Tripp stopped trying to convince her of his innocence. Next step. Show her.
Chapter Eight
Once again, Ashley was sitting front and center in Tripp’s monster truck. Her left hip and thigh were plastered against the very firm, very warm muscles of this bigger-than-life guy’s right side. He was starting to grow on her, not because of his ardent declaration of innocence, but because he treated Barbara, a woman old enough to be his grandmother, so sweetly.
Before leaving the vet’s office, Barbara had arranged for Chipper’s cremation. Tripp had already promised he’d bring her back when the deed was done, to pick up her dog’s remains. But when she’d selected a simple, inexpensive wooden container for Chipper, Tripp had slapped his credit card on the counter and told her to pick out a bigger, better remembrance chest, that it was the least he could do for that stinky little boy of hers. She’d actually smiled a tiny bit then. He’d put his arm around her, and for a moment, Ashley wished someone cared for her as much as he cared for his neighbor. His other neighbor.
Everything he’d done for Barbara today had been overly kind, gentle, and considerate, a trait Ashley didn’t generally ascribe to most men. Her father, Bobby, had been one of those stay-at-home slackers who’d never broken a sweat a day in his life, not even at home. Her mother, Annette, and her mother’s sister, Ashley’s Aunt Karrie Lynn, surely did after they’d married the same kind of losers.
In her dysfunctional family, the women carried the full weight of providing for their families, while their husbands and live-in boyfriends did whatever they wanted, all day, every day. Which was why Ashley had worked hard to put herself through college. She’d refused to end up working a minimum wage job for the rest of her life, tied down to an egotistical deadbeat, like her mom and aunt had. Unfortunately, her degree in marketing hadn’t translated into the life-sustaining career she’d hoped it would. Seemed everyone had degrees these days, especially in this super-charged, professional area of America.
Blowing out a sigh, she thanked her lucky stars she worked for the City of Alexandria. There was a glut of workers scrambling for employment these days. She was one of the lucky ones, and this job put her face to face with kids who needed vaccinations, women who needed mammograms or prenatal care, and a host of other free services her department provided. While she wasn’t making the big bucks she’d once thought were important, she was making a difference. She hadn’t realized until this job came along how big a bonus helping others could be. She always felt good after a hard day’s work.
Her life was perfect. Well… almost.
Since Barbara had declined Tripp’s dinner invite, they were now on their way back to the apartment complex. Country music played on his truck radio, offering a gentle background after the emotional day. Barbara said she needed a nap, that she was worn out. Her face was drawn, and she did look exhausted. Ashley worried about her being alone and made a mental note to check on her neighbors more often. All of them. Maybe even Tripp. Someday…
Cranking the wheel, he pulled his pickup into the first empty parking space in front of the complex’s front entrance. But before he unfastened his seatbelt, Barbara opened her door and slipped off the high seat to the curb. Once on her feet, she turned around, tipped up on her toes, peered past Ashley, and said, “Thank you for the ride, Tripp. You kids have done enough for me. Now go enjoy what’s left of the day. I’ll be in touch.”
“B-b-but—” he sputtered.
“But nothing. Go. Be happy.” She shut the door firmly and waved through the window, then walked through the front doors with her chin up.
That left Ashley alone with the man she’d accused of having an STD. Awkward…
Running after Mrs. Harrison seemed like a good idea. But Tripp was staring straight ahead, his fingers curled around the wheel at two and ten o’clock. She scooted away from his side to the door and took hold of the door handle, not sure what to say or do next, other than tell him goodbye. Her other hand delved into her bag and wrapped around her trusty mace.
“I should go, too.”
“If that’s what you want,” he replied noncommittally.
Oh, what the heck? She’d accused him of having an STD, not committing rape. Summoning what little gumption she owned, Ashley offered a quiet, “Or we could go somewhere and talk.” Just talk. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else. “Maybe have a cup of coffee.” Just coffee.
Tripp turned those broad shoulders and looked at her then, his clear green eyes sincerely searching her face for motive. “Not if you don’t believe what I’ve been trying to tell you. There’s no sense going anywhere with a liar, is there?”
