Spencer's Reluctant Rescuer [Rescue for Hire 9] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove)

by Bellann Summer

  “What is, is. There’s no need to declare it,” Ruger said. He picked up his hamburger and finished it in two bites. “That was good. I think I’ll go get another one. Would you like something?”

  Ruger wiped his hands on a paper napkin while looking at Spencer as if he hadn’t just rocked Spencer’s world in what he was starting to think of as “Ruger’s way.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Spencer answered before picking up his own hamburger and taking a bite. He figured he might as well eat. When they got home, Spencer would express his feelings by loving on Ruger until he passed out. Spencer had to smile to himself at the thought of that actually happening.

  Spencer watched Ruger leave the table and head to the other side of the cafeteria where the grill was set up. Ruger had taken his glass, so Spencer assumed he was going to refill his soda.

  Soon Spencer had finished the cheesecake and hamburger. Spencer was contemplating the mound of curly fries on his plate when the chair across from him was pulled away from the table with a screech.

  A large lady in her fifties sat down. Spencer’s gaze took in her straight, shoulder-length blonde hair and red glasses. She was wearing blue scrub pants and a scrub top with massive orange flowers on it. Spencer deduced she must work somewhere at the hospital. On her lap, she held a large white leather purse. The smile she directed at Spencer was pleasant, but her eyes held a gleam of calculation.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” Spencer asked.

  “I knew you would come back.” The lady opened her purse.

  Spencer was confused by the contrasts coming off of the lady. She looked pleasant enough, and there were laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. There were no evil or nutso vibes setting off any alarms in Spencer’s gut. And yet something was off about her.

  “I apologize,” Spencer said. “But I’m afraid I don’t know who you are.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw Ruger heading back to the table. He observed the lady’s eyes dart toward Ruger. She frowned, and her face turned red before she cleared her expression and looked at Spencer. The smile she gave him didn’t reach her eyes.

  “I must be mistaken. I’m sorry to bother you.”

  Perplexed, Spencer watched her leave the cafeteria. Ruger set his plate of food and a full glass of soda on the table before settling into the recently vacated chair.

  “Who was that?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. She thought she knew me but was mistaken,” Spencer answered. That had been one weird conversation.

  Ruger turned and looked down the hall where the lady had disappeared and shook his head. “Well, she’s gone now. Eat up. I’m ready to go home.”

  Spencer ate a few more fries, but then another need demanded his attention. Looking at Ruger, he said, “I’m going to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

  Ruger smiled his half-smile. “Good idea. It’s a long drive home.”

  Spencer chuckled and teased, “And the construction doesn’t help.”

  Ruger’s face lit up. “No, it doesn’t.”

  Being in a strange city, Spencer didn’t want to risk causing a scene by kissing Ruger. So, as he passed him to go find the restroom, he put his hand on Ruger’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”

  Spencer ended up leaving the cafeteria and following the shiny white hallway around a corner to find the set of his and hers bathrooms. After using the facilities, he left the men’s room and noticed the woman’s bathroom door was partially open.

  “Help,” a voice called.

  Spencer never hesitated. He ran across the hall, pushed open the door, and rushed inside. The door shut behind him, and cold, hard, metal pressed against the sensitive skin below his ear.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Spencer froze.

  “Terry misses you.”

  Spencer recognized the voice. It was the lady from the cafeteria.

  “You know Terry?” Spencer asked while his mind was busy racing for a way out of the situation.

  The woman stood behind Spencer, pressing the gun to the ear on the same side as his good eye. Every time she moved, he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Terry is my everything. I’ve done my best to take care of his every need. But then he saw that article in the paper and wanted you.”

  A burst of pain erupted when the lady shoved the end of the gun barrel against Spencer’s head. Spencer raised his hand to touch the spot.

  “Don’t you move.” The metal-on-metal click of the hammer being pulled back sounded as if it had exploded in Spencer’s ear. One more click and he was dead.

