"He's likely been served with another child support notice. Which means he must finally have a job again."
"This is about money?"
She tipped her head back to stare at him. "For the most part, yes. But, he's also just—mean. And crazy. An alcoholic." He felt her shrug against him. "Hell, I don't even know for sure anymore."
"How long have you lived here?"
"Ten weeks." Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I arrived a couple weeks before you did."
"Before that?"
She led him to the bed so they could sit together. "Before that, I was in a tiny rental. But, that only lasted two weeks before he found us. Before that, we were here for a month—but that was temporary. We were moved here because the shelter before that . . . wanted to separate us." "Separate?" He stilled, almost disbelieving what he was hearing. "You mean—the boys?"
She shrugged, tears leaking from her eyes as she looked away. "I couldn't do it. So, we came here, but Sharon didn't have space for us to stay longer. There's a constant wait list for New Beginnings."
A wait list for women . . . being beaten. Hank swallowed around the grief of knowing that. No wonder Marisol was such a determined fundraiser. New Beginnings was personal—maybe for all of them. "So, you took a chance and tried to make it on your own—with the rental?"
"I was out of options." she admitted. "I had no idea he'd find us so quickly." Her gaze drifted to the far wall. Blank, except for a calendar, where days were marked with an X. "Besides breaking in, he vandalized it. So, I lost my security deposit. Had to come running back here. Thank God, Sharon took us back."
Hank suddenly understood. She didn't work downstairs. She volunteered—to defray the cost of them living there. "Is that what he does? Makes you spend money you don't have?"
Annie startled next to him. "That's exactly what he does. Three years ago, I started planning my escape from him." Releasing a gusting breath, she reached for his hand. Surprised, he acknowledged relief pouring through him.
"I started working a ton of overtime. I was working at St. John's then." She smiled when he squeezed her fingers. "It was a hard choice. Working lots of hours meant the boys had to stay in daycare because I couldn't risk leaving them with Phil. But, in six months, I managed to stash about four thousand dollars in an account Phil didn't know about."
"Preparing to leave him," he guessed. "Did you anticipate him doing this?"
She shrugged slender shoulders. "I knew I'd get nothing in the divorce. Not that we had anything. Phil didn't like working." She glanced up, as though expecting censure. "I was just hoping to get set up in an apartment. Keep working my job." She chewed her bottom lip. "We would've been fine. A little tight on money, but I didn't care about that. I just wanted-"
Peace. To be free of fear. Escape his abuse. Hank had to fight not to clench his hand into a fist.
"I never suspected he would prevent me from working."
"So, the money started running out." He released a calming breath. Voice neutral. Not seething with the fury he wanted to unleash on Phil McKenna.
"It's nearly gone," she admitted, her voice breaking. "What should have been an emergency fund—a cushion . . . became all I had. Each time he found us, I ended up squandering the security deposit because of the damage he'd do breaking in."
Frustration churned in his stomach. Her simple explanation for a person who'd wreaked havoc in her life. Who'd abused her and the boys. Physically and emotionally tried to destroy her.
"I never realized he would prevent Tommy from staying in the same school-" Her voice an agonized whisper. "Jason was just a baby—but Tommy-"
The little guy's resentment. His wish for his mommy . . . was to simply stay in one place. "How many schools has he been enrolled in?" He scrolled his memory. The questions about making friends. I don't have anyone to eat lunch with.
"Three this year." Her voice had gone hoarse. Quiet. Sad. As though she'd failed her sons.
Hank tugged her closer. "It's not your fault, love." When a tear splashed down on their joined hands, he shifted to face her. "Annie—it's not your fault."
Her smile quavered. "Try explaining that to him."
"HONEY, WE'RE GONNA fix this."
Henry's vow lifted Annie's spirits, if only temporarily. She leaned into him, loving the sturdy strength of his body next to hers. Absorbing the sense of comfort he provided, as though it were sunshine warming her skin. However fleeting Henry's presence proved to be in their lives, she was going to seize every single moment. Embrace them. Store them in her memory for later. The long, endless later. When he would no longer be there. For the day she'd be forced to run again.
