Chapter 4
“Tate, dear, what did you do to your leg?”
Mabel stopped just inside the door of the tea shop, her two sisters hovering beside her as they stared at Tate’s bandaged knee.
“I tripped and fell out in the yard, but I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.”
That was a lie. Everything ached, and a poor night’s sleep didn’t help. She’d dreamed about being chased by shadow people with spooky voices. Then there was the part where she’d had mind-blowing sex up against a tree with a mysterious lover and then again in her kitchen. But she wasn’t about to share her smokin’ hot dreams or her late-night adventures with three elderly ladies with heart conditions.
“I’ll get your tea and scones.”
Margaret and Madge made their way to the table, but Mabel stood her ground. “Where’s that nice young man, Tate?”
Nice young man? “Do you mean Hunter Fitzsimon?”
“How many young men live in Justice Point, Tate? Of course I mean Hunter.”
“I haven’t seen him this morning.” At least not since he left her kitchen well after mid-night. “Why?”
Mabel headed for her favorite chair. “We want to thank him for mowing our lawn yesterday.”
Tate blurted, “For what?”
Mabel turned an eagle-eyed look in Tate’s reaction. “He found our old push mower out behind the house, sharpened the blades, and then mowed the yard. The place sure looks good.”
Tate probably shouldn’t have sounded so shocked, but the man spent all his time telling her to leave him alone, that he didn’t want to be bothered by anyone. And yet he did a kind deed for three elderly women.
“That was nice of him, and I’ll tell him so when I see him.”
That is, if he’d let her get within speaking distance of him. She brought the ladies their tea before returning to her laptop. Staring at the screen, she realized that the hero in her story had undergone several radical changes. The book, set in the Old West, had all the usual components—a schoolteacher, a sheriff, and a gunslinger. When she’d first started outlining it, she’d planned on the lawman being the one to save the day. But for some reason, the sheriff came off as weak sauce compared to the gunslinger.
How had the story veered so far off the course she’d laid out? The heroine now ignored the straight-laced sheriff in favor of the strong, silent man with a gun—and a limp. Tate highlighted the last few pages, intending to delete them, when the shop door opened. She stood up, ready to greet her customer, her smile fading when she saw who it was.
Why was Hunter just standing there, taking up space, and staring straight at her? Before she could put together a coherent thought, the Auntie Ms spoke up.
“Mr. Fitzsimon! Come join us.”
“Yes, please do!”
Hunter met Tate’s gaze from across the room, as if daring her to comment. He slowly made his way through the shop to take the fourth seat at the ladies’ table, angling it so that he could stretch out his legs. He leaned his cane against the windowsill behind him.
She knew better than to smile over the picture the foursome made—three tiny, gray-haired women and one oversized, glowering male. So instead of hunting down her digital camera, she made Hunter a pot of Pu’erh, snagged a couple of blueberry muffins, and carried them over to the table.
“Morning, Hunter. Nice to see you out and about so early.”
She injected extra cheer into her voice and added, “These ladies were just telling me how sweet you were to mow their lawn.”
“They baked me cookies again.” His voice was rougher than usual and more defensive.
So that’s what it was; he didn’t like feeling in debt to anyone. She set down his muffins and tea. “Enjoy.”
When he reached for his wallet, she waved him off. “It’s on the house.”
Tate went back to her computer, doing her best to ignore the conversation across the room. The three sisters were ardent baseball fans, and from the sound of things, they were trying to convince Hunter that the American League was vastly superior to the National League. Tate doubted that their staunch belief that the local team consisted of the “nicest young men” carried much weight with Hunter.
But she had to give him credit for listening to them, rebutting their arguments with some of his own. He had the three women eating out of his hand, twittering and giggling like schoolgirls.
Was he this nice to everybody but her?
She forced her attention back to her story. Maybe it was time for the gunslinger to get shot. Nothing lethal, but painful for sure. The heroine might patch him up, but she wouldn’t be gentle or sympathetic about it. Yeah, that felt right. He might eventually earn the heroine’s love, but he was definitely going to have to work for it.
