Protecting Tricia (3 page)

When Clint opened the passenger door, Tricia grabbed her
purse and slid out of the vehicle.

“This is great,” she muttered. “If Matt finds me here, he’ll
be able to shoot me dead without worrying about anyone hearing the gunshot and
screams.”

Clint stared at her for a moment as if her words had shocked
him. “He won’t find you, and if he does, he’ll have to worry about me.”

Turning, Clint headed for the house, Tricia following behind
him.

“What makes you so sure he won’t find me here?”

“I haven’t seen anyone from Lexington other than Neil and
Jenny since I’ve been back. No one knows about this place.”

“Well, let’s hope they didn’t tell anyone.”

“Why would they?” he asked, unlocking the front door. “And
even if they did, do you honestly think Matt, or anyone else in Lexington,
would ever imagine that you’d be with me?”

No. Everyone in town was aware of the incident that had
occurred between them. It had been the main topic of conversation for months.
No one would believe she’d be within a thousand yards of him.

When they entered the house, Tricia glanced around the
living room. A dark leather couch, flanked on each side by end tables, and a TV
represented the extent of the furnishings. It was neat and clean and definitely
a man’s house. The walls were bare, no frilly little throw pillows on the
couch, no cute little knick-knacks anywhere, just pure simplicity.

At the sound of the door locking, she looked back to find
Clint staring at her. She wondered what he was thinking. Probably marveling at
how stupid she’d been to end up like she had.

Let him think what he wanted.

Sadly, she’d agree with that assessment.

“Can I have a glass of water?” She’d spent the last hour
longing for a cool liquid to quench her dry throat.

“Sure.”

She followed him into the kitchen and set her purse on the
table. The room was spotless. Probably easy to keep it that way since it was
barren. With the exception of a coffeemaker, the counters were clear.

Clint removed a glass from a cabinet, dropped in a few ice
cubes, and filled it with tap water. As soon as he passed the glass to her, she
drained it.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

Tricia’s eyes widened in alarm. “What?”

He took the glass from her, set it on the table, and then
grabbed her hand. Turning it over, he examined the underside, softly trailing
his thumb along an ugly dark bruise.

Tricia’s heart clenched at his unexpected gentle touch,
which reminded her of a time when things had been different between them. A
time when gentle touches and soft words had been commonplace.

When Clint looked up at her, his eyes filled with remorse,
she knew he believed himself to be responsible for the mark.

“I already had that bruise,” she explained.

He expelled a shaky breath, relief washing over his face.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you. If you had only cooperated, I wouldn’t have had to—”

She yanked her hand away. “Oh yeah, it’s my fault. Matt used
to tell me the same thing. Everything was always my fault.”

Clint stared at her silently. His expression was unreadable,
but a muscle flexed in his jaw, a sure sign of annoyance.

“Make yourself at home. I have work to do.” He headed for
the back door, opened it, then paused and looked back over his shoulder. His
gaze caught hers, held it. “Tricia, I won’t let Matt hurt you.”

His tone was one of reassurance, and she knew the words were
true. Clint might be guilty of a great many things, and she might despise the
man, but she knew he’d never let any physical harm come to her. Or to any woman
for that matter. Physically harming a woman Clint would never allow, but other
types of damage were a different story altogether.

“Make sure you lock the door. I’ll be close to the house. If
you need me, just shout.”

Once Clint stepped outside and shut the door, Tricia leaned
against the kitchen table, crossed her arms over her chest, and considered her
situation.

She had one insane man hunting her down and was in the
company of another who obviously had no qualms about using force and threats to
get what he wanted. This new beginning of hers wasn’t off to a very good start.

What a mess. How did my life end up like this?

Tricia halted her thoughts before they could progress any
further. How her life had reached this point was unimportant. All that mattered
now was fixing it and moving on. She
would
reclaim control of her life,
and this time around she wouldn’t screw it up.

