Shades of Grey (6 page)

Tears welled as the turmoil of the last twenty-plus years consumed her.

“Don’t cry, baby.” Travis went to the floor at her knees. He took her face between his hands and brushed the teardrops away.

She hadn’t cried in so long, she wasn’t sure she knew how to anymore.

And he’d called her baby. A slip of the tongue? Just a friendly endearment? God, she hoped he’d meant it in another way, a special name just for her, but she’d never get that lucky.

“Please don’t pity me,” she sobbed. The tears wouldn’t stop falling. She thought of her father and the reprimand he used to give for her crocodile tears, the laughter of the kids who used to tease her at school for her boyish ways.

The pain, the raw emotion, was uncontrollable as tears spilled down her cheeks and onto his hands.

“I’m…so…sorry…” She hiccupped between each word.

“You’re in shock, honey, from what’s happened. Let it all out.”

Travis took her in his arms and Sarah didn’t pull away. For once, she wanted to be hugged. She turned into his chest and released all the pain, heartache and nightmares, safe and secure in his arms as he took care of her—the first man who’d taken care of her in so long. She would always love her father but couldn’t deny he’d kept her at a distance, and once she’d become a teenager, hugs and kisses had been off the affection menu.

When was the last time a person had given her attention without sexual expectation attached to the comfort? Being held and cosseted was something she’d come to crave since her father died yet she’d been too proud to ask for it.

“Let it out,” he chanted in her ear.

And, for the first time, Sarah just allowed herself to be cared for, to give in to releasing years’ worth of repressed tears.

She would deal with the crazy later.

* * * *

The only problem with tears, they left a person with a huge headache and a sore throat, along with a face that felt rough and raw. Sarah awoke upstairs in her bedroom, frowned against the late morning light, and checked the time on the bedside clock. She groaned and sat up, testing out her rested muscles.

Jell-O could be the only way to describe her protesting body.

She opened her door and listened to see if anyone was in her home. Silence met her. With a shake of her head, she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and freshen up her face. The mirror above the bathroom sink revealed the damage unleashing her emotions had created.

“Why couldn’t I just keep it all in?”

Now she would have to face Travis with the knowledge that he’d held her as she’d cracked under the pressure.

That was her worst fear—not being good enough or as good as her father…or the son he had so wanted had the child been born. The men who worked for her deserved a leader like her father, who was much better than her.

“That’s enough pity party, Sarah French. This is your life and you love it.”

Her reflection stared back, not giving her any answers.

Turning out the light—and surprised the damn thing didn’t blow up with the way her luck was at the moment—she went downstairs and found Travis, complete with toolkit and screwdriver, working on her door.

She tucked wayward strands of her hair behind her ears and watched him work. God, his muscles stood out beneath his T-shirt, and his suntanned biceps rippled with every movement he made. She wanted to run to him, to smooth her hands over his exposed skin and bury her face in his chest. To breathe in his scent and allow him, just for a minute, to make every bad thing disappear. A second after she thought it, she batted the prospect away, allowing her strong will to overpower any weaker emotions.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

Not used to being questioned about her well-being, Sarah stared at him. Why would he ask? Why did he even care?

He stopped working and came over to her, ran his hand through her hair and kissed her on the lips. A quick brush, but it was still a kiss. His closeness thrilled her, and that kiss! The feel of his mouth on hers lingered as though his lips were still there. She dashed out her tongue in an effort to taste him, but he hadn’t left anything behind except the tingle of his touch. Her knees weakened, and his breath, hot on her face, almost had her sinking into a chair.

“Did you sleep well?” he repeated.

Sarah frowned and touched her lips.

Travis just kissed me?

The urge to run a finger over her lips was intense but she fought the battle.

“Yes, I did, thank you.” She wasn’t sure what to do at that moment and nodded in a jerky motion.

“Take a seat and I’ll pour you a coffee.” He pulled out a chair for her.

“Thank you.”

