working late, too. Seriously bad luck. He was a friggin' giant.

  He'd had to back off. Pretend he hadn't been about to yank that chick's arm off until she told him where he could find Annie. Phil bit back the urge to shout. At night—in a park full 'a kids, that sort of move could get him arrested.

  He froze when Annie looked over her shoulder—staring in his direction. "Yeah, bitch," he muttered. "It's me. You'd better get ready."

  ANNIE WAS RELIEVED to finally leave the park. It had gotten too dark, too fast. The creepy sensation of being watched had slithered over her. The boys had dawdled, playing with Hank as they folded the picnic blanket—the happy noise of kids slowly fading away. As one car after the next turned on headlights and winded their way out of the park grounds, her senses had been screaming. The playground had gone unnaturally quiet. The deeply shadowed trees. Empty swings gently rocking in the breeze. Warning had strafed the hair on her neck. Run. Pick up the boys—and run.

  Now, in the seat beside Hank, safely locked inside his truck, she released a calming breath. Maybe she'd imagined it? Her life was on the cusp of getting better. She glanced at him, sensing his smile. Had she forgotten how to be happy? Schooled for too long on bad news—had she lost the ability to experience joy? To acknowledge she was already half in love with the kindest man she'd ever met?

  No. She'd been through this too often. Don't get careless. Her senses had prickled. One minute she'd been kissing Henry. Smiling over the boys exuberance. And the next—her pulse had strummed a warning. The metallic bitterness of fear had prickled her tongue. She'd sensed his presence. Phil—was nearby. Which meant—he knew wh
ere they lived. He'd seen them. Unless her senses were wildly out of whack . . . he'd found them. She bit her lip, her gaze darting to the rearview mirror. Today, when they'd been outside? Or had he known even longer?

  "You okay, sweet? You're awfully quiet."

  She forced a smile, unwilling to blindside Hank with her laundry list of worries. She'd weighted him down with enough baggage for one night. "Just tired," she admitted, acknowledging it was true. Apparently, happiness could be as exhausting as fear. "We've had a busy few days."

  "I agree." His gaze on the road, he shot her a glance. "Maybe tomorrow night we can knock out a little work in the daycare center—since Saturday . . . we won't be working."

  Her thoughts scattered, her worries on hold for the moment. Annie caught her breath. A whole day with Henry. Laughing with him. Stolen kisses. Her boys running free. And later—tucked safely in a bedroom down the hall. A whole night. Twelve glorious, giddy, crazy hours with the hottest man she'd met in years. All to herself. "I—think that's a great idea." She swallowed around the sudden dryness in her throat. Three years. Three long years without . . . anyone. "I'd rather work hard the next few nights, because I definitely want to take Saturday off with you. It's been a really long time since I've . . . dated."

  "We'd better rest up, darlin'." His sexy smile rocketed through her chest, making her heart skitter erratically. "It's been a long time for me, too." His magnetic eyes locked on hers. "And with a woman as beautiful as you, we might find ourselves staying up pretty late."

  She released a ragged breath, her cheeks burning. Her rusted, underused nursing training returned, reminding her to keep breathing. In and out. To not faint with anticipation. "Sleeping is highly overrated."

  "I don't like sleepin' either," Tommy piped up from the backseat. "But, Mommy makes me go to bed."

  Hank cracked up, his raspy chuckle crawling over her skin like a caress. "Well, you should always listen to your mom." He raised their joined hands to his mouth, smiling when she shivered. Three more days. Three endlessly long days. Until it would finally be Saturday.