Snow Bound Page 7

  Unfortunately he sounded way too hopeful. And the thought of him watching while she and Damon had sex nauseated her. This had been the most exciting night of her life, and now it was tainted by the idea that it had been shared—with the jackass that had ruined her life once before.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything. Though if she made it out of this alive, she’d be nailing every loose door tighter than Dick’s hatband.

  He stepped farther into the light from the now crackling fire. “I remembered where your dad kept the spare key for the cellar. Guess you didn’t get around to changing the locks when you did the renovations on this place, huh?”

  Panic rose, her heart beating loud in the silence of the house. As Bobby Joe moved forward, he kept himself angled so the staircase was in view. The shotgun was still upstairs. Now she faced a man almost one hundred pounds heavier than her, intent on revenge, with no weapon and Damon lying unaware upstairs. Should she call for help? Was there some way to get out of this without it turning violent?

  Memories of the men tumbling around her backyard, exchanging punches, gave her the answer. She was screwed unless she found a way to outwit the menacing man in front of her.

  Maybe she could keep him talking. Though he’d kept his voice low, she raised her own. If Damon heard her through the open doorways, he would be alerted that someone else was in the house. “What do you want, Bobby Joe?”

  “What do you think? Revenge. Oldie but goodie. You ruined my life. If it wasn’t for you testifying in court, it would have been my word against the prosecution.”

  “And hurting me is going to do what? Besides get you sent back to prison.” Where you belong.

  “Nobody knows I’m here. The plan was to be in and out before anybody knew better.” His once-handsome mouth twisted into a sneer. “But that was before I realized you’d been living the high life while I was stuck in prison.”

  She remembered hearing the prosecutor in his case saying Bobby Joe had a problem with impulse control, a lack of ability to think his actions through. This was definitely one of those moments. “Bobby Joe, the police are the ones who warned me you might show up here. One of the detectives let me know you had been released for parole. If anything happens to me, you’ll be the first suspect on their list.”

  Expletives poured from his tight lips, and he started to pace the open wooden floor. As his concentration fractured, she inched to the side. On the small table beside the couch sat Damon’s Maglite. It wasn’t a gun, but it was heavy. Smashing it against the side of Bobby Joe’s head would do quite a bit of damage, in her opinion. And she had enough adrenaline running through her to do it, too.

  “Damn,” Bobby Joe was saying. “Why can nothing go right for me?”

  Maybe because you’re an idiot?

  “This has been a fuckup from the beginning. And you—“ He swung toward her, bringing her to a halt. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since I met you.”

  “I didn’t force you to come here, Bobby Joe.”

  “You did. Every night I lay in prison thinking about how you betrayed me, how you told that jury that I beat you—”

  “You did.”

  “—turned them against me. You turned all my friends against me. My parents have never looked at me the same. It’s all your fault.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Don’t say that!” His yell reverberated through the house, causing her to wince. Yet a small part of her rejoiced because she knew without a doubt Damon had heard that. Another good side effect of Bobby Joe’s ranting and raving was his lack of focus. Surely Damon would find a way to end this.

  Before he could make an appearance, Bobby Joe’s frantic pacing stopped. As he turned toward her, she got a good look at the rage on his face. Her heartbeat tripled and her chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. Her muscles tensed in anticipation.

  She didn’t have long to wait. With a roar of rage, Bobby Joe strode across the space between them, murder narrowing his eyes. Instinct had her scrambling away, only to stumble over the edge of the recliner. Bobby Joe tackled her on her way down, slamming into her stomach. Pain exploded across her torso and down into her hips, stealing her breath, but she fought to move the moment they hit the floor.