Pushing herself away from the kitchen table, she walked over
to the back door and turned the lock. Just as Clint had ordered her to do. As
the bolt slid into place, she muttered, “Yes, it certainly looks like I’m the
one in control.”

She crossed the room, pushed back the thin cotton curtains
that hung over the window, and looked out across the backyard to see Clint
entering the barn.

Over the years she had tried to forget Clint Owens had ever
existed, but her attempts had been completely unsuccessful. Eventually, she’d
accepted the fact that he would remain firmly ingrained in her memory forever.

A woman never forgets her first love, her first lover, her
first broken heart. Clint had been all her firsts.

A phone rang in the background, and Tricia jerked her head
around toward the direction of the sound. She briefly wondered if she should
answer it, then shrugged and ignored it. After the third ring, an answering
machine picked up.

This is Clint. Leave a message.

Short and to the point.

“Clint, are you there?”

At the sound of Jenny’s voice, Tricia hurried to the living
room. She glanced around, located the phone on an end table, and grabbed the
receiver.

“Jenny.”

“Tricia, I just wanted to make sure you got there and
everything’s okay.”

“We’re here.” Tricia dropped down on the couch.

“I know you hate this,” Jenny said, her tone soft and
soothing. “But it really is the safest place for you.”

“The man practically kidnapped me! The last I heard, that’s
a crime.”

“I don’t agree with his methods. A part of me wanted to
smack him for it. His actions were inexcusable, but his intentions were good.”

“Look, you might be fooled by this
white-knight-in-shining-armor routine, but I’m not buying it. Clint couldn’t
care less what happens to me.”

Which led to the question of why was he involved at all?
Maybe he was doing it as a favor to Neil. Or maybe he was doing it out of pity.
The thought had her squeezing her eyes shut in shame.

“I think you’re wrong. According to Neil, the minute Clint
heard you were in trouble—”

“No, I’m not wrong. He just wants to play hero. But I’ll let
him. I can survive a few days here.”

She’d just stay out of his way and ignore him. It shouldn’t
be that difficult. She had a lot of experience doing exactly that. A great deal
of her time had been spent trying to stay out of Matt’s way.

A nagging little voice in the back of her mind insisted on
pointing out it might be more than
a few days
.

“Why didn’t you tell me he had moved back to Oklahoma?”
Tricia asked. “If I had known, it might not have been such a shock to see him
strolling through the door.”

“I would have told you eventually, I just hadn’t gotten
around to it yet. He moved back a little over a year ago, after his uncle died
and left the ranch to him. It was about the same time he got divorced.”

“He mentioned the divorce,” she murmured. Although, now that
she thought about it, he hadn’t actually said the word
divorce
. He’d
just said he no longer had a wife, and she’d assumed.

“From what I can piece together, it was an ugly one.”

“Didn’t they have a child?”

She knew they did, remembered in vivid detail the day Jenny
had told her Clint was going to be a father. Ironic news, since he’d informed
her less than a year earlier, in no uncertain terms, that he had no intention
of ever getting married or having children.

“Yeah, she’s in Texas with her mom.” Jenny paused for a
moment when the baby fussed in the background. “I need to go. We’ll be out this
weekend. If things get unbearable and you need to talk, call me. I’m at my
parents’ house. Do you remember the phone number?”

“Yes.” While growing up, she’d dialed the number hundreds of
times. “But I can’t call you there. They don’t know I’m back, do they?”

“Geez, you’re right. Well, call Neil. He’ll call me, and
I’ll call you.”

Tricia smiled at Jenny’s ‘tag-team’ plan. “All right. So
what excuse did you give your parents for your arrival?”

“I told them Neil and I had a fight, and I wanted to stay
with them for a few days while we work things out. My mother, of course, is
distraught at the thought that our marriage is in trouble.”

Tricia knew Jenny’s mom would be questioning her endlessly
about the situation. She also knew that since the day they married Jenny and
Neil had never spent a night apart. But now, because of her…

“I’m sorry. I never should have put you in this situation.
It was st—”

“Hush,” Jenny ordered. “It’s not your fault.”