Sarah sat and couldn’t take her gaze away from him as he busied himself in her kitchen. She admired his fine ass and noticed he didn’t walk with a limp. A man who’d been shot in the foot the previous night would start to feel the injury of a bullet wound after being on their feet all day, wouldn’t they?

Travis brought her a cup of coffee with milk—exactly how she liked it—and she glanced at his foot, covered by a work boot.

Wouldn’t that hurt like a son of a bitch?

Curiosity getting the better of her, she returned her attention to his face.

“How’s your foot?” she asked.

“What?”

“How’s your foot? You got shot last night, remember? And I noticed you didn’t tell Stephen about
that
.”

He moved away from her. “My foot’s fine.”

He continued his work on the door in silence, but Sarah wasn’t fooled. Last night she’d applied her limited skills to his foot, and she knew he should at least be feeling sore, if not a constant burn.

She sighed and let it go, knowing she wouldn’t get a straight answer from him. She’d let him fix her door—she didn’t know how to so she might as well sit back and enjoy the show.

“There’s a lot of work that needs doing around here,” he finally said, gesturing to the whole house.

Sarah snorted.

“You noticed that?” She couldn’t help but laugh. A lot of work was an understatement. She wondered if it would be easier to demolish the house and start from scratch—that might be quicker to fix. Not the cost, though. To rebuild this beauty from scratch would be a nightmare.

“It’s an old house?” he asked.

“Several generations on my dad’s side, or so he told me.”

“Makes sense. A house like this needs a lot of love, time and attention.”

“Along with a lot of money, and the last time I checked notes weren’t growing on trees,” she snapped.

Why did she speak to him like that? One minute she wanted him to care for her, and the next she fought for control. She ought to watch her damn self. She’d chase him away if she wasn’t careful. It wasn’t Travis who pissed her off. The constant pain in her ass were the repairs needed to bring this place up to its original glory.

“Have you had quotes off people?” He shut the door and then opened and shut it again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, agitated by her spiralling emotions.

“Testing the door. No squeak, and it’s opening and closing with no problems. I just need to fix these bolts into place and the job’s done.” He pulled out a couple of new bolts and began to open the packets.

“You don’t need to do that.” She got to her feet to test the door. “How much do I owe you?”

“Yes, I do need to do this, and you owe me nothing.” He visually measured a large bolt against the door.

Sarah wanted to refuse the help but knew it would be useless. “Show me?”

“Sorry?”

“If I can’t pay you and you won’t stop, then please show me what you’re doing so I know how to do it next time.” Not the best way to spend her Friday afternoon, but it was better than going stir-crazy thinking about confronting Clark James tonight.

“How about you make me dinner and we’ll call it even? I can do these repairs no problem, and as payment you can feed me sometime,” he suggested.

“No. Show me and I can still do everything else.”

“This is not something I want you doing,” he warned.

Sarah spread her arms wide. “Look around you, big guy. Who else do you think the upkeep falls to? Me, that’s who, and I’m not having anyone else telling me what I can and cannot do. My house, my repairs, my rules. Now show me,” she ordered.

He charged towards her, blocking her against the wall with his body. “Not a chance. I’m doing these repairs and I refuse to sit back and watch a woman fix her house with no man waiting for you in case you fall.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Watch your language. Swearing doesn’t become you.”

Fire burned in her belly, smouldering with his instructions and reprimands, but she didn’t want to get into a fight with him.

“Please, just show me the repairs. I have a place to be tonight.”

The moment the words sunk in, he tensed. “What did you just say?”

“I’ve got a place to be tonight.”

“You’re so not talking about going after Clark James on your own, are you?”

“What if I am?”

Bad move, Sarah, very bad move.

Chapter Five

“What if you are?” Travis stared at her, wondering just how far her pig-headedness would go. She was serious, he could see that all right, but holy fuck, he couldn’t let her do it. “If you try and tackle him alone…” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Sarah, that man… I heard him in the mini-mart yesterday. He was with that asshole Rodney Dukes.”