  As he scrambled up, she lifted her legs, forcing space between them. He balanced on his hands and knees, but she didn’t wait for his next move. Twisting, she started to scramble from beneath him. Curses raining from his mouth, Bobby Joe snagged a handful of her hair, jerking her head back. Tears ran from her eyes, muddying her vision, but the exact location of the flashlight was embedded in her brain. If she could just reach it—

  Hard footsteps registered over Bobby Joe’s voice. He jerked, his scream splitting her ears then her hair was free. She didn’t look at the brawl behind her. She knew Damon was there, but her focus remained on the weapon in front of her. Now she could scramble those last few feet, and her hand closed around the heavy weight of the flashlight.

  Twisting back, she found the men locked in a deadly embrace similar to their earlier fight. They rolled on the floor, exchanging punches wherever they could get one in. Male grunts and harsh breathing were loud in the room. Tori remained tense on the perimeter, afraid to get too close and be knocked over or distract Damon when he needed all the focus he could get.

  The men seemed evenly matched despite Bobby Joe’s overdeveloped muscles. But apparently Damon had learned a few dirty tricks in the army, because Bobby Joe howled after a particular blow and Damon was able to roll to the top. Unfortunately his weight wasn’t enough to keep the other man pinned.

  As they twisted once more, Tori saw her opening. Rushing forward, she remained poised until Damon was safely out of range, and then, bam! She cracked the heavy flashlight down in the vicinity of Bobby Joe’s head. He froze, then fell forward in a boneless slump.

  Damon rolled the body off, then climbed to his feet. Two fingers slid around to the front of Bobby Joe’s neck. Then his gaze bounced from the bleeding, unconscious man to Tori’s immobile form. “Damn, woman. Remind me never to piss you off.”

  With extra effort she managed to tear her gaze away from Bobby Joe to Damon’s admiring look. Immediately a squeezing sensation took up residence in her chest and she started to pant. As if from a distance she saw him frown, then rush forward as black edged into her vision. The last thing she felt was his arms slipping around her, providing the warm support she so desperately needed.

  * * *

  Damon slung himself onto a bar stool at Bailey’s, then hunkered down into relative comfort. He’d found himself here more often than not since the snowstorm, finding the pub-like atmosphere more comfortable than the local honky-tonk these days.

  And wasn’t that a miracle? He’d spent practically every weekend since he’d moved here at that bar. Now the blatant sexuality and focus on hookups made him itch under his skin. Every woman’s “I want you” look made him think of the one woman he really desired, the one who wanted him but was too shy to say so anywhere but behind closed doors.

  He burned for another taste of that sexy innocence. Yet he’d walked away as cool as could be, pretending his heart hadn’t stayed behind in her magnificent sleigh bed.

  “Well, if it isn’t the hero of the hour,” the bartender said. Colin was a cool, down-home guy who looked like he’d be at home in an upscale restaurant or behind, well, a bar. But the outline of muscles under his shirt and deadly ease with which he moved spoke of someone ready to handle any trouble.

  Someone Damon could appreciate.

  He shrugged off Colin’s comment. He wasn’t interested in being a hero, despite all the unnecessary talk from people thanking him for “saving the town’s precious princess”. He was just the type of guy who took care of business. “It is what it is.”

  Colin nodded slowly as if meeting the admission with approval.

  Others didn’t feel the same way.

  “Joe, you
think ole Demon here ain’t enjoyin’ all the attention he’s gettin’ around town?”

  Damon gritted his teeth at the aggressive voice at his back. He kept his gaze steady on the Bailey’s logo on Colin’s tee. “The name’s Damon.”

  “Right, right.” The guys laughed loudly behind him. ”Ain’t you just lucky you live right next door to help the resident damsel in distress.”

  The logo started to waver before his eyes. Was it turning red?

  “I think she and her father’s trusty hunting rifle could handle things just fine,” he ground out, dragging in a steady breath before turning to face the numskulls. For some reason he had trouble maintaining his even-keeled ways these days.

  Pipsqueak Number Two had to add his own two cents worth. “Sure. We believe you.”

  The taller of the two was the real talker, though. “What man in his right mind would let a woman defend him? I mean, weren’t you a soldier way back when—”

  As if Damon were fifty instead of thirty-two.