  “What do you want?” Spencer asked, praying he had time to create a plan to get out of this. Memories of Leonel Heartland’s vicious whisper in Spencer’s ear right before he had taken his eye threatened to send him to the floor. Spencer knew if he let it overtake him, he would curl up in a ball, and his mind would never come back.

  The gun pressed hard into Spencer’s head. “I need to take you to Terry so he’ll be happy again.”

  “How are we going to do that with the gun pointed at my head? Someone will call security,” Spencer pointed out.

  “You are going to hold out your arm like a gentleman, and we are going to stroll out of here. I’ll keep my other hand in my purse with the gun pointed at you. One wrong move and I’ll shoot you.”

  Spencer couldn’t believe how confident the woman sounded about her plan.

  Spencer considered his options. There was no way he was going with the woman. And even if her grand plan wasn’t all that grand, she could still shoot him. Spencer didn’t want to get shot again. The tests had shown his body was getting back to normal, but the doctor had warned him that it was still healing and he had to take it easy or he could relapse. Spencer wanted no part of any more surgery.

  The gun cracked against his head again, and Spencer saw stars. Anger simmered. He had been helpless when Heartland attacked him. He would not be helpless now.

  “Come on. Put out your arm,” the woman demanded. “We have to go.”

  “Were you the one who was upstairs when I was at the house with Terry?” he asked, trying to buy time. Ruger had to be missing him by now.

  “Of course,” she answered. “That house has been in my family for generations, and I would never leave Terry. He’s all I have. Just because you’re there doesn’t mean I can’t still love Terry.”

  Spencer was starting to get a sick feeling about what this woman was talking about. He hoped that she wasn’t Terry’s mother. That would be too gross to think about.

  “Enough talking. Turn around and face the door,” she ordered. “It’s time to go.”

  Spencer shifted his body as though he was going to turn toward the door. In his peripheral vision, he saw the gun lower. Snapping his arm back, he caught the woman across the face. The gun flew back, shattering the mirror above the sink before hitting the floor with a clatter. Spencer wasted no time and punched the woman in the face. She dropped to the floor, out cold.

  Stepping over her body, Spencer picked up the gun. The door opened, and a young woman screamed, “He’s got a gun.”

  * * * *

  It was close to midnight by the time an exhausted Ruger carried a sleeping Spencer up the front porch steps of their home.

  All through the three-hour drive home, Ruger kept going over the events of the evening.

  When Spencer hadn’t come back from the bathroom by the time he finished his meal, Ruger had become concerned. The afternoon hadn’t exactly been a picnic for the man. After a few more minutes, Ruger got up and started searching.

  Ruger had made his way down the hall and saw a sign pointing to the bathrooms. He had just turned the corner when a woman in her early twenties hurried past him and rushed to the door of the women’s restroom.

  She opened the door and screamed, “He’s got a gun.”

  Ruger sprang into action an
d yanked the woman out of the doorway. He lifted her off her feet and ran back around the corner. There he set her down and ordered her to call the police.

  Turning back, he withdrew his gun from its holster on the small of his back. Peering around the corner, Ruger watched the door open. Spencer’s head peeked out before ducking back inside.

  “Spencer, are you okay?” Ruger called.

  The door opened again. “Yeah, but you better call the police. I have an unconscious lady in here that pulled a gun on me.”

  Ruger sprinted to the women’s bathroom. There, indeed, was a woman lying on the floor, out cold and bleeding from a red, swollen nose.

  “Did you hit a lady, Spencer?” Ruger asked.

  The smile Spencer turned on him was as cocky as hell. The wall around Ruger’s heart toppled when the saucy man said, “Yes I did, and that was no lady.”

  The police arrived and saw Spencer holding the gun. Things got a little tense when Ruger objected to one young cop trying to put cuffs on Spencer. A saner mind prevailed when the older partner settled everyone down.

  They ended up going down to the police station and giving statements. By the time they were through, Spencer was dead on his feet, and Ruger could tell he was in pain. Five minutes down the road found Spencer snoring his head off.

