Читать книгу A Sheltering Love - Terri Reed - Страница 8

Here comes trouble.

Maybe some kids were beyond her help.

Claire Wilcox eyed the two teenage boys sauntering across the grassy park toward the shaded spot where she and fifteen-year-old Mindy were talking. Claire’s gaze zeroed in on the taller, dark-haired boy with scraggly, shoulder-length hair and a thin face. The early April sunlight splintered off the earring dangling in his left ear. In his hands he carried a golden retriever puppy.

Behind the two boys, in sharp contrast, the purity of the majestic snowcapped peak of Mount Hood rose in the distance like a sentry, standing watch over Oregon’s Willamette Valley.

She’d seen the dark-haired boy around town.

Some locals blamed last month’s vandalism at the downtown theater on this kid. She didn’t know his story, but she would soon if the opening of the teen shelter went as planned this coming July.

“Hey, Johnny, catch.” The dark-haired boy suddenly tossed the puppy to his blond companion, who awkwardly caught the small dog.

Claire’s heart pitched. She stalked forward, her hands clenched at her sides. “Hey! Don’t do that!”

Johnny shoved the dog back into the hands of the taller kid.

“Do this?” He tossed the small dog back to his companion.

The puppy yelped and Johnny caught the little fluff ball, then held it at arm’s length by the scruff of the neck. The kid’s gray sweatshirt and faded jeans were dirty, as if he’d rolled or slept on the ground. His gaze darted away from Claire, his face flushing guiltily.

“Tyler, stop it,” Mindy wailed as she moved to the side of the taller kid.

So this was Tyler.

Claire scrutinized the dark-haired boy in his red T-shirt with some rock band’s logo on the front and ripped, dirty jeans. Mindy had said he was nice. He didn’t look nice. He looked downright nasty. The kind of guy she would have fallen for at Mindy’s age. The kind that would give any parent a heart attack.

Not her. She knew better. Everyone deserved a chance.

Claire understood the pain of the rebellious teens she was trying to help. She understood—had experienced the wounds of childhood. Wounds inflicted by those she should have been able to trust.

Teens like Mindy and Tyler stood on the cusp of adulthood, where the choices they made would affect the rest of their lives. By the grace of God, Aunt Denise had stepped in and helped Claire when she’d been at the point of no return. Not every teen was as fortunate.

If only Claire could get through to kids like these. Earning the right to be heard, to be trusted, would take time. Once The Zone officially opened, she hoped to make a difference in their lives. Give them a place to belong, to come to when it became too rough at home.

A safe haven.

But her only concern right now was for the animal.

She flexed her hands and willed herself to stay calm. With as much control as she could muster, she said, “Give me the puppy.”

Tyler snorted and grabbed the puppy back from his friend. “You ain’t the boss of me, lady.”

“No, I’m not. You’re the boss of you. But I don’t think you’re cruel, either, Tyler. Just let the pup go.” Though she’d gentled her tone, anxiety wavered in her voice.

Tyler flipped his unwashed hair over his shoulder as his eyes narrowed. Claire met his challenging gaze dead-on. He wanted attention, wanted someone to trust, somebody to care. Well, she’d show him she cared and that she wasn’t afraid or intimidated by him.

Most people in Pineridge would just as soon lock up these kinds of teens. The “throwaways.” But Claire had different ideas. They needed help and understanding. And she could give that to them.

Tyler dropped his gaze first, affirming to Claire that he just needed some guidance, some boundaries. But when he lifted his gaze back to hers, she sucked in a breath at the malicious intent in his gray eyes.

“You want the dog?” His mouth curled up in a sneer. “Then you catch the dog.”

Tyler flung the puppy upward. Fear clamped a steely hand around Claire’s heart. The dog yelped again, its legs flailing in the air. She lurched forward, her arms outstretched, her hands ready to catch the dog. But she was too far away. Her feet stumbled on a rut in the grass. Her pulse pounded. The teens’ snickering echoed in her ears.

Dear Lord, help!

A shadow crossed her peripheral vision. The air swirled with a rush of heat as a dark shape overtook her, passed her. She skidded to a halt.

A man.

He deftly caught the small pup and cradled the trembling dog against his black leather-clad chest. His big hands gently soothed the puppy with long strokes down its back.

The man was tall, well over six feet, wearing black leather down to his heavy boots. The ebony hair curling at the edge of his collar needed a trim and a few days growth of beard shadowed his square jaw. Tiny brackets edged his mouth and weathered little creases outlined his eyes.