  “—I thought you boys kicked asses and took names. Not let a pretty little princess do it for ya.”

  In less than a second Damon was on his feet with his fist in motion. Colin was just as quick and caught his arm with enough to blunt the force as Damon’s fist connected with the fool’s jaw. No one called Tori “Princess” except for him.

  Like most overgrown bullies, Damon’s opponent overreacted to the chin tap. He stumbled backward with a loud howl, clutching his jaw and whining, though the punch would barely leave a mark.

  Damon didn’t hold back a grin of satisfaction. “Who’s the pussy now?”

  That got the guy back on his feet, and he advanced with rage in his puffy eyes. But Colin decided to take control before the situation could get more out of hand. “I suggest, Jacobs, that you head back to your game before I turn that table over to someone else.”

  “What?” The guy started sputtering and cursing. “He’s the one who punched me. Why isn’t he leaving?”

  Colin leaned across the bar into Damon’s peripheral vision. He could just see the twisted grin on the guy’s face. “Because I happen to like him. Now get on before I have the boys from the kitchen escort you to your car.”

  The guys decided it wasn’t worth getting thrown out of their hot pool game just to razz him, so they backtracked to the poolroom, waving pints of beer and mouthin’ off about whupping Damon’s ass.

  Damon ignored them, frowning into his beer and reflecting on how this evening out wasn’t nearly as exciting as getting back into Tori’s pants. Did that make him any better than those yahoos?

  “Excitement dies down real slow in a small town,” Colin said.

  Damon released his breath in a quiet huff. “Yeah, I’m gettin’ that. Thanks, by the way.”

  Colin swiped at the gleaming bar near Damon’s half-empty plate. “I can remember another time news didn’t disappear so quickly. Tori put up with a lot from people around here when she first testified.”

  “Yeah?”

  Colin nodded. “At first everyone was really resentful. Football is a religion in the South. For small towns like this, where the high school team is their only live option, it’s even worse.” He paused and gave Damon a once-over. “Of course, being from Texas, you probably understand that.”

  Damon confirmed with a short nod. His own mother had explained to him, not long after he moved out, that she never considered going to the police over his father’s abuse. The backlash over her testimony against one of the town’s few doctors would have been epic.

  “Put the hometown hero in jail, and your ass is grass. But when the details started to leak, opinion swung the other way. Then her parents died a year later’ and everyone treated her like a fragile piece of glass.”

  Damon snorted. “That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “I gathered that after watching her in here a time or two,” Colin said. “But once that sort of thing takes hold, it’s hard to shake. She might be a grown woman and a great business owner, but to folks around here she’s still a pretty princess.”

  “Those fools didn’t see her standing over Bobby Joe Resmondo, swinging a Maglite.”

  The men shared a grin. Just the thought of Tori in her lacy panties, robe, and weapon had him straining against the zipper of his jeans. “She was something else.”

  “I bet. So why are you sitting here on a Saturday night instead of home with her?”

  Damon met the other man’s knowing gaze. Why indeed? “Because I’m an idiot?”

  Chapter Eight

  “I know that’s your parents’ place, dear, but you really should consider movin’ closer to town. It’s much safer for a young woman alone.”

  Tori bit her lip to keep from asserting once more that she could take care of herself. Mrs. Whitman meant well; she truly did. Everyone did when they fussed over her and at her for her choices. That didn’t quiet the resentment and frustration that pressed against her polite silence.

  “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Whitman.”

  The elderly woman patted Tori’s hand before picking up her monthly stack of romances. “You take care of yourself, hon. And think about what I said.”

  “I will.”

  Tori breathed out a relieved sigh as her concerned neighbor left the bookstore. A glance at the clock told her it was almost closing time. On Saturdays she locked the doors early, since most of the town headed into Huntsville or Nashville for excitement on the weekends instead of planning a quiet evening near the square. Even though the snow had only allowed her to open for two days this week, she was glad she didn’t have to be back at work until Monday.

