Noble grabbed the guy from behind and pinned him against his chest. He reached over and turned off the stereo. His ears rang in the deafening silence. His ragged breathing filled the grease-scented air. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled into the hoodlum’s ear.
The guy squirmed against him. He was much smaller than Noble had originally thought. “I, um . . .” His voice cracked.
Noble turned him around and looked him in the face. He was just a kid, and he was wide-eyed with fear. He looked ready to piss his pants.
The door to the house flew open. “How many times have I told you about that blasted . . . Tristan?”
Noble and the kid both looked over. Oh, shit. Sweet Cheeks.
“Mom?” the kid croaked.
Sweet Cheeks morphed into mama bear as she stormed over and ripped the kid from Noble’s grasp. “Get your hands off him!” She pushed her baby cub behind her back and eyed Noble with true disdain. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She glanced over her shoulder. “Tristan, go inside.” The kid swallowed and eyed him for a moment before disappearing into the house. Then all bets were off when she turned back with hellfire in her amber eyes.
Noble might’ve been turned on if he wasn’t so stunned by her whirlwind temper. He held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, there.” He tilted his head toward his house. “I live next door? I saw the kid and I thought you were being robbed.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
She studied him, her eyes still wary and full of venom. “So you thought you’d come over here and what? Tackle a fourteen-year-old kid?” She looked him up and down, obviously thinking him a big bully.
Fourteen? Jeez. With her tiny frame and cutesy little haircut, the woman barely looked legal herself. He took a breath. “Look, lady, I didn’t know he was a kid. I was only trying to help.”
She just stared at him. Probably trying to decide if she believed him or not.
Screw this. He strode toward the open garage door and headed back home. He needed some damn sleep. “You’re welcome, by the way.” He left her staring at his back.
Braelyn watched the Hulk amble back to what she was sure was his man cave next door as her heart rate slowed to something near normal. She’d only seen glimpses of him coming and going at odd hours–mostly at night. But, Jiminy Cricket, she’d never seen anything like him up close and personal before. He summoned visions of an Indian warrior with the way he towered at least a foot taller than her, his midnight hair well past his shoulders and skin like smooth caramel. And those deep, dark, bottomless eyes . . . .
The door next to her cracked open with a squeak. Tristan poked half his face out. “Mom? Everything all right?” He looked around. “Is he gone?”
She took a breath. “Yes, he’s gone.” She looked her son up and down. “You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
He shook his head emphatically, as if trying to prove his toughness. “Nah. Just rattled my chain a little.”
She nodded as her eyes unconsciously drifted to the dark, nondescript house next door with the tightly drawn blinds. Who was he?
The boy stepped out and eyed the stranger’s house as well. “He’s a scary dude. He just came outta nowhere.”
She turned and ruffled her son’s hair, making him duck from her touch. Her heart missed her baby boy sometimes. “He thought you were a burglar.”
Tristan grinned. “Really? Cool.”
She grimaced as he turned his stereo back on and his mind-numbing music came blaring out again. She shook her head and turned down the volume, earning herself a glare. “No, not cool.”
She watched Tristan a few minutes longer as he tinkered around with what he wanted to be the motor on a dirt bike, and wished for the umpteenth time that his father wasn’t such a prick. He should be around to help him with stuff like this instead of playing house with his new flavor of the month. Well, if he hadn’t done it when they’d lived in the same state, he sure wasn’t going to start now that they’d moved over a thousand miles away to Texas. Poor kid.
But at least he was safe.
“I was coming to let you know lunch was almost ready. You’ve got a little while to finish up here.” When he didn’t answer, she leaned in close to him. “Anything I can do?”
He grabbed another socket. Or a wrench. Heck, she didn’t know. He shook his head. “Nah.”
She pressed her luck and brushed a kiss to his cheek, catching the scent of grease instead of her baby boy, before slipping back inside. The teachers had been sending home notes and calling her with concerns that he had been acting out at school. Class clown stuff. Missing assignments. Luckily, he hadn’t totally spiraled out of control into the realm of flat-out rebellion. Yet.
She was wondering what she could do to help her son when a loud creak reverberated through the room. She’d spent the last month doing all she knew how to fix up this crappy old house, but she was no Bob Villa.
Her gaze flew about the room as the noise became something akin to an unholy belch.
“Oh, fudge!” she cried as the pipe under her kitchen sink gave one last shriek for mercy and began spewing ice cold water like it was demon-possessed.
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Elvis is a Keeper
The story of Em, the spunky fishing guide from Inked by an Angel, and her Elvis clone.
Coming from Soul Mate Publishing Summer 2013
Inked by an Angel Page 29