She lifted her shoulder nearest to him, using it as a barrier. “I never called you a liar.”
He said nothing back to her, just faced forward as if the car parked ahead of him was interesting.
“I, umm, I see a lot of crap at work,” she explained. “Everyone lies these days. I never know who to believe.”
“So you don’t believe anyone.”
She scratched her brow. Well, yeah. “It’s easier that way.”
“Might be easy, but it’s cowardly.”
Ashley hadn’t seen that insult coming. But he was right. There was a day when she’d been brave and courageous, back when she’d first started college. Not anymore. If she wasn’t in her safe cubicle at work, she was locked up behind solid wooden doors at home. She’d even bought a better, more secure, expensive, top-rated deadbolt for her apartment door. Installed it herself because she didn’t want strange men, even installers of deadbolts or plumbers or maintenance guys or—anyone—inside her apartment. She’d tried that once. Tried to live like other professional women. Freely. Without worry. Carefree. Maybe even a bit brazenly. It hadn’t worked out, and she refused to go through—that—again. Besides, she liked helping people, and her job offered plenty of safe opportunities to do so. Until last Friday…
“I guess it is,” she admitted, “but—”
“It’s safe,” he finished for her. “You’d rather be safe than take a chance on trusting a guy you just met. Sounds kind of lonely to me, but I get it.”
He still wasn’t looking at her, which made it easier to say, “My life, my choice.”
“Okay then…” He exhaled a drawn-out sigh that made her wonder how long he’d been holding his breath. “Guess we’re done here. I told Mom I’d be by today. You’d like her, but hey. Wouldn’t want you to have to walk on the wild side with a loser like me.”
“I never called you a loser.” Yet she had in a way, and she knew it. “Umm…” Ashley had no idea why she was still sitting in his truck. This wasn’t a date. Yet she didn’t want to end things this way, with him mad at her for doing her job, with her wondering what might’ve been if she’d taken the chance to get to know him. Not that there was anything going on between Tripp and her. There wasn’t, and not all guys were creeps. Most of them, yes, but it was just possible that he’d told the truth. That his sister, what was her name? Oh, yeah, Trish. That she’d lied. It was possible. Make that highly probable. After all, street urchins weren’t known for their honesty. It just seemed so bizarre, his sister naming him as one of her sexual partners.
“Does your mom like coffee?” she asked, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
He nodded at the windshield. “Mom likes everything and everybody. Her name’s Andrea, by the way, but you can call her Andy. She’d like that. Hell, she’d like you.”
“She would? Then, umm…” Ashley couldn’t believe she was still sitting there. By herself. Without Mrs. Harrison as a buffer for protection, as if Barbara could protect anyone.
Ashley was on the verge of doing it. Being brave again. Taking a chance. Not running away. Until, right on schedule, her chest was too small for her heart and lungs. Inhaling took effort. Her ribs felt cramped and tight, as if her bra had shrunk two sizes too small. Something inside of her rattled like crazy. It took everything she had to relax her left
shoulder, lower it, and then turn enough to face him.
“W-what are we waiting for?” she stuttered breathlessly.
Truly, breathlessly. As in, without sufficient air in her lungs to make her vocal cords form those few words, to make them sound firm or loud, strong and confident, or—anything. Her heart was pounding behind her eyes, at the top of her head, even at the tips of all her fingers and toes. She was a coiled spring wound so tight that if she broke loose, she might tear the inside of this truck apart. Silly black dots danced at her peripheral, pushing her closer to the edge of control. The truck’s walls were closing in. The windows weren’t big enough or open wide enough. This was a mistake. Too early. Too soon. Too much!
“Because you still don’t trust me,” he said firmly, “and I get that, Ashley, honest, I do. You’re a single woman, and women need to be careful these days. I’ve done nothing, yet you’re unwilling to consider that the source of your information is the liar, not me. That maybe none of the men Trish slandered to get whatever drugs she needs to keep working the streets, did what she’s accused them of. Trust me, I know my sister, and Trish would lie even when the truth sounds better. I know that’s harsh, but do you honestly think hookers always tell the truth? Or is it just men you don’t trust?”