  All the questions and comments about her “little drama” in the week since the snowstorm were draining her dry. And if she had to listen to one more person go on about how dangerous it was for her to be living so far out without a man to protect her, she just might scream. Good thing that man was there to take care of you, her ass!

  But it wasn’t nearly as upsetting as Damon’s continued absence. He’d stayed at her house for another three days. The first thirty-two hours had been naturally tense with a restrained criminal tied up in the living room. But the police department had made her road top priority once Damon managed to get a call out on his cell phone, and they’d picked Bobby Joe up as quickly as they could get the snowplow through.

  Damon had hung out at her house through the police questioning and phone calls once the news spread. Then they’d unplugged the phone and gone to bed, sleeping and making love until the snow melted enough for them to open their respective businesses again. True to his reputation, she hadn’t heard from Damon since.

  She was ashamed to admit that she’d watched his house late at night after she’d doused the lights. To his credit, no strange cars had appeared and he’d returned home from work alone. But that didn’t stop the ache of loneliness. Damon had given her a glimpse of the type of relationship she’d always wanted—hot sex, understanding, comfort, and mutual respect—and now she knew what she was missing. Her body ached for him like a broken tooth in need of Novocain. She found herself thinking of things to talk to him about throughout the day. How was it possible to miss someone you’d known such a short time? Understanding was beyond her, but what she felt was real. And her heart hurt that he didn’t feel the same.

  Still, like every other unpleasant reality in her life, she pushed herself through the fallout. Dealt with the notoriety, the nightmares, and the unrelieved lust in the solitary confinement of her familiar home with its new locks and deadbolts. And hid the ache for things she couldn’t have.

  As the bell on the door sounded behind her, she sighed. The clock said ten minutes to closing. She should have just locked up early. Knowing her luck, it was another one of the locals eager to rehash her ordeal.

  “Evening, Tori.”

  Her heart stopped for a moment as she looked around to meet that amused brown gaze, then started again double-time. Damon. The pretty princess inside wanted t
o swoon while the cheerleader jumped for joy, but the grown woman, perfectly capable of controlling her emotions, simply allowed a welcoming smile to grace her lips.

  “Hey, Damon. How’re you?”

  “I can finally walk without wincing,” he said, though she doubted he’d let a few bumps and bruises stop him from anything he wanted to do. It certainly hadn’t slowed his performance in her bed—

  Eager to get away from that train of thought, she focused on the conversation. “Me too, although the bruises across my lower back aren’t pretty.”

  He strode closer, making her grateful for the countertop that hid her shaking hands. He was gorgeous in his T-shirt and jeans, covered by a leather jacket. She swallowed as her mouth watered, resisting the urge to tug at the neck of her cashmere sweater.

  “I’ve been hearing about you all over town,” he said.

  “Why would they be talking about me when they can be drilling you for details?”

  He grinned, resting his arms on the high countertop. “Oh, they do that first, but somehow everyone always gets around to telling me what a brave, wonderful woman you are.”

  Tori cursed her light coloring as she felt her cheeks heat. “Isn’t it funny? Almost ten years ago they were cursing me for sending the town golden boy to jail. Now my doing the same renders me a heroine. And I thought life didn’t change in Cadence that much.”

  “Regardless, they’re right,” he said. “You are brave.”

  She shrugged away the compliment. “Actually most of them allocate that trait to you.”

  He slipped around the counter, invading her personal safe zone. “Lots of women run and hide. You stood up for yourself, and me.”

  “Wouldn’t have done me a lot of good if you hadn’t been there.”

  “But you tried.” His voice lowered, reminding her of how it deepened to gravel when he was aroused. “And you succeeded.”

  Uneasy with the attention, she tried to maintain a light tone. If he kept talking to her like that, she was liable to disgrace herself by tearing off his clothes and having her way with him right here on the counter top. “But I did faint.”