But it was those dark orbs that sent her pulse into shock.

Though he stared down Tyler, she saw the hard glint of rage shining from the fathomless depths of his black eyes.

Tall, dark and dangerous. Nothing but trouble there.

Claire resisted the urge to back away. She’d learned long ago that she was susceptible to the kind of guy that sent good girls scrambling for cover. Claire wasn’t a good girl; she’d done some horrible things in the past. Things she was ashamed of. But she’d turned her life around and wasn’t about to backslide.

Tyler scowled. “Hey, mister, that’s mine.”

“Not anymore.” Anger punctuated the stranger’s words. His accent wasn’t from the Pacific Northwest.

He thrust the butterball of a dog into Claire’s arms. His gaze flicked over her before once again settling on Tyler. Claire shivered at the fury in those impenetrable eyes.

She cuddled the puppy close. Its heart hammered against its little ribs. She met Tyler’s fierce glare. Animosity glowed bright in his eyes. She wasn’t winning any points with the kid. A long, tough road stretched ahead if she wanted to help him. But she was up to the challenge.

“Time for you to leave, little boy,” the man said. A command, not a suggestion.

She groaned into the puppy’s fur. Not the thing to say to a teenage boy who was trying to grow up too fast. Was the man deliberately trying to provoke Tyler? A quick glance at the tall stranger confirmed what she feared. His expression dared Tyler to react.

Tyler’s chin jutted out in a mutinous gesture. “Who’s going to make me?”

The man didn’t move a muscle, didn’t say a word, but the charged silence crackled with suppressed hostility.

He’d have no trouble taking on an undernourished fifteen-year-old, even one with the attitude of Godzilla. Why was the man still so enraged now that the puppy was safe?

Beside her, Mindy shuffled her feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Wide-eyed, Tyler’s friend looked between the intimidating man and Tyler. His hunched shoulders and the way he edged away from Tyler told Claire that the blonde would bolt at the first sign of a fight.

The fire in Tyler’s eyes slowly turned to fear as the man stood there waiting, his expression intense and unyielding. She held her breath, hoping Tyler would take heed of his own internal warning system and leave.

He didn’t.

“I’m not going. Not without the dog.” Tyler’s voice quivered slightly.

“You might want to rethink that idea.”

The steely edge in the man’s voice sent a ripple of concern down Claire’s spine. Time for damage control. She couldn’t let this male posturing go any further. Tyler was just a boy trying to survive in the world.

She stepped toward the stranger and laid a hand on his arm. The leather-clad muscles of his forearm bunched beneath her palm and shot little sparks of heat up her arm to settle in the middle of her chest.

Her hand tightened.

For a tense moment she thought the man wouldn’t back down, but then he turned his gaze on her. The burning anger in his eyes slowly drained. Stark, vivid torment filled his expression.

Aching compassion welled within her, making the need to heal, to offer comfort, tangible. She’d seen the haunted expression before, in the faces of teens who’d confronted the unimaginable and survived. But glimpsing the wounded soul of this man made tears sting the back of her eyes.

His eyes widened slightly, giving her the distinct impression that he’d somehow glimpsed her thoughts. Invaded her mind. She blinked rapidly, using her unshed tears as a shield against the threat of this man who twisted her up inside and made her forget to breathe.

Abruptly, he turned away, fixing his attention back on Tyler and giving her a moment to catch her breath. His body language relaxed slightly, giving her the signal that she could remove her hand from his arm. She did, her hand immediately turning cold.

“Go. Just go.” The tired, ancient sound of the man’s voice gave testament to the pain she’d seen in his eyes. “And don’t come back.”

Claire opened her mouth to protest, to say she wanted the teens to come, to know that they’d always be accepted at The Zone. But she met Tyler’s gaze and the words died in her throat.

Hatred gleamed from his gray eyes. He brought his hand up and made a slicing motion across his throat. The stranger stiffened, all semblance of relaxation vanishing.

Tyler curled his lip and backed up. “Come on, let’s blow this dump,” he said, his chin jutting out once again.

Relief showed on the other boy’s face. “Yeah, this is boring.” He didn’t waste time retreating, gaining a large lead on Tyler as he headed west toward one end of the park.

Tyler kept backing up, his gaze darting between the man and Claire. “Mindy, let’s go.”

Claire put a hand on Mindy’s slender arm. “You don’t have to go. I can help you.”

Mindy chewed her lip, her young face pale, scared. Indecision shone in her blue eyes.

