Protecting Tricia (16 page)

Swallowing hard, she looked away from him.

He won’t kill me.
He might make her wish she were
dead, but he’d stop short of murdering her. If she were dead, then he couldn’t
enjoy wielding his power over her, wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing the
fear in her eyes, bending her to his will.

Then again, Clint’s sister had probably believed the same
thing about her husband.

Hoping to lead Matt’s thoughts away from her improper
behavior and need for discipline, she attempted to get the conversation back on
track. “If you didn’t know where Clint was, how did you find him?”

“Property tax records. It’s all public information, anyone
has access to it. And thanks to the internet… It took a while though, because I
was looking for records under the name of Clint Owens. I didn’t know Clint is
his middle name.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “I can’t remember…what
is his first name, Tricia?”

She shook her head silently.

“Oh, come on. You know his name. What is it?” When she
didn’t respond, he yelled, “What’s his name?”

She cringed at his bellow, a clear indication he was losing
his grip on the fury seething inside him. The last time he’d lost control of
his temper, she’d ended up with a bloody nose and a face full of bruises.

In an effort to pacify him, she gave him what he wanted,
even though he already knew the answer. “Elmer,” she said.

“That’s right.”

Matt’s tone had returned to normal, and she breathed a
little easier. Even without looking at him, she knew he was smiling, could hear
it in his voice. Yes, forcing her to answer his question would please him.

“Elmer C. Owens, Jr.” He laughed. “With a name like that I
don’t blame the poor bastard for using his middle one. Once I solved that piece
of the puzzle, it was only a matter of hours before I located his address.”

Matt reached toward her, and she jerked away in reflex. When
he dropped his hand, she snuck a cautious peek at him from the corner of her
eye.

He lifted a brow. “You know I like your hair down.”

Tricia pulled the scrunchie from her hair and tossed it on
the dashboard.

“That’s much better.”

She held her breath, praying he wouldn’t reach out and touch
her hair. The thought of his hands on her made her nauseous.

Sirens blared in the background. Tricia looked in the
rearview mirror and relief poured over her at the sight of a patrol car behind
her, blue lights flashing. When it got closer, she identified David as the
driver.

“Don’t even think about pulling over,” Matt growled.

“My tag’s expired,” she said, hoping Matt wouldn’t realize
it was a lie. “That’s probably why he’s pulling me over. If I stop, he’ll give
me a ticket and let us go. If I don’t…he won’t just go away.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He twisted around in the seat and
pointed the gun at the back window.

“You don’t want to shoot a police officer. You’d never get
out of prison.”

“Shut up!” he yelled.

She considered slamming on the brakes, but then David would
plow into the back of her car. If he got injured, it could restrict his ability
to help her escape. But she had to do something and do it quickly before Matt
pulled the trigger.

She swerved. The car skidded and came to rest with its nose
pointed into a ditch. Matt hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, and the impact
threw him against the dashboard. He blinked as blood dripped from a gash on his
forehead into his eyes.

Where’s the gun?
Tricia glanced around frantically
but couldn’t locate it.

Matt swiped at the blood, and then shook his head.

She couldn’t waste any more time. Matt could regain
cognizance at any second. Tricia fumbled to unbuckle her seat belt and reached
for the door handle. When the door refused to budge, she threw her shoulder
against it and pushed with all her might. It popped open, and she said a silent
prayer of gratitude as she scrambled out of the car.

She’d only gotten a few yards when Matt grabbed her hair and
yanked her back. Pain seared through her as strands of hair were tore from her
scalp.

He locked his arm around her throat in a chokehold. She
struggled to breathe, his arm restricting her airway, though not blocking it
completely. She grabbed his arm and pulled, but it remained firmly fixed in
place.

Cold metal pressed against her temple. She froze, her body
completely motionless. She broke out in a cold sweat. Fear wrapped its icy
fingers around her and squeezed with such intensity she worried she might pass
out.

Although, losing consciousness could be a blessing in
disguise. At least then she wouldn’t feel the bullet rip through her body.
Through her brain. Tears sprang to her eyes.

“Damn it, Clint, get back here,” David yelled.

Tricia shifted her eyes in the direction of his voice.
David’s patrol car sat in the middle of the road, and he had taken cover behind
it. Clint—where had he come from?—was sprinting in their direction.