The conversation halted as AJ progressed from fussing to
full-blown wails.

“Go take care of your son,” Tricia said over the baby’s
cries. “Be careful, and thanks for everything.”

“Anytime, honey. We’ll be in touch.”

After hanging up the phone, Tricia rubbed a hand over her
forehead, massaging the pain that threatened to grow into a pounding headache.
Hoping to find some aspirin in a medicine cabinet, she went in search of a
bathroom.

As she wandered down the hallway, the first door she came to
was open. She peeked inside to find a bedroom. Like the other rooms in the
house, it was neat, clean, and sparsely furnished.

The next door, a little further down the hall, was also
open. The walls were…purple. An unusual color to paint a room, but with the
all-white furniture, the color scheme worked very well. The twin-sized bed,
piled high with stuffed animals, and the toy chest setting in the corner, made
it obvious the room belonged to a child. Clint’s daughter, no doubt. This room,
like the others, was neat and clean.

The door directly across the hall from the purple room was
closed. When Tricia opened it, her brows lifted at the sudden contrast. Stacks
of papers surrounded the computer in the corner of the room. The bed was a
rumpled mess, and clothes littered the floor and hung off the dresser. The
nightstand contained an opened bag of chips and several empty beer bottles. And
to her surprise, a picture, the first one she’d seen.

She walked over and picked it up to find herself staring at
an adorable little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes—Clint’s eyes. The
child’s shoulder-length hair tumbled in a mass of curls to frame her face. Her
skin was pure perfection. A wide, sincere smile covered her face, and Tricia
wondered what she’d been doing at the moment the picture had been snapped.

“My daughter, Heather.”

At the unexpected interruption, Tricia’s heart skipped a
beat. She whipped around to see Clint leaning against the doorframe with his
arms crossed in front of his chest.

The panic eased its grip on her body, to be replaced by
awkwardness. She felt like a little kid who had been caught with her hand in
the cookie jar. She shouldn’t be in his room poking around in his personal
things.

“I’m… I’m…” she stammered. Drawing her brows together in
determination, she swallowed the rest of the sentence. Why should she apologize
to him for anything? After the way he’d behaved, he should be apologizing to
her. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.” Pride filled his voice.

Tricia set the picture back on the nightstand. Sticking her
hands in the pockets of her shorts, she shifted uncomfortably under Clint’s
silent gaze. “I was looking for aspirin. I have a headache.”

Without a word, Clint pushed himself off the doorframe and
disappeared down the hall. Seconds later he returned with a bottle clutched in
his hand. He crossed the room and held out the bottle for her to take, but when
she grasped it, he held tight to it. Confused, she looked up into his eyes.

“I startled you. You didn’t hear me at all. I came into the
house, walked down the hall, and stood in the doorway staring at you for five
minutes without you knowing it.”

At the censure in his voice, she straightened her back and
planted her hands on her hips. “You couldn’t have been staring at me for five
minutes. I wasn’t in here that long.”

He merely lifted a brow in response.

The condemnation in his eyes annoyed her. She looked away
and inhaled deeply, trying to restrain the urge to tell him exactly what she
thought about the fact that he had the gall to stand there and scold her as if
she were a child. From the corner of her eyes, she caught a glimpse of his
feet.

“You took off your shoes,” she accused as her gaze met his
again. “No wonder I didn’t hear you.”

“That’s irrelevant. Do you think Matt would announce his
presence? You’ve got to be more alert.”

“I thought I didn’t have to worry about him finding me here.
Isn’t that what you said?”

Clint expelled a breath of air. “I don’t want to argue with
you. Just promise me you’ll be more careful.”

Without giving him the promise he’d requested, she jerked
the aspirin from his hand and stalked off to the kitchen for a glass of water.