  Ruger laid Spencer on the bed and made short work of taking his clothes off. After settling him under the covers, Ruger was too restless to join him and started wandering around the dark house.

  Other than checking out the two bedrooms and half-bath upstairs on the first day they’d arrived, he hadn’t been back up there. After turning on the lights, Ruger climbed the circular staircase. He noted the wooden steps creaked very little under his weight. This house was older but well made, with sturdy wood and excellent craftsmanship. Ruger liked it.

  The top of the staircase opened into the first bedroom. The beautiful hardwood of the stairs continued, making up the floors of the two bedrooms. As with a lot of older homes, a person had to walk through the first bedroom to get to the other. Ruger opened a door and looked in at the small but efficient half-bath. It was situated between the bedrooms with a door to each.

  In the back bedroom, the guys had stacked five large cardboard boxes. From the logo stamped on the sides, at one time they’d held washing machines. Curious, Ruger ripped the tape off that was holding the top together and looked inside.

  The box was filled with what Ruger assumed were framed pictures, all wrapped in white paper. Ruger pulled one out and ripped off the covering.

  Ruger’s breath caught. The photograph before him was an exquisite display of a single red tulip. A drop of water was in the process of dripping from the end of one petal. It was gorgeous. In one corner, scratched into the surface was the word, Ryland.

  After setting the photo down, Ruger pulled out more pictures and ripped the paper open. There were pictures of animals and people. Some photos had only a body part of an animal or person in black and white. Ruger found them all mesmerizing. Another box contained photos of plants and scenes of clouds. They were beautiful, and all had Ryland scratched into the corner.

  In one of the last boxes, Ruger discovered a couple of expensive cameras and different-sized lenses. The last box contained tripods and supplies to develop and print off pictures.

  Ruger was holding a small photo depicting the sun’s rays shining through the leaves of an oak tree when he heard the steps creak. A sleep-tousled Spencer, wearing only thin flannel pants, appeared in the doorway.

  “What are you doing?” The challenge in Spencer’s voice told Ruger the man wasn’t happy.

  Ruger decided to go with an innocent answer. “I was checking out these boxes.”

  “How did they get here?” Spencer asked, stepping into the room.

  “The guys must have packed them up when they brought the stuff from your apartment over here,” Ruger answered.

  Spencer reached into one box and pulled out a large picture. Ripping the paper revealed a chestnut-colored horse with a wide white stripe down the middle of his nose. The horse was running across a rich green pasture, its mane and tail flying.

  “That’s Smoky, Flynn Wakefield’s horse. There should be another picture of his horse Windy. I had taken them a couple of weeks before I was kidnaped. I had forgotten about them and never got them to him.”

  Ruger went up behind Spencer and wrapped his arms around him. He kissed the side of his neck before saying, “We can take them over to his farm sometime this week if you’d like.”

  Spencer looked over his shoulder and smiled at Ruger. “I’d like that.”

  “The next time I go out to the woods, you can bring a camera and take some pictures,” Ruger said.

  Spencer pushed Ruger’s arms away and stalked to the window. It was dark outside, so Ruger knew Spencer couldn’t see anything. But Ruger could see the reflection of Spencer’s troubled face.

  “I can’t take pictures,” Spencer said in a heartbreakingly sad whisper.

  “Why not?” Ruger asked.

  Spencer spun around. His face was red, and angry tears ran down his cheek. “Because I only have one eye,” he shouted.

  Spencer turned and started kicking one of the boxes. Spencer’s sobs accompanied the sound of glass shattering. Ruger picked up the distraught man and carried him over to the bed in the corner. Climbing on, Ruger lay down, still holding a struggling Spencer. In frustration, Ruger rolled on top of Spencer.

  “Let me go,” Spencer yelled.

  “Stop it and talk to me,” Ruger ordered.

  Spencer was sweating and breathing hard by the time he gave up and settled down. Anger burned in his green eye. “That’s a switch. Usually, I’m the one pleading with you to talk to me.”