She lost herself in the drama, letting it unfold before her. As she finished her fifth page, a shadow fell over her. Knowing who it was, she took her time saving the file before closing it.
“Yes, Mr. Fitzsimon, what can I do for you?”
“I came by to see if you were okay.” The bite in his voice made it clear that he wasn’t happy about being there.
“Thanks for asking, but it’s really not your concern. After all, I thought we’d already agreed that I would stay out of your way and you would stay out of mine. That’s hard to do if you insist on coming into my tea shop, Mr. Fitzsimon.”
His eyebrows snapped down in an angry line. “Quit calling me that, Tate.”
“Why should I?”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit formal, considering you had your tongue down my throat last night?”
She gasped. “You started it!”
Now, that sounded real mature. She bit back the urge to rail at him some more. “Was there something you wanted from me?”
So that wasn’t the smartest way to phrase it. She tried again. “Why are you here?”
“Where’s your lawn mower?”
“In the garage. Why?”
“I’m going to use it to trim my nails. Why the hell do you think I want it? I need the exercise and thought I might as well be useful.”
“Don’t expect me to bake you cookies.”
“I don’t expect—or want— anything from you.” He crowded closer, his eyes a swirl of green and gray.
Refusing to be cowed, she slapped her hands down on the counter and glared right back. “Well, that’s certainly a relief!”
“Tate Justice! That isn’t like you!” Mabel and her sisters were clearly shocked by the heated interchange.
Ignoring Hunter, she forced herself to smile at them. “Sorry, ladies. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I guess it affected me more than I realized.”
Reaching behind her, she picked up a key ring and tossed it to Hunter. “The one with the blue tag will unlock the side door to the garage. There should be a full can of gas in the back corner.”
Hunter made no effort to hide his smirk as he snatched the keys out of the air. “I’ll return them when I’m done.”
She dropped her voice to a sarcastic whisper. “Ooh, goody, something to look forward to.” Then, for the ladies’ benefit, she said a little louder, “Thank you, Hunter. I so appreciate everything you do for me.”
But the victory went to Hunter when he smiled and whispered back, “You made that clear last night when I had you up against that tree.”
Her hand itched to smack him, but they still had an audience. He walked away before she could come up with a remark scathing enough to draw blood. Instead, she cleared his dishes and set them aside to do later. Shoving the man firmly out of her mind, she sat back down at her computer. Maybe it was time to give the gunslinger a nasty infection.
He probably should apologize to Tate for provoking her in front of her customers, but that wasn’t going to happen. The longer she stayed mad at him, the better, because she’d be more likely to keep her distance. One of them had to be smart about it. When he’d walked out of his apartment this morning, he’d planned on heading back down the
bluff to see if those late-night visitors had left behind any clues. Bane would be wanting another progress report soon. But instead, Hunter had veered away from the trail and walked straight into the tea shop to check on Tate.
Turning the key to the garage door, he gave in and grinned. The look on her face when he’d sat down with the Auntie Ms had been priceless. Those old ladies were a kick, but the real fun was watching Tate fume over behind the counter.
He stepped into the dim garage and flipped on the light. One look at the lawn mower and he knew why Tate’s yard looked like it had been cut with dull scissors: the mower was covered with more rust than paint. In fact, the whole garage looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.
After topping off the gas tank, Hunter wheeled the mower outside, hoping it ran better than it looked. It didn’t. He had to give the cord half a dozen hard pulls before the engine sputtered to life. After pushing the machine through the ankle-high grass for less than ten feet, it died with a puff of blue smoke.
He ignored the searing pain as he kneeled down to check the spark plug. Judging by its condition, the mower hadn’t been tuned since it was new. He shoved it back into the garage. Not about to settle for the rusty hodgepodge of tools scattered around the workbench, he hauled in his tool box from the back of his truck. By the time he had the engine in pieces, he found himself whistling along to his iPod.