The gun left her temple, and Matt’s arm stretched over her
shoulder as he pointed it toward Clint. A sharp click sounded as he cocked the
hammer.

Tricia shoved Matt’s arm, knocking his aim off mere seconds
before a shot rang out.

Remember what Clint taught you.

Tricia turned her head into the crook of Matt’s elbow. She
lifted her foot, then realized since she was wearing tennis shoes and he had on
hard-toe work boots, she could do little damage to his foot. Instead of
stomping his toes, she slammed the bottom of her foot against his shin. He
grunted and the pressure on her neck eased a notch. She latched her teeth onto
his arm and chomped down hard enough to draw blood. When his hold eased even
further, she shifted to the side and rammed her elbow into his stomach.

Free from his grasp, she raced toward Clint. When she
reached him, he grabbed her by the waist. Turning toward the road, he pushed
her in front of him, and they ran for the shelter of the patrol car.

Vaguely, she registered the sound of shots being fired—two
of them—then David rushed past them.

Once they reached the car, she glanced back to find Matt
lying on the ground, his legs drawn up and his hands clutched over his stomach.
David stood over him, his gun pointed at Matt.

Clint pulled her down behind the car and wrapped his arms
around her. Burying her face against his chest, she leaned against him,
absorbing his strength.

A warm, wet substance seeped onto her palm. She lifted her
hand from Clint’s waist and stared in horror at the blood coating it. Tears
blurring her vision, she jerked her head up and looked into Clint’s eyes.

“I’m okay,” he assured her.

But his face was pale, and suddenly, she was the one
supporting him.

Tricia picked up the stack of mail from the counter, placed
it on the tray already loaded with Clint’s favorite foods, and headed down the
hallway. When she entered the bedroom, Clint glanced up at her and smiled.

“I’ve got to go, Jack,” he said into the phone. “Thanks
again for all your help.”

He disconnected the call and set the phone on the
nightstand. After Tricia had positioned the tray over his lap, he grabbed the
mail, tossed it on the mattress beside him, then leaned over the tray and
inhaled deeply.

“Oh my God. Real food.”

Tricia smiled at the reverence in his voice.

“That hospital crap was awful,” he declared.

“I know. Everyone knew. You complained about it often
enough.”

“I probably lost five pounds while I was there.”

“Well, I’m going to make sure you regain every ounce of it.”

He picked up the fork, took a huge bite of mashed potatoes
smothered in gravy, then moaned in appreciation.

“If you keep cooking like this, it won’t take long.” He
frowned and looked up at her. “Where’s your plate?”

“I’m not hungry. I’ll eat something later.”

He nodded, then without another word, he dug into his lunch
with the gusto of a man on the verge of starvation. Tricia smiled, both pleased
and amused by his hardy appetite.

The color was back in his cheeks, and his strength had
returned. He looked good, healthy. A big difference from his appearance three
days ago.

Her gaze drifted to his side. The thick bandage covering the
ugly wound bulged against the material of his t-shirt. Thankfully, the bullet
had passed clean through and hadn’t hit anything that could cause major damage.
But it could have been different.

Biting her lip, she fought back the tears that threatened to
erupt.

Even though her mother had always insisted
God doesn’t
make deals
, she’d tried to make one with Him. As she’d sat in the hospital
waiting room, she’d prayed and pleaded with God, promising Him anything He
wanted if He’d just ensure Clint’s well-being. If Clint’s injury had been
serious, life-altering or life-ending, she wouldn’t have been able to live with
herself.

The man who mere weeks ago she had thought unworthy of trust
had risked his life to save hers. Not only had he saved her life, he’d helped
her reclaim it. When she’d been on the run from a madman and evading the
police, Clint had taken her in, offering her safety and protection. And never
once had he doubted her innocence.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Clint’s fork stopped mid-way to his mouth, and he sighed.
“Stop thanking me. I didn’t do anything that anybody else wouldn’t have done.”

She nodded at his standard reply, knowing it would do no
good to disagree with him.

“This could have all been avoided if I had just gone to the
police in the beginning,” she said.

“You were scared. It’s irrelevant now anyway. Everything
worked out in the end.”

Yes, it had. Matt was behind bars, and if David’s prediction
proved to be true, he would remain there for a very long time. To her immense
relief the DA office in Florida had decided not to file charges against her.

