Legacy of Lies

by Jillian David

  “I can help you.”

  “No, please. You can’t be here.” Her head whipped back and forth; no doubt she searched for something—or someone.

  “Can I call anyone for you, then?” he asked.

  “No, there’s no one to call.” One tear slipped from a corner of a soulful brown eye.

  Damn it, what was he supposed to do?

  “A boyfriend?”

  Her rattling laugh twisted something inside of his chest.

  He shrugged. “I assumed.”

  “No. There’s no one.”

  The sound of her bitterness raked across his nerves and lifted his spirits at the same time. Which was worse? He wanted to use his ability to get the answers so badly, he’d sell his own sister’s powers to the highest bidder at this moment if it meant avoiding ethics in this damned situation. Which made him a complete bastard all over again.

  “Um, okay.” Pat, pat on her shoulder. Like that was the only part of her body he could safely touch without his pants exploding. Shelby was correct. He was an idiot.

  How about seeing to her well-being and security, asshole? Why don’t we try being unselfish?

  Now Garrison was talking to himself. He took in a shaky breath and exhaled a steadier one.

  “Sara, let me get this glass out of your foot and help you clean up the kitchen.”

  “The kitchen.” Tears flowed. “Oh, no. The picture ...”

  A woman crying. His kryptonite. “It’ll be fine. Just needs another frame.”

  “No, you don’t understand. It’s broken.”

  Even, white teeth chewed on her full lip, which swung his libido away from stooge and back to stalker. Not good.

  “Never mind.” She didn’t meet his eyes but took a deep breath.

  Unfortunately, the action pushed her breasts up against the thin t-shirt fabric. It was clear she didn’t have a bra on, as the night air chilled her skin. Obviously. Good grief, he needed to help this woman, not ogle her enticing assets.

  You could do both, his libido prompted him.

  He kept his voice calm, despite the effect her sweet-scented, braless proximity had on him.

  “Okay. I’m going to get this glass out. Let’s start there.” He laid his coat on an armchair and knelt at the end of the couch.

  Resisting the need to trace the delicate arches of her feet, he gently grasped her toes, grimacing when she yelped. After positioning a towel over the pillow, he held her foot still as he flushed the area with water. There, the piece of glass protruded from the wound.

  Without saying a word, he pinched the glass and snagged it out of her foot.

  “Yowch! Hey, some warning!” She jumped back, but by then, he had the shard.

  Holding up the blood-coated shard, he grinned. “Done.” He wrapped the towel around the ball of her foot. “Do you have some peroxide or alcohol?”

  “Mother of Christ, no way you’re putting alcohol in there!” At least she had firm control of her faculties now, as the stubborn lift to her chin attested. She rubbed her cheeks, then pointed. “Bathroom around the corner, first aid stuff under the sink.”

  He took the opportunity to check the rest of the house for anything else out of place. A quick glance in her lace-trimmed bedroom and her closet reassured him that no one else hid in the house. The bedroom smelled like flowers, like Sara, and he inhaled.

  Which is to say, he’d lost his mind.

  Returning with supplies, he washed out the wound once more and dressed it with gauze and an elastic bandage.

  “You might need stitches.”

  “It’s fine.” Swinging her legs off the couch and onto the floor, she winced. Her expression, clear but guarded, held him in place. “Thank you. But—”

  Buts always nailed him like a kick to the groin.

  “Yeah, I know, you need me to leave. Got it. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He ignored her raised hand. “Can I at least help you clean up the floors and the kitchen?”

  She hobbled to the kitchen. At her sharp intake of air, he grabbed her upper arm, worried that she would faint again.

  Beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, glass sparkled all over the floor. She trembled beneath his hand.

  “You okay?”

  “It’s just ... a mess. And the window.” Even though her lower lip quivered, her eyes narrowed and she straightened her shoulders. Trying to be strong.

  All of a sudden, he needed something to occupy his hands. “Broom?”