“Mindy!” Tyler’s demand made the girl jump.

“Don’t go,” Claire implored.

The puppy squirmed in her grasp and she loosened her hold. Mindy twirled her long, dirty brown hair around a finger, gave Claire an apologetic grimace and scurried after Tyler.

As Tyler’s arm settled around Mindy in a gesture that Claire knew all too well, heaviness descended on Claire’s shoulders. Billy had possessed her like that. Made her his property. She shuddered and repressed the memory. She was never going to allow herself to be that needy again.

“Lord, please protect Mindy,” she murmured the prayer aloud.

Claire snuggled the puppy and turned to thank the stranger, but he’d walked away. His long legs carried him in the opposite direction of the teens, toward the parking lot at the east end of the park. The pocket-size Bible sticking out of his back pocket snagged her attention. Interesting.

She hurried after him, not wanting him to disappear without thanking him. In this day and age, not many people would have come to her aid.

“Hey, wait,” she called.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. When she caught up to him, he arched a black brow. His expression was less intimidating now, more playful. She swallowed.

Her first impression that he was good-looking had been marred by the anger hardening his features. She realized he was beyond good-looking and sliding straight toward gorgeous. Everything inside went on alert, like the quills of a porcupine sensing danger.

He raised both brows. Heat crept into her cheeks. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“No big deal.”

The soft rumble of his voice vibrated through her, sending tingles along her nerve endings.

He started forward again and she doubled her steps to match his lengthy stride. “But it was a big deal to this little guy…and to me.”

One corner of his mouth kicked upward in an appealing way as he scratched the dog behind the ear. “You two take good care of each other.”

Claire watched that big, strong hand stroke the yellow fur and envy flooded her. It had been a long time since a man had run his fingers through her hair. A long time since she’d allowed anyone close enough to touch her at all. But this was the wrong man to want that from.

She pushed aside her need for physical contact. “Where are you from?”

“That obvious, huh?”

She grinned. “Most Oregonians don’t have an accent.”

Both brows rose again. “Sure you do. You just don’t hear it.”

She pulled her chin in. “Really?”

He laughed and the sound warmed her all over. “Yes, really.”

Bemused that she sounded as different to him as he did to her, she probed, “And you’re from…?”

“Long Island.”

“You’re a long way from home.”

His ebony eyes took on a faraway glaze. “Yes. A long way from home.”

The loneliness in his voice plucked at her. “Where are you staying?”

His gaze came back to her, those dark eyes alight with an unidentifiable emotion. “I’m not.”

Curiosity gripped her. “Where are you headed?”

He shrugged again.

A drifter. A twinge of sadness weaved through her curiosity. Did the pain she’d seen earlier drive him to keep moving, to drift through life? Looking at his tall, lean frame, she wondered when he’d eaten last. The familiar urge to help, to do something, rose within her.

“Could I make you lunch as a way of saying thanks?” She pointed to the gray two-story building at the north end of the park. “I live there.”

He stopped, tilted his head to one side, and studied her. She gave him a smile of encouragement and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. This man with his dark good looks and bad-boy image was just the kind of guy to turn her crank. But she wasn’t going to let her crank be turned again only to be left idling on the side of the road. Her smile stiffened.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk to strangers, let alone invite them in?”

She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She’d heard similar warnings from all the well-meaning people of Pineridge who thought she shouldn’t open her heart and home to the teens.

Granted, this man was far from a teenager. But he posed a threat on so many levels that she would be wise to heed the warning. Wisdom was something she was still working on. “I run a shelter. Inviting strangers in is part of what I do.”

“A shelter?”

“A teen shelter, to be exact.”

“Why?”

She sighed. The infernal question seemed to be at the top of everyone’s list of questions and asked in the same wary, derisive tone, though his held more edge to it. “The stigma of runaway teenagers is that they’re crazy and out of control. But they’re still just kids. Yeah, they’re rough and tough and act horribly at times. But deep down most are scared, confused and need help.”

“But why you?” He seemed genuinely interested.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the unvarnished truth. Why she felt compelled to make him understand was a mystery. So instead she settled for her pat response. “I remember the anxiety and chaos of those teen years. If I can make a difference in someone’s life, I know I was put on this earth for a reason.”

“That’s admirable.”

His compliment pleased her, as did the almost wistful look on his handsome face.

“But woefully misguided.” His expression hardened. “Thank you for the offer, but I should be heading out.”

“Why are you in such a hurry, if you don’t know where you’re headed?”

