His to Protect: A Fireside Novel

by Stacey Lynn

  Even before the first backhand to my cheek, I was exhausted from trying to maintain a facade.

  At the Fireside Grill, slightly lost inside my own head, eating dinner in the kitchen of what appeared to be a typical sports bar, I felt more like myself than I had since I was twenty-one years old, when my palm slid slowly into Kevin’s and we shook hands, and he said his first hello.

  I didn’t realize how much I had changed, how much of myself I lost in the last eight years.

  How I had become someone I barely recognized when I looked in the mirror. I wondered if that’s what Kevin had planned.

  Small, insignificant changes over a long period of time, to erase the woman he’d dated all those years ago.

  He wanted me to stay home and raise our children someday, and frankly, I thought it was a great idea.

  I’d never wanted anything more than to become a mom.

  I’d never seen a bigger purpose in life than raising a tiny, helpless infant into a person of character and strength, who would then pour their goodness into the people around them.

  Some thought the idea of being a stay-at-home mom was antiquated.

  I believed it was honorable.

  So when Kevin and I were married, I saw no problem with quitting my job at a public-relations firm in the heart of Louisville, despite the fact that I loved my coworkers and my boss and my work.

  When Kevin suggested I begin working out to occupy my time, and perhaps volunteer at the hospital, I saw the value in his suggestions.

  When he ran his hands through my hair and smiled with a wistful look on his face one night after we’d made love and whispered, “I wonder what you would look like as a blonde,” I wanted nothing more than to give him what he wanted.

  But when I came home late one night after going out for drinks with some other volunteers at the hospital and hadn’t had time to prepare his dinner, his glass of scotch flew by my head right before his hand connected with my cheek, and I knew nothing would be the same again.

  He stole my hopes and my dreams with one slap.

  When I went home the next day to cry on my mother’s shoulder and ask for advice, she dealt a crushing blow when she admitted to me that she’d just been diagnosed with leukemia. Because of my parents’ poor retirement planning, she didn’t have any money left to cover her medical bills.

  She begged me to stay with my husband in order to help her.

  Naive and desperate, I wanted to believe Kevin when he apologized, wrapped me in his arms, and promised it would never happen again.

  But Declan, the man who assessed me and stood away from me tonight, careful to stay out of my personal space as soon as he clocked the bruise on my cheek and glanced away, didn’t seem to be that sort of man.

  His offer to feed me, and taking it upon himself to make me a lunch, suggested the same.

  The fact that he walked me to my car and offered me a place to stay confirmed it.

  He was not a man like Kevin—who was truly no man at all.

  Declan was better.

  He appeared to be a man in every sense of the word, completely insane physique aside. Not that that wasn’t enjoyable to look at, with his tight shirt stretched so thin across his back I could see his muscles flex with every movement.

  Plus, I had never seen a man’s backside look so good tucked firmly into a pair of faded and well-worn jeans.

  Perhaps if I were more daring, if I didn’t have so many secrets and so many piles of insecurities built up inside me, I would have taken him up on his offer. If I was staying longer, if exhaustion wasn’t soaking into my limbs from the delicious and belly-filling food, I might have considered it. As it was, I only planned on staying in Michigan another night, since Declan could now identify me if it ever came to that.

  I had already wasted enough time, but I had been enjoying my time in Latham Hills. I liked that I could walk the streets and browse through shops without a timeline because I needed to be home. For the first time in years, I was enjoying myself, despite constantly feeling like I had to look over my shoulder.

  It was time to go, though. In a week, Kevin would know I hadn’t gone to the spa I told him I was going to, and he’d realize I wasn’t returning home. He’d come looking for me then, and I wanted to be long gone before he did.

  With a new plan solidified, I pulled into my parking space at the Extended Stay Lodge on the northern fringe of Latham Hills. It was a ramshackle place with chipped bricks and old paint peeling from the outside walls.

  The interior wasn’t much better, and I desperately wanted to go purchase my own set of sheets.

  I still held out hope, though, that I would soon be in a new place, an apartment slightly better than the hotel, so I saved my money.

  I might not own anything besides my dog and my car and the few belongings I brought with me, but I did have a brain and a college degree.

  I did have a plan on how to start over once I was in Canada, far past the border.

  It was that thought that made my lips tilt into a smile as I pulled a snoring Boomer from the front passenger side of the car.

  Grunting as I tugged, I looked up at the hotel and froze just as Boomer let out an annoyed yawn.

  “Shh,” I hissed and looked back up at the second-floor walkway. All the rooms could be entered from the outside, and I quickly counted the doors from the stairway inward, hoping I wasn’t seeing what I thought I was.

  The door to my room was ajar and a low light leaked from the opening.

  Ice flooded my veins and I shivered.

  “Boomer,” I whispered and gave him a firm tug on his leash, pulling him out of my car.

  I looked around to see if there was anyone outside, or any cars that looked like they didn’t belong, but I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The same run-down vehicles that had been there all week were still there. My car was the only one that stood out.

  I swallowed while I watched the blinds in my hotel room for movement. I already knew the front office was closed. I had no one to ask to check on my room for me.

