Rules of Protection (Tangled in Texas #1)(80)

“I’d like to meet her.”

“You can’t. She died four years ago.”

The shock made my head whip around to him. “Oh, I…I’m sorry. No one told me. I thought the clothes…”

“I couldn’t get rid of them before, but you came along and…well, I wanted to help. It made it easier to part with them.”

I patted his hand with understanding. “May I ask how she died?”

“Lucy was in her first year of college when she met a man named Brian Wellington. They went out only a few times, but he was obsessed with her. He got jealous easily, so she broke it off. When he caught her at a party talking to another boy, he went crazy. After she left the party, he followed her back to her dorm and stabbed her to death. The bastard went into hiding before the police could arrest him.”

“Did they find him?”

“No.” Junior’s eyes turned black, making him look more savage than I’d ever seen him. “And they never will.”

I swallowed. He didn’t have to spell it out for me. “Is that why you stopped working as a tracker?”

“Yes.”

“What about Lucy’s mother?”

“Suzanne died a year after Lucy from a brain aneurysm.”

“I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose everyone you care about. My parents…”

“I know.”

I gave him a strange look. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

He grinned, but didn’t answer.

“Who told you?”

“The first time I met you, I knew something was going on. When Jake introduced you as his girlfriend, you were caught off guard.” He chuckled softly, as if remembering the look on my face. “Few people can lie to me and get away with it. Jake’s not one of them.”

“I understand helping Jake find me when you thought I was his girlfriend, but now that you know I’m nothing to him, why bother?”

“I could find you faster than the boys could. I wasn’t able to save my daughter…or my wife…but I could help you. It won’t bring them back, but maybe it’ll save my soul. ” He gave me a knowing look. “And you’re something to Jake, whether you two admit it or not.”

…

Floss hugged me tightly, bringing a smile to my face, before Junior could lift me out of the truck. I didn’t doubt she’d been standing in the driveway since we hung up with her.

“Hank and Jake are on their way back now,” Floss said. “Let’s get you inside and clean you up.”

Junior carried me into the cottage with ease and sat me gently on the bed. He turned to leave, but I grabbed his hand, pulling him back. I touched the side of his face and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man, Junior.”

With his Native American skin color it was hard to tell, but I was sure he blushed. “Take care,” he said before leaving.

Floss played doctor, checking the bump on my head and looking at the scratches on my legs before pulling two thorns and a couple of large splinters out of my feet. Several small cuts had dirt packed in them, but I told her I’d scrub it out in the shower. She helped me stand—amazingly easy to do when you don’t have spikes crippling your feet—and shuffled me into the bathroom.

I sat on the bed with fresh clothes and clean, damp hair while Floss checked my feet again. With the dirt and mud gone, thorns and splinters would be easier to spot. She removed another sizable splinter, applied antibiotic cream to both feet, then wrapped them in gauze. I was glad I wouldn’t have to look at the small white pustules that had formed where the fire ants stung me. It was like my feet had broken out with a bad case of acne.

As she finished, Jake exploded through the cottage door wearing his gun in his shoulder holster. I jumped, not having heard them pull up. He didn’t say a word, just positioned himself in the doorway. I tried not to look directly at him. Flustered, I waited for him to move, to do something, to yell at me, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m going to let you two chat,” Floss said before making herself scarce.

The room closed in on me and I couldn’t breathe. If Floss was running, I had to expect the worst. I wished she’d taken Jake’s gun with her.

He was bound to be upset that I caused more trouble, costing them all a sleepless night. I probably could guess his thoughts. Hurricane Emily strikes again. He openly and loudly disapproved of my stunts any other time. Why wasn’t he shouting colorful words at me already?

After the bar fight, he struggled to control his temper in the parking lot. Before that, I hadn’t thought he was capable of losing control. Not completely, anyway. Sure, he yelled at me a lot when I made him angry. Holy freaking cow! I must’ve done a bang-up job pushing his buttons if I left him speechless. He was never this quiet, this motionless, for any length of time.

I should say something, apologize or at least explain what happened. I wasn’t sure it was the smart thing to do. His silence and restricted movements were “Don’t Feed The Bear” signs, if I’d ever seen them. If I opened my mouth now, I’d be inviting the danger. Maybe it’s what he wanted. His way of surrounding me with fuel, striking a match, and letting the flames force me to react. With unwavering patience, Jake could easily wait me out.

Someone had to go first. “Before you say anything, I’d like to—”