  After retrieving it from the closet she indicated, he had the floor cleared in no time. Taking care to remove the pieces of glass, he wiped down the counter, table, and chairs.

  “What’s this?” she asked. The rock he’d found swung from the chain.

  “Not sure. You have any idea who might have done this?”

  She set the stone down on the kitchen table and made a show of straightening up the counter items. “No. Maybe.”

  “Sara.” He grasped her arm, and she flinched. “Has someone hurt you?”

  “No, not—”

  Son of a bitch, she was lying, wasn’t she? It took everything in him not to dig into her mind and get to the truth. But no. Fucking ethics and all, even when he knew where that had gotten him so far in life.

  The problem with his power? He had to intentionally activate it. He had to make the effort to invade someone’s mind. Tonight, that wasn’t happening. Not with Sara.

  The blood drained into his feet. “Yet?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. Yet.”

  “We should go to the police.”

  “No!” When she looked up and away from him, her hair fell back to reveal a quarter-size bruise on her jaw. The way she’d lain on the couch earlier had hidden the purple oval on her skin.

  “Shit. What’s that?”

  Careful to move slowly, he brushed her hair back farther. Turning her face the other way, he found smaller bruises speckling her opposite jaw. The fingers of a big hand would line up perfectly with those bruise marks.

  She stared somewhere off into space, face blank. Who would do this to her? He might be a temperamental boor, but he sure as hell never laid a cruel hand on a woman.

  He could only stand there, frozen in place.

  Neither his need to rip the hands off whoever had touched Sara nor his desire to yank her into his arms would solve any problem tonight, but those were the only emotions he had to work with right this minute.

  What kind of asshole would do such a thing?

  Asshole. Yep. Bet he knew who.

  No way was she in any state to discuss certain dickhead ex-boyfriends.

  Then she blinked and turned to face him, her head barely reaching his chin, and the crystalline moment of his fury and her fear met. And cracked.

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  She stepped back. “You can’t be here. Please leave.” Her breathy voice riled his nerves like a breeze skimming his skin.

  “But, I still have to fix the window—”

  “I need you to leave.”

  “Uh, can I take you home with me instead?”

  Her head shot up, mouth dropping open. Stumbling back a few feet, she wrapped her arms over her chest.

  Crap. Wrong impression.

  Clearing his throat, he started digging. “No, not like ... Um, we can use a guest room. Not for ‘we.’ Only for you. Or other people if they stay. But you can stay there. Alone. For safety. I mean, I’ll be in the house but not in the room. Because it’s not safe here.”

  And boom went the dynamite. What a colossal babbling idiot.

  The best thing to happen to this conversation would be for him to shut the hell up.

  “I’ll be fine here, thank you.” Just like that, she stepped around him and limped to the door.

  And just like that, he followed her swaying hips across the living room, snagging his coat on the way out.

  “Sara, I don’t like this situation.” He motioned with his palm up. “You sure I can’t call the sheriff?”
/>   Her eyes downcast, she shook her head. “That would be the worst idea ever.”

  “Please reconsider my offer to come to the ranch.”

  “Thank you. No.”

  “You have my phone number, right?” From the ten times he’d called, yeah, she could probably figure out which number was his. “Call if you need anything, anytime. Please.”

  “Fine.”

  Like a drowning man, he flailed for a life buoy. “Can I check on you tomorrow?”

  She raked her fingers through her dark hair. “I don’t know. Maybe. Look, you shouldn’t come back here.”

  That answer would have to count as a “yes.” Before he could try again to convince her to come with him, she closed the door in his face, leaving him to study the weathered wood. Then the porch light turned off, leaving him alone in the dark night.

  Chapter 11

  After a cold and cramped night in his truck watching Sara’s house, Garrison’s mood sucked. Even if she didn’t want to go with him, he couldn’t leave her by herself. So he’d stayed and watched her house.