  The business card that Declan handed me just a while ago was in my back pocket.

  He seemed like the kind of man who would come to a woman’s rescue, but if there was someone inside my room, it could take Declan too long to get to me.

  Besides, he was a nice stranger, but he was still a stranger. I couldn’t pull him into my drama.

  Deciding against calling a man who just fed me a meal and offered to help, I dug through my small purse to find the pay-as-you-go phone I’d picked up from a RadioShack just before the Ohio border. No one had the number and I hadn’t used it yet, but I knew it wasn’t smart for a woman to travel alone without an emergency phone.

  I felt the cool plastic with my fingertips and pressed it into my palm, before my shoulders fell and I dropped it back inside my Michael Kors bag.

  If Kevin or someone he sent was inside my room, getting the police involved would only create more trouble for me.

  —

  My heart thumped wildly and I could feel my pulse beating in my wrists and at the base of my throat. I had waited by my car for what felt like hours to see if I could detect any movement in the lit hotel room before making the trek up the metal outside stairs, careful to step slowly and not make a noise.

  The person was either still as a statue or the room was empty.

  As I reached for the door with one hand, the thought briefly flickered through my mind that perhaps I didn’t lock the door on the way out.

  This hotel was so old it didn’t use plastic key cards, but regular locks. Yesterday, I went for ice and didn’t lock my door.

  Perhaps I had done the same thing again.

  Yanking my hand back from the door, I stayed out of sight and closed my eyes, trying to remember how I’d left it earlier.

  But no, I vividly remembered turning back to lock the door. Boomer had caught sight of a pigeon at the end of the walkway and tugged so hard on his leash that I had to yank him ba
ck.

  “Okay,” I whispered, wishing that Boomer had a mean streak to him. Something more akin to an angry rottweiler than a dopey boxer.

  His tongue hung out of his mouth and he slobbered.

  I shook my head. “Some guard dog you are,” I muttered and pushed against the door with my free hand. It creaked as it opened, and I stood against the outside wall waiting for any sign of life inside.

  With my heart pounding in my chest, I took one large step and stood directly in the doorway, quickly surveying whatever I could see.

  I gasped as I took in the room. It could have been declared a disaster area.

  The mattress had been flipped over and all the bed coverings were thrown on the floor. My duffel bag, which had been at the side of the bed, was now emptied, and my clothes and meager belongings had been tossed all over the place.

  Little hairs stood up on my arms and the back of my neck as I took a slow step inside the room.

  “Hello?” I called out, glancing behind the door and then toward the bathroom. The door was open and the light was off.

  Someone could still be hiding, so I left the door to my room wide open and took another step inside. If someone came out of the bathroom, I wanted to be able to escape quickly.

  Dropping Boomer’s leash, I moved toward the small table at the side of the bed.

  His ears perked up as he sat, back straight, and my lips twitched. The crazy dog must have sensed my tension because he was as alert as I’d ever seen him.

  “It’s okay, Boom,” I whispered and watched his left ear twitch in acknowledgment.

  With another look at the bathroom, I slid open the drawer.

  My heart sank straight from my chest, down my body, and into the horribly worn shag carpet beneath my feet.

  “Crap,” I muttered, feeling tears well in my eyes.

  They spilled down my cheeks before I could wipe them away. My hands shook as I opened the cover of the Bible in the drawer. I already knew what I would find.

  Or wouldn’t.

  I never should have been so stupid as to leave my things inside the room.

  Because where I had stored my passport and my remaining cash except for the twenty dollars I had in my wallet, there was nothing.

  —

  “Ugh.” I flipped down the front visor and cringed at my reflection. A night of sleeping in the car, if you could call all the tossing and turning I did sleeping, left my eyes red and swollen.

  It also could have been from the tears I shed off and on throughout the night.

  After realizing that everything I needed to get to Canada was gone, I quickly threw the rest of my belongings in my bag, and took off from the hotel. I drove around the Detroit area for hours, alternating between tapping my thumb on the steering wheel and chewing the side of my thumbnail.

  Eventually, I pulled into a park near Latham Hills and flicked the business card I removed from my back pocket.

  Declan James.

  Owner of The Fireside Grill.

  One helluva decent cook.

  And hopefully, the decent man I assumed him to be.

  Although my ability to judge someone’s character was highly questionable, given who I had married.

  It didn’t matter now, though.

  With the sun beginning to rise, I was now parked outside the Fireside Grill, debating what to do for the next several hours until it opened.

  I barely had enough cash to get breakfast, and there wasn’t enough change in my cup holder for a decent cup of coffee.

  Without a shower, my hair was soon going to be a greasy, tangled mess, and no amount of dry shampoo, which was packed in my duffel bag, would tame it.

  This was certainly not how I wanted to look when I took Declan up on his offer.

  But I had to.

  I had no other choice.

  No other options.

  Perhaps if he could give me a place to crash for a night or two, I’d be able to think clearly and figure out what I needed to do next.

  Chapter 4

  Declan

  Friday mornings were my busiest mornings at the restaurant. That morning, I was more tired than usual as I sifted through my accounting program, doing payroll.