“Men,” Ashley whispered, swallowing hard, her trembling body and her heart at war with her common sense. But it only took once to be wrong. Which was why she worked in a nice, safe job for the city now. Also why she never went out at night, never left her apartment for anything but work, never dated and had no friends. Women’s lib and personal freedom didn’t mean anything if you let the wrong person into your safe place. All it took was once. “I’m sorry. It’s my job to notify people who’ve been identified as possible carriers of… you know.”
Tripp snorted. “See, you can’t even say the words. You condemn people without a fair trial. You impugn their names, and I’ll bet that info, right or wrong, gets stored in some deep, dark government file, doesn’t it? Christ!” There went his hand again, up the back of his neck and over his head. Ruffling that pretty hair like a combine mowing over stalks of wheat in a field of gold. “If the government has it, the whole damned world can get it. Just what I need, more shit to deal with.”
Panic whispered, “I can’t do this.”
He turned his head and looked closer at her. “What? Ashley? Are you—?”
Cranking that slick, sweat-covered door handle, she clutched her bag to her chest and exploded out of the truck. “I’ve got to go.”
“Ashley, no!”
The curb was a long way down. She didn’t make it very far. By the time her feet were safely on concrete, Tripp’s big strong fingers were gently curled around her biceps. He was in front of her, holding her up. Not letting her fall. Not shoving or threatening. Just—there.
He crouched low enough to peer into her face, but she couldn’t let him see her. Not like this. Couldn’t let him in. She hated being vulnerable, couldn’t let it happen again. Closing her eyes, Ashley bowed her head and raked her fingers through the ponytail now sagging at the nape of her neck. The knot let loose. Her hair was long and thick enough. It made a solid curtain to hide behind. Instantly, Tripp vanished from view.
“My God, you’re shaking.” He exerted just enough pressure on both of her arms, forcing her knees to bend.
It would be so easy to lean into him for support.
Never.
“You’re hyperventilating.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“On the curb, Ashley. Sit down, now,” he ordered quietly. “Nice and easy. You’re having a panic attack, that’s all. No worries. I’ll stay with you. I won’t let you fall. Hold my hand. There you go. Just like that. Lean on me if you think you’re going to pass out. Good. I’ve got you.”
“N-n-noooo,” she breathed, her blood galloping through her veins, her poor head about to explode, even as Tripp took her to the ground with him. The second her butt hit the curb, she took her hand back, crossed her arms over her knees, and buried her face in her shirtsleeves, mortified. It was happening again, and she was an idiot for thinking she could be brave. She should’ve stayed home, where she was safe.
“I hate you,” she murmured.
“That’s okay,” Tripp answered easily. “I hate me too somedays. Like right now. Sure sorry I made you freak out. I press too hard sometimes, but I’m a guy, and I was Army. I’m used to giving orders, and I talk too much when I’m nervous, but you scared the shit out of me. I’m sorry. Take all the time you—”
“I was talking to myself,” she interrupted, dizzy as heck, but not going to pass out. Not out here on the street, darn it. That would only put her at more risk. “Me. I hate me. That I can’t do what I want to do when I want to do it. That… That this… I hate this. No matter how hard I try, I still end up making a fool of myself!”
Great, now she was on her way to full-blown hysteria. With Tripp’s arm securely around both shoulders, she turned spineless. There was no longer any choice. She couldn’t hold herself upright. Right on schedule, the tears drenching her face dripped off her nose. Then her chin. What a loser he must think she was. She wished the ground would swallow her whole.
Just that fast, Mother Earth complied. Ashley’s heart stopped pounding. Everything turned black, as she collapsed into a puddle of nothingness.
A whispered, “Oh, fu-u-udge,” breathed out of her.
Chapter Nine
“Ashley. Ashley!” Tripp anchored his arm under her and cupped the back of her head. She’d passed out. Shit!