  Ruger was glad Spencer was calming, but he didn’t appreciate the sarcasm.

  “You still have one eye,” he pointed out. “Why can’t you take pictures?”

  “Ruger,” Spencer huffed, sounding exasperated. “I can hardly walk through a room without bumping into stuff. My depth perception is still tricky. You need to be able to center objects and bring them forward to take a decent picture.”

  “The doctor told you today that your brain would adjust to having only one eye,” Ruger reminded Spencer. “Soon you won’t even think about it anymore.”

  “I won’t be able to be a police officer anymore,” Spencer said. His voice was so quiet Ruger had to strain to hear it.

  Ruger kept his face neutral. They were getting to the heart of Spencer’s pain, and he would be there for him.

  “You can’t be out in the field anymore,” Ruger said. “But I’m sure there is still a position behind a deck.”

  Spencer sniffed. “I hate paperwork. I would be fired within a day. During training, it had taken IT three days to figure out what I had done to their computer system. After that, a deputy always helped me create the reports.” Spencer’s fingers twisted in Ruger’s T-shirt. “What am I supposed to do with my life now?” he asked. “Everything I’ve worked for is gone.”

  “You’ll heal,” Ruger said. “You’ll come out to the woods with me and you take pictures. That’s where you start, and we can go on from there.”

  Spencer looked up at Ruger and smiled. Tears glistened in his green eye, and the eyepatch had a damp spot on it. “You always have a simple answer for everything.”

  Ruger leaned down and kissed the corner of Spencer’s mouth. “Complicated is overrated,” he answered.

  Spencer opened his mouth, and a large yawn came out. “Let’s go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  Ruger got off of the bed, took Spencer’s hand, and led him down to their bedroom.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Spencer sat out on the front porch step, scanning the afternoon sky. It had been a month since he’d taken on Terry’s adopted mother in the hospital bathroom. The next day he had received a call from investigator Rick Smitton.

  After extensive questioning, Terry’s mother had told them what mot
el Terry was holed up in. They had arrested Terry for kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, and a bunch of other things, including attempted rape.

  His mother was also arrested as an accomplice in Spencer’s kidnapping. It turned out she was a food service worker at the hospital. Her job was to load a cart full of trays of food and deliver them to the patients. She confessed to helping Terry avoid the cameras and covering for him so he could avoid other hospital employees. She was also charge for the gun attack at the hospital. Spencer shivered thinking about that sick relationship.

  The other thing that had happened was Spencer and Ruger had gone back down to the university hospital and Spencer had received his new eye. It fit pretty well and didn’t give him any problems. And it looked great.

  Spencer looked up at the darkening, brooding sky. It may be September, but the weather thought it was mid-July. At two-thirty in the afternoon, the temperature was a sweltering ninety-five degrees. His tank top and shorts clung in damp patches to his body from the humidity. It was so thick that when Spencer walked around he thought he was swimming through it.

  Storm alerts blared from the television, cell phones, and the weather radio Spencer kept on top of a small corner cabinet in the dining room. When he’d checked the radar on his iPad, a line of storms was heading right toward Granite County. The deep red color told Spencer it was going to be a wild ride.

  The sky dimmed to a purple-black, and everything went silent. No birds chirped, and the insects quieted. To Spencer, it seemed as if the world was waiting.

  A streak of lightning flashed, revealing angry, rolling clouds above. A strobe light of flashes showed Spencer a wall of gray coming across the field. The small hairs on Spencer’s body stood up.

  A gust of wind slammed into Spencer, and he moved into the house and stood at the screen door. Hail began crashing down, pelting everything it hit. Nature’s fury entranced Spencer.

  In the background, the weather radio began blaring, warning everyone to take cover. Behind him, Spencer heard a door slam against a wall. Ruger had been in the bathroom, and now Spencer assumed he wasn’t. Running footsteps pounded through the house, coming closer.