"How do you get around, love?" His arm around her, he pulled her closer. "Do you have a car?"
"I have to hide it," she admitted. "I rent a storage unit . . . which takes money-" She didn't have.
"Hide?" He stiffened beside her.
"When I risk going out . . . like if one of the boys is sick. Or a parent-teacher meeting at school." Or to help one of the other women. "I have to w-walk a half hour to get it."
"In this neighborhood?" Hank closed his eyes, his breathing accelerating. "Why, Annie?"
She dropped her gaze from the intensity in his. "Last year, Phil . . . put a tracker on it." Annie swallowed, remembering several weeks earlier—the night when Gabby needed to take little David to the ER. At two in the morning, the skeletal New Beginnings staff had been on overload—with a new woman coming in. Gabby had been desperate. Pleading with her. Her son's fever dangerously high.
Unable to refuse, she'd stepped out into the damp, dark night. On her own. Alone. Heart in her throat. Terrified she wouldn't make it to the storage facility. Drenched with sweat by the time she did. Nearly fainting with relief once she was safely behind the wheel. It had been a dangerous choice. A foolish one. Risking herself. Her boys. Risking discovery. But, the women on her floor had become family.
"The bastard tracks you with GPS?" His voice an angry rasp, she knew it was taking everything in his power for Henry to not lose control. A rational, civilized man who couldn't fathom the thought of violence against a woman.
Three years earlier, Annie hadn't known how stubborn Phil would be in fighting the divorce. Ironically, he'd become a more invested ex-husband than he'd ever been while they were married. She hadn't known she'd still be running two years after the final decree.
"It's only about two miles," she reassured him, unable to resist brushing her lips against his throat.
"Two-" His throat seemed to be working overtime. "You could have been-" His voice had gone hoarse.
"Henry," she whispered. "Can you just . . . hold me?" Don't get angry, she prayed. Not now. Not here. She inhaled his comforting scent. I just want peace. For a few minutes.
He held himself rigid, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he stared down at her. Emotion flared in his eyes, but Annie was no longer certain whether it was anger or pity. Like an automaton, he raised his hands to her shoulders. She relaxed against him as he slowly loosened with her touch. When he trailed his fingers down her arms, she released a gusting sigh.
She wanted comfort. She wanted to lie to herself that everything could go back to the way it was. When he still wanted her. When he wanted them. A deep sense of longing swept over her. Would they still have Saturday? Or would she lose that, too?
When he finally lowered his mouth to hers, she was nearly desperate for it. For the strength in him. For his arms around her. For the control he always managed to maintain, no matter how angry he seemed to get over Phil. For the sense that with him—everything would be okay. She sifted her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. "Henry," she murmured against his lips.
Seeming to know what she needed, he slid his tongue between her lips. Taking the kiss deeper, he met her anxious need with a slow, gliding heat. Soothing her, his tongue stroking hers. His mouth nibbling at the corner of her mouth. Driving her crazy. His big, callused hands cradling her face. "Easy, love," he muttered, his voice a heated r
asp over her skin.
Her panting breath broke the stillness in her tiny room. Surprising him, she tugged him down on the too small bed. "Henry, I want-" Her frantic hands found the buttons on his shirt. His beautiful eyes stared down at her, cloudy with passion. He covered her fumbling fingers with his.
"I know, love. I know what you want."
She glanced to the door, hearing a voice echoing down the hallway. Near the bathroom, her hazy brain guessed.
"I want that, too," he whispered, nuzzling her throat with hot, wet kisses that made her shiver.
She squirmed against him. "We can be quiet," she gasped as his mouth moved lower. His lips brushing her collarbone.
"I've been wanting to kiss that spot for damn near two months." He grazed the spot, nipping it with his teeth, before soothing it with his tongue.
"You feel so good." Annie released a low, throaty moan. "Henry-" When he shuddered against her, she froze. "W-what is it?" Her brain too scattered to form words, all she could think of was his strong body. Tough, sinewy muscles. Her hands—everywhere. "Are we? Is someone-"
His shoulders were shaking—with laughter? Staring down at her, he nipped her lips again. "Darlin' if this is you bein' quiet, I sure as hell can't wait until Saturday night."