He leaned toward her, his jet-black eyes probing and his decidedly masculine scent, full of leather and the outdoors, engulfing her senses. “You’re tenacious.”

Her spine stiffened and she lifted her chin. “Persistence is a virtue.”

Amusement danced in his gaze. “Patience is a virtue.”

Her cheeks flamed at being corrected. “I consider both to be virtues.”

That appealing half-grin flashed again. “Both are admirable traits.” His tone dropped to a deep and husky timbre that she found fully alluring. His accent rasped along her skin like a velvet caress. Her knees wobbled and knocked together. “We’ve established you have persistence, but do you have patience?”

Oh, yeah, she had patience. Hard-won and, at the moment, stretched taut.

Every instinct warned her that this man could endanger her vow to be self-sufficient with nothing more than his smile, let alone how his voice lulled her senses, and threatened to impair her judgment. He could make her want to lose herself in those dark eyes with one glance.

She didn’t need or want a man in her life. Never again would she allow herself to be vulnerable to the whims of a guy, to be used and abandoned, forgotten.

She stepped back, needing to put distance between them. She’d offered help. He’d said no. She needed to accept that. Time to stay focused and in control of her own responses.

“Be safe.” Her voice sounded breathless. And she didn’t like it.

This time there was no half-grin, but a full-blown, toe-curling smile that sent her blood zooming. He saluted and then sauntered to a low slung, shiny chrome-and-black motorcycle with the unmistakable winged insignia of a Harley.

He threw one long, lean leg over the seat, looking at home on the bike. He plucked a black, sleek-looking helmet from where it hung on the handlebars and put it on. A second later the bike came to life with a thundering rumble.

“Hey,” she yelled over the noise of the engine and stepped closer.

He gave her a questioning look.

“What’s your name?” She didn’t know why it was important, but she needed to know.

His eyes widened slightly, then a slow smile touched his lips. “Nick.”

His smile made her heart leap. He’d stormed into her life like a knight of old and performed a heroic deed, all the while putting her female senses into overdrive.

He flipped down the visor on the helmet and rolled away. She watched him turn the corner toward downtown Pineridge and then disappear from sight. It was a good thing he’d roared out of her life before she’d lost her head and done something embarrassing like drool.

“Well.” She stood rooted to the ground for a moment as her heart resumed its natural rhythm. She held the puppy up and stared into his sweet little brown eyes. The puppy licked at her face. She laughed and hugged him close. Gwen was going to just love the little guy.

“Well, little Nick, you want to come home with me?”

Nick Andrews couldn’t get the pretty blonde out of his head. The woman’s heart gleamed in her baby blues and every subtle and not-so-subtle expression that had crossed her face.

Oh, she had courage, he’d give her that. Not many women—let alone men—would have stood up to those punks. She cared for those street urchins. But she might as well have worn a sign that said “Heartache Welcome.”

She talked a good game, how they were just kids in need of some help. He didn’t believe it.

Thankfully she wasn’t his problem. No matter how attractive the package or how much he admired her spunk, he had enough to deal with. He wasn’t exposing his heart to the pain of loss again.

He gunned the engine and took the exit out of Pineridge that dropped him onto Interstate 84 headed west toward Portland. As he jockeyed for a position in the traffic, a sharp urge to turn back assaulted him.

He frowned, convinced he was being paranoid.

Yet he couldn’t shake the image of Tyler’s slicing gesture.

Nah, the kid didn’t have the guts to do anything serious. Just throw a defenseless animal around, a tiny voice inside reminded.

Nick’s jaw tightened.

The kid was a bad seed. Nick had seen eyes like that before. The eyes of a killer.

Man, he’d have pulverized that kid in the park, would have gladly exorcised two years of bottled rage on the punk, if the blonde hadn’t restrained him with her gentle touch.

He hadn’t even asked her name.

Not my problem.

But yet…

He wove around a slow-moving truck. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the nagging feeling he should turn back. Serena would have said it was God’s nudging, but God had been quiet two years ago when a nudging could have saved her life.

So why would God start communicating with him now?

Twenty miles ahead the freeway split. He could either take the interstate exit for I-5 North heading toward Washington State and on up to Canada or he could take I-5 South toward California.

He was at a fork in the road, literally. Which way to turn? How far could he go to outrun the past? Where would he find peace? What had he done to deserve such punishment? How could he leave the blonde so unprotected?

“She’s not my problem!” he shouted.

The words swirled around inside his helmet until they were sucked out by the rushing wind.