“I’m so damned sorry,” he said as he hit the remote on his key fob to lock his truck. Lifting Ashley’s hair out of his way with his free hand, he searched for a medical alert dog tag around her neck that would explain her passing out. Finding nothing, he dug one-handed into her bag, hoping she carried an inhaler or something. Instead, he came up with that same cylinder of mace from Friday night. She probably carried it everywhere with her. That was why the bag. Great. She really didn’t think much of him, did she? He’d deal with that bullshit later.
Damn Trish for being a flaming ass all the time! This was her fault. But he couldn’t just sit around and wait until Ashley came to. Balancing her limp body against him with one hand at her back, Tripp situated her bag onto her stomach with his other hand. Then, easing an arm under her knees, he lifted to his feet and pulled her up with him. At the apartment complex entry, he paused long enough to dig his wallet out of his rear pocket, then waved it over the scanner, letting it detect the embedded code that allowed entry. After the door opened, he maneuvered Ashley carefully into the empty lobby. In several quick steps, they were inside the elevator on their way to the fourth floor.
“Faster,” he urged the slower than shit contraption, watching the indicator light over the door blink at a snail’s pace as it passed the second level and headed to third. Finally, the door opened on his floor. With long, urgent strides, Tripp strode past Ashley’s place to his, sure that once he got her lying flat on her back on his couch, her lungs would relax, and she’d come to. Most people fainted from simple lack of oxygen. He kept his A/C set on low. The cooler air should help, too.
With Ashley still out cold and limp in his arms, he flashed his keycard at his apartment door’s reader. The instant the lock disengaged, he kicked the door open and angled her into what was probably the last place on Earth she wanted to be. His place.
Butt-bumping the door shut, he crossed his living room to the couch and gently laid her down. Carefully, he lifted her head and finagled the strap to her bag out from under her hair. He set the bag beside the couch, within reach if she thought she needed to mace him when she came to.
His mom had stress-crocheted like a maniac while he’d been deployed. As a result, he had thick, plush afghans to spare. Tugging the camouflage-colored one with the black fringe off the back of his couch, he covered Ashley with it, in case the cooler air was too much. Then, carefully l
ifting her head, he eased another smaller, folded afghan under her for a pillow. She hadn’t banged her head when she’d fallen, and she hadn’t had a seizure. That much was good. But she might have a concussion. She’d been attacked only days ago, and she should still be at home resting, and—
Shit, this was all his fault. Blowing out a gut full of regret for being deaf, dumb, and blind to her panic attack, Tripp made a quick pass through his apartment to conceal anything that might connect him to his nighttime job. Finding nothing incriminating, other than dirty black clothes, which he had in abundance, he folded his long legs and sat on the floor, facing his unwilling houseguest.
Man, she was pretty, so innocent-looking when she was asleep. This woman was a hundred pounds, maybe. A little over five feet tall, but not by much. Peaches and cream skin. No freckles. No scars. No tattoos. No wrinkles. The laugh lines radiating out from the corners of her closed eyes didn’t count. Glossy, straight black hair, and the bluest eyes. Not just blue, but dark, sparkling blue. Like sapphires in sunlight, they shone when she smiled. She was everything Trish was not. Which might explain Tripp’s attraction to Ashley.
She was a breath of clean fresh air in his life, which until he’d seen her, had been full of combat and violence, either while on deployments or with Trish when he came home.
Tripp growled at his nearsightedness. He should’ve seen the signs. Because of what went down Friday night, Ashley had a dark secret, one that triggered panic attacks. Which explained why she hadn’t answered her door until she’d heard Mrs. Harrison in the hall.
“Fuck,” he cussed quietly. “She’s scared of me. Me! The guy who rescued her. And all I did was make it worse until… God, I’m so dumb!” He raked his fingers over his head and down his damned stiff neck. “Mom always said I never listened. Guess she’s right about that, too.”
Andrea had also said Trish was headed for a lifetime of trouble. Wasn’t that the truth?
Tripp Page 8