The convenience store clerk had stated that Tricia appeared
to be shocked and confused upon discovering the robbery in progress. That,
combined with her own statement and the additional facts of the case, had led
the DA’s office to the conclusion that she had been
an unknowing and
unwilling accomplice who had acted under duress and failed to report the crime
to the authorities due to fear for her own safety.

“This is
so
good,” Clint murmured, shoveling a huge
bite of squash casserole in his mouth. He looked up at her and grinned.
“Actually, if you insist on thanking me, a homemade apple pie would be nice.”

“I could manage that.”

“Mmm. And maybe a peach cobbler too.”

She laughed. “Greedy thing, aren’t you? I’ll see what I can
do.”

Tricia busied herself straightening the bedroom while Clint
finished eating.

“How long are you going to stay?” he asked.

“Until you’re well.” She looked over at him and lifted a
brow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Absolutely not. As a matter of fact, if my being well will
result in your leaving, then I might have to ponder ways to delay my recovery.”

“Don’t do that. You need to get back on your feet. Jack
can’t take care of the ranch forever. And I need to start job hunting.”

Retrieving the now empty tray, she headed to the kitchen.
After she’d washed the dishes, she grabbed the bag of medical supplies she’d
purchased from the pharmacy that morning and returned to the bedroom.

Clint was busy going through the mail she’d brought to him
earlier. The envelopes he’d already opened were sorted into two piles.

She walked over to the nightstand, pushed the alarm clock
back to make room, and emptied the contents of the bag.

“I need to change your bandage.”

“Okay. Just give me a minute to finish this.” He handed her
one of the stacks of opened mail. “That’s junk. Would you mind tossing it in
the trashcan?”

After doing as he’d requested, she took a seat at the end of
the bed and waited for him to complete his task.

Clint ripped open an envelope, pulled out the paper from
inside, and lifted a brow. He gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Light
bill gets more expensive every month.”

After shoving the bill back inside the envelope, he added it
to the stack of mail still on the bed, then picked it up and placed it on the
nightstand.

One item remained unopened—a manila envelope. He picked it
up and handed it to her. “This is for you.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. Why would she be getting
mail at his address? And from whom? When she glanced at the package, she
immediately recognized the handwriting as Jenny’s. But…

“It’s addressed to you,” she said.

“I know, but it’s actually for you. Open it.”

After tearing the envelope open, she reached inside and
pulled out dozens of snapshots…of her. She looked up at Clint in amazement.
When Matt had destroyed all her pictures, she’d thought they’d been lost
forever.

“How?” she asked.

Clint lifted a shoulder. “Jenny. I was at their house one
day, and she was organizing her photo albums. There must have been hundreds of
pictures spread out on the kitchen table.” He smiled. “She showed me one that
she had of me and you. I thought maybe she had more.”

Tricia returned her attention to the pictures. The one on
top was of her and Jenny, about five years old, squatting in the dirt. Their
clothes and faces were streaked with mud, and their hands were filled with the
brown, messy goo. Tricia smiled at the memory the photo brought to mind. That
entire summer they had been convinced their fathers were actually eating the
mud pies they spent so many hours making.

There were a few more pictures of her as a child, but the
majority had been taken during her teenage years. In some she was alone, but in
most she was surrounded by friends. In every picture a smile covered her face.
She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be that happy and carefree and
excited about life.

She paused to study a picture of her and Clint. They stood
in front of the lake in bathing suits, their arms wrapped tight around each
other, their chests pressed together. They looked happy…and in love.

When she reached the last photo, she drew in a deep breath
and laid a hand over her chest. She was wearing a cap and gown and had her high
school diploma clutched in her hand. Her parents stood on either side of her,
smiling proudly.

After Matt’s stunt, she’d forced herself every day to recall
a mental picture of her parents. As crazy as it seemed, she feared that if she
didn’t make a deliberate effort to keep their faces firmly embedded in her
memory, she’d eventually forget what they looked like.

Tearing her gaze away from the photo, she looked over at
Clint. A sob escaped her throat. Tears flooded her eyes and then flowed down
her face in a heavy stream.

Clint’s eyes widened—his expression a mixture of shock,
confusion, and desperation. “Well, hell, honey, don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it,” she choked out between sobs.

He started to reach out to her, and then stopped. Sucking in
a sharp breath of air, he clutched his hand to his side.

“Be careful. You’re going to tear your stitches.”