  He’d arrived back home in the morning to see Zach off to school and then buried himself in hours of the never-ending ranch work.

  Didn’t matter if he brought the herd down, put out the hay, or repaired the barn. His mood stayed black, and nothing distracted him from thoughts of Sara.

  Maybe he didn’t have the gift of reading emotions like Shelby, but he sure as hell could tell when a situation felt wrong. And he didn’t need a psychic ability to figure out that something was off with Sara. Whatever happened last night had resulted in her getting hurt, damn it. He wasn’t Superman, but if he had to spend more chilly nights in his truck to keep her safe, he’d do it.

  She intrigued him. He craved more of ... everything about Sara. Which was probably the exact opposite of what that woman needed right now, and the exact opposite of what he needed in his complicated life these days.

  Like a human punching bag, he would go back over there again, where she would probably reject him again. But he had to ensure her safety, especially if Hank’s retaliation against her had anything to do with Garrison. He still wanted to see if she had noticed anything different about Zach as well. She’d become his spy in the classroom, because Garrison and his siblings couldn’t objectively assess his son. Great.

  He cleaned up and, right as the sun set, pulled up in front of Sara’s house.

  On this quiet street, one block off Main, all the houses appeared similar. Small single-story structures and a few wood and brick two-story homes. Stepping onto her wood porch, he rang the doorbell.

  A light step preceded the porch light turning on. His heart jumped when she opened the door.

  Although she’d piled her hair on top of her head, some escaped tendrils framed her frowning face. Jeans clung to her curves, and a sweatshirt couldn’t hide the swell of her full breasts. The entire adorable, sexy package made him hungry, and not for food.

  But when she glanced down the street with a frown on her face, suddenly dropping in didn’t seem like such a good idea, like a bad rerun of last night. Maybe she had plans. Who was the pushy guy now?

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Um, hi.”

  Great opening line there, Romeo.

  “Hi. What are you doing here, Garrison?” She bit her lip; ah, how his tongue would glide over that light indentation, tracing the curve.

  “After last night, I was worried about you.” So not smooth. “How’s your foot?”

  “Well, my foot’s fine, and I’m fine ...” The pulse jumped at the base of her throat, and a flush climbed her smooth, honey-colored skin. Her socked toes curled on the hardwood floor.

  Shit. He didn’t need to use his ability. He knew.

  She was lying.

  A woman lied to him again. His gut clenched. At what point would he learn his lesson?

  He stumbled back a step. “Look, this was a bad idea, my coming over here. I’m clearly intruding, and I should go.”

  Reaching an arm toward him, then dropping it, she blurted out, “No, it’s not you.”

  “It’s not you, it’s me? Is that the line?” He shoved his hand through his hair.

  Her dark brows shot up.

  Yeah, he’d dumped all of his resentment right at her feet. He didn’t give a shit if that wasn’t fair. “Fine. I’m sorry I enjoyed our kiss the other day. I thought we had something good starting there, but I must have imagined it. And I thought you could use help last night since someone threatened you. Wrong again. So, dumbass me, I’m here because I wanted to make sure you were all right after last night.”

  Tears sparkled in her deep brown eyes. Damn it, if her chin didn’t quiver. He had no defense against womanly emotional stuff.

  “No, I can’t ... because of my ... it’s not your fault. Seriously. You have no idea.” Her knuckles whitened on the edge of the door.

  “Then what?” he gritted out.

  With another jerk of her head to look up and down the street, she stepped into the house and held the door open. Her shoulders sagged. “I give up. Come in.”

  “Don’t act so happy about asking me in.” He ignored her flinch. Instead, it was the fear etched on her face in the living room light that drove a spike into his chest. No more of this guessing game. “Are you talking about what happened last night? Something’s wrong here, Sara.”

  “I, um ... oh hell.” She wrapped her hands over her upper arms and burst into tears.

  Son. Of. A. Bitch.