What was up with that? Then it struck him that he was feeling good. It had been so long since he’d taken pleasure in doing anything that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Twice in the past twenty-four hours he’d experienced something other than pain and anger.
The first occasion had been last night when he’d shoved Tate Justice up against that tree and kissed her in a fit of temper and desire. Just thinking about it made a rush of heat pool just south of his belt buckle. In the blanket of darkness, with her scent filling his senses and his tongue tangling with hers, he’d felt whole.
He’d definitely had his share of women over the years, but he couldn’t remember a time when a simple kiss had taken him from zero to sixty in less than a heartbeat. Maybe it had only been the adrenaline rush from knowing his enemies had been but a few feet away, or maybe because it had been so long since he’d touched a woman. But neither of those answers seemed right.
That was why he’d gone to check on Tate, to see if there was something about her that explained his irrational behavior. He still didn’t have an answer, other than the fact that he liked the way she stood up to him, giving as good as she got.
He finished reassembling the mower and wheeled it back outside for a test run. He yanked the cord and the engine caught on the first try.
If his leg held up, he could still get the lawn mowed before lunch, leaving him the afternoon to go exploring.
She was watching him again. It wasn’t really her fault though. If the man didn’t want to be stared at, he should keep his shirt on. There wasn’t a woman in a hundred miles who wouldn’t admire watch all that sweat-slick skin gleaming in the sunshine. Then there were his muscles that flexed as he shoved that old lawn mower across her yard. The sun brought out the red in his hair, and he looked extra scruffy because he hadn’t bothered to shave. Yep, she could probably sell tickets and make a fortune.
Even if a crowd had gathered, she was the only one who knew firsthand how it felt to be crushed between that scrumptious hard body and a tree trunk. She’d keep that little tidbit to herself.
He’d been out there for almost two hours without a break, and his limp had grown more pronounced. Before she could start second-guessing herself, Tate filled a large tumbler with crushed ice and fresh-brewed tea. She waited by the back porch until he rounded the corner and was heading toward her. When he spotted her, he frowned and slowed down. She held up the glass and the pitcher to show that she came bearing gifts. He jerked his head in acknowledgment and shut off the mower.
He took the glass, almost dropping it when his fingers accidentally brushed across hers. His eyes flared wide as she jerked away, a sign he’d felt the same shot of heat that she had. Rather than acknowledge the connection, he concentrated on the glass of tea, downing about half of it.
“Thanks,” he said halfheartedly.
“You’re welcome.” She took a cautious step closer. “I appreciate your doing this, and I can’t help noticing the mower sounds different.”
He shifted from foot to foot and stared past her. “I tuned it.”
Why was he being so nice all of a sudden? “It was on my to-do list but I hadn’t gotten to it yet. This place keeps me hopping.”
“Seems like an awfully big place for one person.” His gaze swept over the house and then out toward the bluff.
She shaded her eyes with her hand. “It is, although I love every inch of the place. My uncle left it to me in his will, so I’ve only been living in it for a few months. I spent a lot of time here with him while I was growing up, though, so it’s always felt like home.”
If she thought sharing a bit of her own past would spur him into doing the same, she was sorely disappointed.
He shoved the glass at her. “I’d better finish up. Thanks again.”
Then he walked away, leaving her staring after him, wishing he wouldn’t go.
Hunter put the lawn mower back in the garage and puttered around the workbench, straightening up the tools and throwing out the trash. It wasn’t his mess to clean up, but it gave him an excuse to rest his leg before tackling the stairs to his apartment.
He’d overdone it mowing the whole yard at once, but stubborn was part of the Paladin package. Maybe he would’ve quit if he hadn’t noticed Tate watching him. It stung his pride knowing she’d hurt herself last night because she’d been worried about him.