What was wrong with her? She was well aware of the magnitude
of the danger she faced. Letting her guard down, even the slightest degree, was
a luxury she couldn’t afford. Being distracted to the point of being unaware of
someone entering the house and sneaking up on her could get her hurt. She knew
better. It wouldn’t happen again.

* * * *

Clint walked into the bathroom, stripped, and stepped into
the shower. Bracing his hand against the wall, he stuck his head under a full
force spray of freezing cold water.

Pull yourself together, man.

When he’d seen Tricia standing beside his bed, his mind had
immediately filled with a picture of her
in
his bed. In his little
fantasy she’d smiled and held her arms out in invitation. Ready, willing,
welcoming. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had to keep from stripping
her down and turning those mental images into reality.

He rolled his eyes and snorted at the thought. He highly
suspected he would have been risking his life if he had tried.

After a quick shower, he dressed and headed for the kitchen.
On the way, he passed Tricia sitting rigidly on the couch. Her gaze was glued
to the TV where a weatherman was predicting clear skies for the remainder of
the week with high temperatures hovering in the nineties.

An hour later, Clint placed two plates of spaghetti on the
table then stood back and surveyed the meal. Salad, spaghetti, bread. Not a
feast exactly, but better than the sandwiches he usually had for dinner.

“Let’s eat,” he yelled as he walked to the refrigerator.

A brief search of the shelves produced a can of Parmesan
cheese and, to his surprise, a bottle of salad dressing. He checked the bottle
for an expiration date. It was dangerously close to expiring. Twisting off the
lid, he sniffed the contents, deemed it acceptable, and carried it to the
table.

Tricia still hadn’t appeared, so he called out to her again,
this time a little louder. When he failed to receive a response for a second
time, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. The TV still blared
in the background, and he hadn’t heard anything unusual, but…

He strode into the living room and let out a mental sigh of
relief when he found her still sitting in the same spot. She had removed her
shoes and sat with one leg tucked underneath her. Her elbow was propped on the
arm of the couch, her head laying in her hand, and she looked so miserable it
almost broke his heart. What he wouldn’t give to see her smile, her eyes light
up with happiness.

Be patient. You’ll get to see that smile eventually. The
day she’s walking out of your life, she’ll be grinning from ear to ear.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said.

She didn’t so much as glance in his direction. “I’m not
hungry,” she replied, her voice flat, totally without emotion.

“You have to eat.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’re being childish, Tricia.”

She straightened in her seat, squared her shoulders, and
shot him a look that clearly said she had no intention of moving from that couch.

“I won’t be joining you tonight for dinner, Mr. Owens, but
it was so very kind of you to
ask
.”

Taken aback by her haughty tone, he stared at her silently.

“Go eat.” With a flick of her wrist and a wave of her hand,
she dismissed him as if she were royalty and he a servant.

He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. “Fine. If you
want to starve, go right ahead.” Although tempted to tack the phrase
your
highness
onto the end of his words, he resisted the urge and marched back
to the kitchen.

A short time later, dinner eaten and dishes washed, he
returned to the living room. When he saw Tricia, he considered turning around
and heading out to the deck just to avoid the tension. Within seconds, he
tossed the idea aside because, damn it, he refused to be uncomfortable in his
own home.

Since there was nowhere else to sit, he took a seat on the
couch, careful to leave a good three feet of space between Tricia and himself.
The second his butt touched the cushion, she jumped up.

“I assume I can sleep in that extra bedroom—the non-purple
one?” she asked.

Apparently, she’d toured all of the rooms in his house. Not
that there were many to tour.

“Yeah.”

“Good night then.”

Clint glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s barely seven
o’clock.”

“I’m tired.”

Clint studied her for a moment. She did look tired, but he
suspected her retreat had more to do with his presence than her fatigue. He
tapped a finger against the side of the couch as he chewed over the situation.
If they were going to spend any time in each other’s presence, it was
imperative that they clear the air between them. Otherwise, they’d both be
miserable.