  What the hell was he supposed to do? Was Sara manipulating him, like Tiffani had?

  And how screwed up did a guy have to be to doubt the sweet woman in front of him?

  In daily ranch life, he strode through knee-deep horse hockey and made decisions without doubt or hesitation.

  Now? What should he do with this woman going to pieces in front of him?

  No idea. Drew a blank.

  Shit.

  He paused. Tears rolled down her face, reappearing even as she wiped them away.

  Shit.

  Fuck it all. He hadn’t comforted her last night, which was the wrong decision. Time to try the opposite approach. He yanked her into his chest and wound his arms around her back and neck, absorbing her sobs with his body. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he eased her head to rest on his chest.

  When a truck roared down the street, she startled and clung tighter to him.

  What the hell?

  Muttering to herself, Sara pulled out of his arms and ran to the kitchen and living room windows, pulling all of the blinds. He followed her, noting the cardboard duct-taped over the broken window, which of course didn’t provide any security against anyone who wanted to enter the house. Sara, unsafe in her own house. Unacceptable.

  When she stood back in front of him, her hands shook, and she didn’t meet his eyes.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “All right. I know you don’t want me here—”

  “No, it’s not—”

  Damn him if he didn’t want to wipe her soft cheeks until they were dry again. “I got it. Not me. Not sure I believe you. But something isn’t right here. What sort of trouble are you in?”

  She brushed a tendril of hair back behind an ear. “Can I get you something to drink? Want to sit down?”

  “No, I’ll stand, thanks.” He planted his feet.

  Her complexion paled as her eyes widened. “Okay. Mother of God, where to start? So you know about Hank?”

  “Uh, yeah. We’ve all met. Remember?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” The tip of one manicured thumb tapped her lower lip. His mouth went dry.

  “What about him?” Damn it, his tone made her flinch again. “Last night, was that him?”

  “Maybe.”

  Before he could stop himself, he touched her shoulder. Thank God she didn’t skitter away. He rested his hand there until she began talking again.

  “The night after you and I had dinner ... he came here and threatened me. He said there’d be tro
uble if I saw you again. He threatened my job.” Her voice cracked. “Because Butch is his brother and all. I don’t know what to do.” She held up a hand. “And I’m not leaving my students, and especially not Zach.”

  The set of her jaw and tough stance made him want to cheer and then protect her, surrounding her with his body so nothing and no one could hurt her. Her fist on her jeans-clad hip made his hands itch to ride over those curves.

  “So that’s why I didn’t return your calls, why I kicked you out last night. I took the coward’s way out, and I’m sorry.”

  “No one would blame you for staying away from me,” he said.

  “It’s not right. And you know what? I’m sick of the hiding and the fear. And no one is going to tell me who I can and cannot associate with.”

  A flicker of optimism popped up in his chest. “All right.”

  “I’m tired of being scared and intimidated. I’m tired of being told I’m not good enough.” Her hands punctuated each statement with a slash.

  What the hell? Of course she was good enough. Too good for a guy with rough edges and baggage like him. And way too good for a bastard like Hank Brand. But good enough for a nice, normal man who could give her the time and attention she deserved.

  Something shifted inside of him, like a car revved up and ready to speed off down the road. Hope. “So then, you don’t want me to leave?”

  “Not at all, I—” At a loud knock at the door, she yelped.

  “Open up, Sara.” Hank’s harsh voice drilled through the door.

  Her mouth opened and eyes widened as her hand fluttered to the bruise on her jaw. Garrison hoped like hell there wouldn’t be a crime committed here tonight, but he had no guarantees.

  • • •

  Her stomach dropped to the floor.

  Hank. Here. And Garrison here.

  Flashes of her job, Garrison’s kisses, Hank’s wild-eyed visit last night, and the broken picture frame all hit her at once like punches to her sternum. She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. If ever she wanted to quit her life and go hide in a hole somewhere, it was now. No nice guy needed to get involved in her mess.