“Then you come to me.”

She went without hesitation. He pulled her into his arms and
tucked her head under his chin. She cried until she was exhausted, her eyelids
swollen, and Clint’s t-shirt soaked by her tears.

Throughout the entire episode, Clint stroked her hair and
her back. He murmured words of comfort, pausing occasionally to drop kisses on
her forehead. When her sobs finally ceased, he placed a finger under her chin
and urged her head up. He tucked her hair behind her ear and wiped the tears
from her cheeks with his thumb.

“I’m sorry. I thought it would make you happy.”

She took a deep, cleansing breath and nodded. “It does.” It
was the most precious gift anyone had ever given her.

“If this is happy, I’d hate to see sad.”

She tried to smile at his attempt to lighten the moment—she
wanted to smile—but couldn’t quite manage it. Sitting up, she gathered the
photos and stacked them in a neat pile.

“Thank you.”

“Jenny’s the one you need to thank. All I did was make a
phone call. And if I hadn’t thought of it, you would have eventually.”

Probably, but Clint had thought of it first.

“When did you call Jenny?”

“The day after we made love. When you claimed that it had
meant nothing to you. I was determined to win you over, and I thought it might
help me.”

“It did.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips against
his in a soft kiss. “You’re a wonderful man.”

“A couple of weeks ago you didn’t think that.”

“I was wrong.”

He reached for her hand and linked his fingers with hers.
“Since you’re feeling so generous, how about giving me another chance?”

“Another chance for what?”

“For us. I promise I’ll try my damndest to get it right this
time.”

And she knew he would.

“Yes,” she whispered.

A smile lit his face and happiness radiated from his eyes.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers.

“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth. She’d been
denying the feeling for so long. It felt good to finally admit it, to release
the words that had been yearning for freedom.

He pulled his head back the smallest degree, his gaze
meeting hers. “Say it again,” he urged, his voice low and husky.

“I love you.”

His mouth covered hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue caressed
the seam of her lips then slid past them to conquer and dominate her mouth. She
offered no resistance, fully surrendering herself to the pleasure and desire
coursing through her veins.

The kiss slowed, and when he lifted his head, bringing it to
an end, she almost groaned in frustration. Her head was swimming, her body
ached, and she wanted his mouth back on hers.

“Are you ready to listen now?” he asked.

It took a minute for his words to register and even then
they didn’t make sense. “Listen to what?”

“We need to talk about what happened at that party.”

“I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter.”

He stared at her for a long moment then finally said, “I
want to tell you.”

She shook her head.

“Tricia, I
need
to tell you. I don’t want there to be
anything standing between us.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. Talking about it
would only make her relive the incident. She’d rather just try to forget it.

Besides, there was nothing that could excuse his behavior.
She feared he’d try to justify it, which would only end up making her angry all
over again. She didn’t want to be angry with him.

Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone?

But the determination in his eyes made it clear that he
intended to have his say. And a part of her knew he was right. They did need to
discuss it, face it head-on, deal with it, and then move past it. Otherwise, as
he claimed, it would always be there, like a wound that never heals.

The wounds of the past needed to heal, and they wouldn’t
unless they were tended to.

Taking a deep breath, she mentally braced herself for the
conversation. “Okay. Tell me. Why did you hurt me like that?”

He stared at her for several minutes without speaking.

She cocked her head to the side and asked, “Have you changed
your mind?”

“No. I’m just trying to organize my thoughts, figure out
where to begin. You know, I’ve only had eight years to prepare for this
discussion.”

His attempt at humor failed miserably. She crossed her arms
over her chest and waited for him to begin.

“About a week before we ended things, your father came to
see me. He was worried that our relationship was becoming too serious. He was
afraid you might decide to trade in college for marriage and kids.”

She stiffened, her back straightening. “You’re not going to
try to shift the blame to my dad, are you?”

Although this was the first she’d heard of this
visit
,
she’d known her father had reservations about her relationship with Clint. It
hadn’t concerned her much because her father would have found fault with anyone
she dated. To him, no man would ever be good enough for his daughter.

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I’m not.”

“That’s good. Because no matter what my father thought, or
what he said,
you
are responsible for what you did.” And damn it, she
was tired of people trying to shift the blame and refusing to accept
responsibility for their actions. She’d experienced enough of that with Matt.