Stupid woman. He wanted to shake some sense into her. What if he hadn’t been the one who’d reached out of the darkness to grab her? He suspected that at least one of the men who’d passed by had been human, but he didn’t know for sure. He shuddered to think what a pair of light-hungry Kalith would’ve done to her.
He picked up his cane, pushed the release button, and slid out the sword. He set down the ebony cover and took a few practice swings with the blade. It lacked the weight of his old weapon, but it had its own lethal grace.
He brought the blade up in salute to an imaginary opponent and went through his old training routine, concentrating on control rather than speed. The stretches gradually eased the tightness in his back and legs. With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine that he was back in Missouri banging blades with Jake and the others. Damn, he missed his friends. But until he could face them as equals again, they were all better off without him.
He’d already pushed himself enough for one day, so he stopped after only one set. Still, it was another step back toward normal. After putting the cane back together, he walked out into the bright sunshine and around to the staircase. As soon as he turned the corner, he came to an abrupt halt. A familiar basket was sitting on the bottom step.
He glared over at the house, but for once Tate had the good sense to stay out of sight. When he picked up the basket, intent on taking it back, a note fluttered to the ground. He grunted in pain as he reached down to pick it up.
He unfolded the paper, which simply read Thanks. He wadded it up and carried the basket up to his apartment. Some battles weren’t worth fighting, but he’d have to draw the line somewhere and soon. Tate was already too interested in his activities. He was here on a mission, not to get involved with the locals. But as he unwrapped the sandwich, he had to admit that maybe it was already too late for that. There were all too many ways he could imagine getting involved with Tate, most of which started with getting naked with her and going from there.
For once, luck was on Hunter’s side. He’d decided to wait until early evening to head for the woods to check out the cave. He needed to find a place to hide while he watched the entrance to see if the strangers returned. The only real tactical problem was crossing the backyard wi
thout being spotted. As he gathered supplies and loaded them into his backpack, he heard Tate start her car and drive off. There was no telling how long she’d be gone, but if he left immediately, he could make it into the woods without being seen.
He left his apartment lights on, hoping she’d think he was home when she returned. He needed to explore without worrying what trouble Tate might stumble across in another well-intentioned, but misguided, attempt to save him. From what she’d said, she’d been living in Justice Point only a few months. Had she seen something that made her think the woods were dangerous at night, or had it been his weak leg that had her worried?
As he crossed the lawn, he tried running a few steps to test out his leg. Other than a few twinges, it seemed to be holding up. He slowed back to a walk, not wanting to push it, but satisfied that his strength was returning. Doc Crosby would be pleased when Hunter called in his next progress report.
Once he stepped into the shade of the Douglas firs he studied the ground carefully, hoping to find footprints. As far as he knew, Kaliths all wore smooth-soled boots, so any prints they left should be easy to distinguish from human ones.
A short way down the trail he noticed a red flashlight lying in a jumble of roots. Tate had most likely dropped it when she’d fallen. He stuck it in his backpack.
A few feet farther down the trail, he spotted some prints, but they were clearly his and Tate’s. Looking around, he spotted a good-sized cedar a short distance into the woods, which had him grinning. He might have been able to silence Tate in some other way, but a full body press had done the job just fine. Once she’d gotten over the shock, she’d definitely gone for the gusto when she’d started kissing him back.
He had no business hoping for a repeat performance, but hot damn she’d felt good in his arms, the soft crush of her breasts against his chest, her fingers tangled in his hair. If there ever was a next time, he wanted it to be somewhere a lot more comfortable than up against a tree, and with a lot fewer clothes. His bed or hers—it didn’t matter as long as they were skin to skin.
Once again, he reminded himself that he had no business thinking about his landlady that way. It was definitely time to get back to work, but he couldn’t help grinning. As uncomfortable as it was to hike with a hard-on, he bet Doc Crosby would be happy to hear that Hunter’s leg wasn’t the only body part that seemed to be returning to full strength.
Defeat the Darkness (Paladins of Darkness 6) Page 6