"You're—laughing at me?" Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. Tugging through his gorgeous salt and pepper hair, she watched his face relax as she massaged his scalp.
"At me," he corrected. He groaned as her fingers moved to his shoulders, kneading the tightly coiled muscles. "Those three days were already going to be torture. Now, you've gone and made it worse."
Hope flared. "We could . . . take the edge off."
A shudder rolled through him, before he lurched from the bed as though it were on fire. "Annie—we can't." He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "I don't have-" His heated gaze revealed frustration. "It's been a long time since I've needed any sort of . . . protection."
She startled, bolting up to a sitting position. Hand to her mouth, she avoided glancing at the rumpled bedspread. "I forgot." Slowly shaking her head, she knew her face had to be crimson. "I . . . it's been so long," she whispered. "I—haven't been on birth control since-" Hell, how long had it been? Years. Before Jason. Before Phil had taken her pills from the cabinet . . .
"Tell me about it," he teased. "I bet it's even longer for me, darlin'." His slow, sexy drawl was nearly her undoing. "I don't think I've bought condoms in . . . twenty years."
His wife. She'd done the math in her head one night . . . lying awake in her bed, thinking about him. He'd met Gayle when he was nineteen. "Henry, I'm sorry." Mortified, she rose to her feet. "I shouldn't have started-"
He pulled her against him, his erection pressed to her stomach. "Rest assured, I'll be buying them this week."
At least a dozen. Heat flashing through her, Annie knew she was blushing furiously.
He smothered a chuckle. "Have I mentioned how expressive your eyes are?"
"I was just thinking-" Her voice trailed off, the brief hint of bravery running for the hills.
"Tell me, sweet," he encouraged. "You know how I love that beautiful brain of yours."
"You should . . . get a big box."
His mouth grazed her cheek. "You're beautiful when you blush." His whispered words sent heat curling through her stomach. "Such a luscious shade of pink." He nipped at her lips. "I can't wait to discover it everywhere else."
Her breath huffed out. Closing her eyes on a wave of desire, she clutched his shoulders for balance. "Okay, then. We have a . . . date—for Saturday."
When he tipped her chin up, his gaze held only promise. "Saturday is only the start, love."
Please let that be true, she prayed. Because worse than poverty . . . worse than running—would be the thought of never seeing Henry again.
THE REST OF HANK'S hectic day passed in a blur. By the time he'd checked in with the steel erectors, made the rounds of the other subcontractors on site and finally returned to his makeshift office in the conference room, Jeff Traynor was long gone. Their conversation on building safety would have to be continued the following day. Taking advantage of the relative quiet, he got to work sketching out details for the possible improvements they could make in the dining room and the corridor where both the daycare center and the entrance to the upstairs living spaces sat. Several long, tedious phone calls later, he'd obtained preliminary pricing information on enclosing the serving line area. Rubbing the back of his neck, he checked his watch.
If he quit now- "You can visit the boys in the daycare center."
By five-thirty, there were only a handful of kids remaining in the daycare. Miss Robin glanced up from her spot by the table in the corner. "Mr. Hank, would you care to join us for some coloring?"
"Uh-"
"Mr. Hank, look at the picture I's colorin' for you."
Saved by a four-year-old. Hank winked at Miss Robin, relieved to swivel his attention to Jason. "What are you making for me?"
"See—it's a horsie. I think you should get one so Millie and Nelson don't get lonely."
Unable to resist the chocolate brown eyes staring up at him, he hoisted Jason into his arms. "Let's take a look at that. I don't think I've ever seen a green horse before."
"That's cuz he eats lots 'a grass."
"That would be a good reason." When Tommy crossed the room from the spot where he was building Legos, Hank pulled him in for a hug, tousling his messy curls. He couldn't shake the wistfulness that overtook him. The feeling of rightness- The awareness he'd held all afternoon. Of Annie's boys—just down the hall.
"Hey, TomTom. How was school today?" Hank knew he was treading on dangerous ground. The righteous sense that Annie's boys deserved a father who wanted to spend time with them. Someone who would love them. That—if they could be his kids-
But, Annie wasn't his. Might never be his, his brain tried to warn his foolish heart. Falling for her boys . . . could end up being painful. Instead of one devastating blow, there'd be three.