  I fully understood how to cook a burger and take care of a kitchen and keep a restaurant stocked with alcohol and food, but payroll was a bitch. All of this office shit I had to take care of myself until I could hire someone to do it for me made my head pound like I’d spent all night with a bottle of tequila in one hand.

  The headache was worse today, though, and it wasn’t just from payroll problems and a printer that was currently refusing to print the checks correctly. I needed to upgrade to direct deposit, but again…expenses.

  “Fuck it,” I muttered and dropped my head into my hands, elbows propped on my desk. Rubbing my head, I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to erase the memory of Trina—and the way she looked so vulnerable as she pulled away from me last night—from my mind.

  It’d been a fruitless endeavor ever since I climbed into the cab of my pickup and made the short drive home.

  I pressed my fingertips against my closed eyes, trying to push her out of my memory, but when I opened them, I saw the stool she’d sat on and the menu she’d perused and tapped with her finger.

  Pushing back from my desk with more force than necessary, I snagged the inventory clipboard hanging from a nail on the wall, and decided payroll could wait.

  I needed to be focused and I was anything but.

  “Hey, Declan,” one of my prep cooks, Matthew, called out as I walked by him.

  “Yeah?”

  He tilted a green basket in my direction and frowned. “Almost out of tomatoes.”

  I made a grunting noise and scribbled a note on the spreadsheet in front of me. We didn’t have enough to last us the day if I was judging correctly. “I’ll get you cash and you can head to the store to pick some up.”

  Matthew’s eyes widened briefly with concern before he set the basket back down. “Sounds good.”

  Normally, I had the art of inventory and ordering down to a science, but there were always weeks where something randomly came up short.

  If only I were psychic and knew what customers would order. I never would have guessed we’d have a surge in lasagna orders this week. I chalked it up to fall setting in, and the cooler days and chilly nights making more customers want comfort food.

  Then I made a note on the inventory sheet and I wished I could hide in the dry-foods closet until the Friday afternoon lunch rush, when I could lose myself in cooking instead of planning and worrying.

  —

  “Come in,” I called out when I heard a knock on my office door while I sealed the last payroll envelope. After finally fixing the printer jam, I was now officially caught up on paperwork.

  “Declan?”

  I looked at Emily in the doorway as she stuck her head in.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  Her blonde brows knit together and she opened the door further. Stepping in, she looked back toward the kitchen doors before lowering her voice. “She, um…well. I don’t know who she is. She won’t tell me.”

  Trina.

  I pushed back from my desk and got up, then led Emily out of my office with my hand on her lower back as she turned. “Thank you, Emily. I’ve got this.”

  “Um, she looks not okay.”

  My gaze cut to hers and I stopped walking. “What do you mean?”

  Emily had been at Fireside from the beginning. She was much younger than me at only twenty-two, and worked as a hostess and waitress to help pay for college. She was always on time and responsible, and was the kind of woman who would stop on the side of the road to pick up stray animals.

  Or people.

  I saw her worry for Trina increase with every passing second.

  “Is she hurt?” I asked and looked out through the small glass window in the kitchen doors at entrance to the dining area.
/>   As I expected, Trina was in the entryway, hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes roamed the area without stopping. Without really knowing her at all, I could tell she was tense from the flickering of her eyes and the tightness of her shoulders.

  “She has a bruise,” Emily whispered, looking toward the cooks, who were efficiently preparing late lunch orders.

  “I know. I saw it.”

  “You know her?”

  “Met her last night,” I replied, walking around her. “She’s the one who’s been making a mess in the alley.”

  I heard Emily’s shocked gasp as I pushed through the doors. The sound grabbed Trina’s attention and her head snapped in my direction.

  For a moment, all I could think about was why she was here. Why did she walk away from me and everything I offered her the night before, only to return looking like a rumpled mess?

  That same strange sensation I had last night sparked in my chest when I reached her.

  “What happened?” I snapped, and cursed myself when she flinched.

  Taking a step back, Trina’s gaze flickered around the restaurant before coming back and meeting mine.

  “I, um…” She paused and sucked her lip between her teeth, worrying her flesh before letting go. “I thought maybe you could help me.” Her voice was soft. Meek and scared.

  It made me want to growl like a fucking animal.

  I almost did when her eyes became wet with unshed tears.

  Without thinking about scaring her, I wrapped my hand around her bicep and pulled her toward the bar.

  She flinched from my quick grip and I let go, feeling like a grade-A asshole. “Sorry. I think we should talk by the bar. There’s less noise.”

  And more privacy, because it was empty, which wasn’t rare early in the afternoon.

  It’d be packed on the weekend. Detroit doesn’t have the best NFL team, but fans were still rabid. And that was a tame description when it came to the U of M and MSU fans that flocked to bars to watch the two college football teams battle it out. With Detroit being just far enough away from Ann Arbor and Lansing, a lot of people in the area didn’t make it to the games as much as they wanted to.

  But they did appreciate my ninety-six-inch projection television on the far wall of the bar.