She stared at him as if to say, ‘
So what?’

Should he tell her? Let her know exactly what Clark had in mind? Fuck it. She had a right to know. The break-in had made this a whole lot more serious, and if she wasn’t going to let him hang around her place after work hours, he’d have to shift and patrol the grounds every night. With his sense of smell fucked up for whatever reason and his hearing less than stellar, he might not be much good even then. Add on to that a lack of sleep, and she’d be in danger anyway.

“He said if you didn’t want his attentions he was going to force them on you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Stop doing that shit.”

“What shit?” She rammed her hands on her hips.

Crap, she had that look about her—eyes ablaze, mouth in a tight line, a deep frown growing deeper—that told him she’d mastered going from soft to stubborn in an instant. She was up one minute and down the next, prickly as hell, too. He didn’t need another sparring match with her—God knew they’d had too many to count since he’d started working here—but he couldn’t let this rest.

“Making out like you don’t know what I’m talking about.
That
shit.” He sighed and decided on a calmer approach. “Listen, honey.” Damn, he’d called her baby and honey earlier and honey again just now. He had to get his brain into gear before he let his mouth give him away. A woman who wasn’t interested didn’t want to hear that crap. “Clark’s a time bomb waiting to go off. He wants you, isn’t going to rest until he has you, and I’m fucked if I can allow him to push into your life like this. You saw what he did in here.” He gestured around the kitchen.

“We don’t even know it was him.” She cocked her head a little and studied him hard, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, come on! Don’t give me that bullshit, woman!”

So much for the calmer approach.

She widened her eyes, looking at him as though he’d seriously overstepped the mark, and perhaps he had, her being his boss and all. But this was more than just a boss/employee situation. This was a man protecting a woman. Fuck, he couldn’t let her go off on a mad mission to have words with Clark. That bastard wouldn’t think twice in showing her up in front of his cronies…although if women were present Sarah might be treated to the nicer side of the man. He was the type to keep his options open, and once he’d had Sarah, he’d move on to the next pretty face and hour-glass figure. No, Clark wouldn’t allow his future lays to see the nasty side of him.

“Where were you planning on going?” he asked, voice even.

She moved as though to turn away, so he grabbed her wrist and spun her around to face him, pressing her back against the wall. She winced at his tight hold and, disgusted with himself for exhibiting force, he loosened his fingers. She’d think him a bully if he didn’t watch himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, if I let you go, will you just hear me out?”

“So long as you take a damn step back and give me breathing space.” She glared up at him, hair almost free from the knot she’d tied it in this morning. “I haven’t got any work done today either, so you need to be quick. I napped, remember? The men are going about their business, but I wanted to sort out the purchase of a new mare for Sholah to get used to. That idea’s out the window until Monday now. Shit!”

“Are you deliberately changing the subject? Trying to take my mind off what we were discussing?” He still hadn’t let go of her wrist—wouldn’t until he was sure she wasn’t going to bolt through that doorway to chat with one of her workers as an excuse not to continue their conversation.

“Are you deliberately accusing me of doing that so I get angrier and you can do what you usually do and tell me I’m proving just how hotheaded I am, which then leads to you being able to say that’s exactly why I can’t do what I want to do?”

She had an answer for everything, he’d give her that. Christ, her mind was sharp. “No. Listen, please, we have to talk this through. Will you just give me a minute?” She didn’t answer, so he pressed on, keeping his tone low and soft. “If you’re thinking of going to Macy Jo’s bar, then maybe you ought to let me come with you. Clark goes there on a Friday to get rat-assed, you know that. Rodney Dukes will be there, as well as all his other freaky friends. None of them will stand in Clark’s way if he turns on you. He broke in here without making a sound—neither of us heard, anyway—so, if he’s stealthy enough to do that, think what he’ll do if you piss him off with your accusing finger and threatening tongue!”

Sarah stiffened, staring at him as if she teetered on the brink of giving in.

Please let her see sense. Just once…