Tommy shrugged. "It was okay."
The little boy's voice forced Hank to set aside his jumbled thoughts. Because something in his eyes suggested school hadn't been okay. When Jason squirmed in his arms, wanting to finish his drawing, Hank lowered him to the floor. "Once it's done, I promise I'll hang it in my office."
By the time he turned, Tommy had drifted back to the pile of Legos, alone now, since the other boy had been picked up by his mother. Hank caught Miss Robin's eye. "Has he been quiet today?'
"He has," she confirmed. "They had so much fun with you yesterday—outside with the construction equipment." Her suddenly sober gaze met his. "And Jason told me about your trip to the park last night." She nodded to Tommy. "I think everything in here today is sort of a letdown."
Her observation made sense. He calculated whether he should suggest to Annie they return to the park tonight, before dismissing it. Phil had been to New Beginnings. The man in the hoodie. Annie had been frightened the previous night—by something she'd seen. They couldn't risk exposing the boys again. That's how he does it. Hank's startled thoughts stopped him cold. Instead of a normal life, Annie's was lived in constant fear. Phil finding them. Phil hurting the boys. No wonder she was cautious. It made him wonder what precautions they should be making for Saturday's trip to the farm.
"I love the new window."
Shoving aside the uncomfortable realization, Hank smiled over Miss Robin's exuberant tone. "It sure makes it brighter in here, now."
"Well, I had my doubts about all the mess, but now I can't wait for the next one."
"That one might be as early as next week." He nodded to Tommy. "I'm gonna go talk with him. See if I can figure out what's bothering him."
She stared at him. "You're starting to look like a natural, Mr. Hank."
Robin's sly observation had heat rising in his face—and a twinge of sadness poking his ribs. If only. "With these little guys, it's pretty easy." He left her then, crossing the room to pl
op down on the mat with Tommy. Annie would be there soon, to take them in for dinner. "How was your day, bud?"
Tommy began stacking the pieces back in the rubber tote. "I don't like that school."
Hank had to lean in to hear his mumbled words. "Is it your teacher?"
"No." His eyes downcast, he reached for another fistful. "She's nice. But . . . recess is hard."
Recess? That should've been his favorite time of day. "Is there no one to play with?"
"One boy."
"Did something happen?" Hank scooped a handful of Legos and dumped them in the bin. He wanted Tommy to trust in him . . . but how long would that take? He'd never been a father. Was it something you just inherently knew how to do? His own father had been a good man. Not the greatest communicator, now that he thought of it. But—he wanted Tommy to- "Is someone bothering you?"
Tommy's eyes were troubled when he finally raised his gaze. "Some big boys pushed us off the swings. 'An I fell-" He peered cautiously around him to see if anyone was watching them. "I gots a scrape on my knee." He rolled up his pant leg to show him.
"That doesn't look too bad, Tom Tom."
"No, but-" His expression shifted to fear. "I ripped my jeans. Mommy's gonna be mad-"
"Your mommy won't be mad," he assured him. "I promise you, she'll understand."
"She can fix 'em." His expression resigned, he grabbed another handful. "But, I only gots one pair of pants—'an I hafta wear them tomorrow, too."
Hank paused, mid-scoop, remembering the single tiny bed they shared upstairs. The only decoration, a super hero nightlight. The neatly stacked containers . . . not much larger than the bin they were filling with Legos. The dwindling money. Each time Annie had been forced to run . . . another piece of their lives was left behind. They'd likely lost everything.
"Mommy says I grow like a weed."
No money to buy new clothes for two fast-growing boys. "How about if I explain what happened?"
Tommy's eyes widened. "Could you?"
"I promise." He wanted so much for them. But, he couldn't forget Annie's expression that afternoon—the moment she'd realized he knew she lived there. Resignation. Shame. As though it were somehow worse because he knew. Because she was proud. And independent. She wanted to prove she would succeed, no matter what Phil did to them. "What size are those?"
Sheltering Annie Page 18
