Protect Me (Rivers Edge Book 4)(6)

"No you won't," I say. "I'm working." Since I work every other weekend, I'm only able to attend half of our gatherings.

"Us, too," Jake replies with a nod towards Maddox, referring to their weekend shift as local county deputies.

I say my goodbyes to the guys and retrieve my car keys from my pocket.  It's after eight o'clock which is still plenty early for a Thursday  evening since I'm off tomorrow. As I walk towards my Mustang, I  contemplate calling Vicki. I haven't talked to her in several days, but  the thought of hanging out with her tonight has completely lost its  appeal. Alluring blue-gray eyes and soft brown hair stands foremost in  my thoughts.

I back out of the driveway and point my car towards my house.

I wonder what Lia is doing tonight?





Chapter Two


Lia




Nighttime is the worst. When the darkness of night sets in and the quiet  of the apartment wraps around me, I can't shut off my brain. I've been  in Rivers Edge for just over two weeks now, and I was fortunate enough  to find a job right away.

When I drove into this quaint little town, the first stop I made was to  the bakery for a cup of coffee and something sweet. It was late morning  and the place was empty. The young woman at the counter started chatting  with me as she prepared my coffee and readied my warm cinnamon roll.

Talking to her had been so easy, which is completely unlike me. No connections. No emotions. Don't talk about anything personal.

Before I knew it, we talked for over an hour and she was offering me a  job as her full-time assistant. I wasn't sure where the road was taking  me yet so I decided to take her up on the job offer. I could hang around  Rivers Edge for a few months.

Three months is the max that I allow myself to stay in any given  location before moving on. I don't get cozy. Cozy will result in  dropping my guard. Dropping my guard will result in being found. I don't  want to be found.

The single bedroom apartment above the bakery was perfect for my needs.  It was mostly furnished already which is good because I have very little  in the way of personal effects. The clothes on my back, some personal  toiletries and effects, and a small stack of extra clothing is all I  brought in the old, used Honda Accord I got from a shady used car  salesman. Tennessee? Kentucky? I don't remember. The states, the towns,  all seem to blur together into one big cluster-fuck of a mess.

Avery's mother, Elizabeth Stevens, owns the building I currently call  home. She's the sweetest woman ever and waved the security deposit when I  inquired about moving in above the bakery. She didn't bat an eye to  renting her place to a young woman that she didn't know or who wasn't  from here. She just smiled and handed me the keys.

I actually have my degree in interior design, but I worked in a bakery  as I paid my way through college. Scholarships helped a girl like me,  with my colorful background, but I was far from receiving a full ride.

I force the memory of college and those years since out of my mind.  Dwelling on the past or what could have been doesn't help any. Right  now, I need to focus on today. Keep my head down and off anyone's radar.  Use cash whenever I possibly can. And never get personal.

As I lie down on the queen-sized bed, I can't help but think about my  run-in with Nate Stevens earlier this morning. He scared the crap out of  me. For the first time in months, I felt like I had been found. It's  enough to make me consider moving on a little quicker than usual. I  could pack up my measly array of personal belongings, hop into my  worn-out Honda, and find another town - on the other side of the  country.                       
       
           



       

But something makes me want to stay. Something pulls deep in my chest  like an unwanted need. Maybe not something, but someone. Nate. Stevens.

I sigh as I recall the intensity of his sparkling blue-green eyes. I  swear he saw completely through me as he dissected my soul with his deep  gaze. But for some strange reason, I want to be dissected by him. I'm  not sure if it's the way he filled out that tight white t-shirt or the  way those Levi's hugged his fine ass, but Nate Stevens definitely made  me feel things I haven't felt before. At least, things I haven't felt in  a long time.

I watch a rerun of Desperate Housewives on late night television and  can't help but wonder what it would be like to settle down. To stop  running. To find someone who makes me want to plant roots and spread my  wings. Someone who actually wants to give me my dream instead of a  nightmare.

As I close my tired eyes, I picture those blue-green eyes that I've been  seeing all day. Eyes I've seen ever since I slammed the pan against his  skull. Twice.

For the first time since I ran, I feel content.

Safe.





*****




I'm startled awake from the dark recesses of sleep by another nightmare. They're always the same.

I feel his warm, angry breath against my skin as he wraps his hands  around my neck. He usually avoids touching me in places where the public  can see his marks, but tonight, my black sequined gown has a full neck  which gives him the perfect cover for his markings.

The air is sucked from my lungs as I struggle to breathe. I feel my feet  dangle off the immaculate cherry hardwood floor as his livid, dark eyes  bore into me.

"Why must you test my patience so much, Amelia?" he seethes through gritted, pearly white teeth.

I blink back the tears as the fog of the nightmare slowly fades away. My  breathing is labored, coming out in short little pants. You'd think I  would be used to the never-ending nightmare that was my life, but I'm  not. It still affects me like it happened yesterday, not nine months  ago.

The alarm clock on the used nightstand reads four a.m. Almost time to  get up anyway, so I roll out of bed and step onto the cool hardwood  floor. It's not nearly as nice as the hardwood floors I became  accustomed to during my previous life, but these may actually be better.  There's nothing perfect about these floors. They are marked, scarred,  and battered. Like me.

I take a hot, relaxing shower as I wash away the sweat from last night's  sleep. I need to be downstairs at the bakery at five to prepare the  first batch of dough. The bakery doesn't open until six-thirty, so it  gives me an hour and a half of uninterrupted time to get the day's  products ready to be made.

Yesterday, I didn't get the bakery opened at six-thirty the way I had  planned. After Nate left, Avery went up front and found three customers  standing on the sidewalk waiting for the door to open. Oops! I never  made it to the front to unlock the door. Avery was cool about the entire  thing. Actually, a little too cool, if you ask me. I felt her smiling  eyes on me all morning and could see the questions in her eyes.

I exit my apartment, locking the door securely behind me, and trek down  the metal steps. The back door of the bakery is positioned underneath  the metal staircase that runs parallel to the older brick building. I  unlock the back door and flip on the lights. Bright florescent lights  bathe the entire kitchen area. I relock the door behind me - I learned  my lesson yesterday - and deposit my purse in the small office. As I  step into the kitchen, I begin the process of preparing dough.

Forty-five minutes later, the first batch of cinnamon rolls is in the  oven and the mixer bowl contains all the ingredients for the delicious  cream cheese frosting. As I get ready to start the mixer, a knock sounds  at the back door.

I contemplate opening it. If it were Avery or Mrs. Stevens, they would  use their key. But someone up to no good probably wouldn't knock, would  they?

I hesitantly make my way over to the back door, take a deep breath, and  turn the lock. I slowly pull the door open to view Nate Stevens standing  there in running shorts and a sweaty gray tank top wrapped snuggly  against his ripped torso. Hello, lucky sweat.

I pull the door open, allowing him to step inside. Once he's clear of the doorway, I close the door and throw the lock again.

"I see you decided to lock the door to avoid being surprised?" Nate asks with a hint of a smile.

His hair is tussled in a delicious I-want-to-run-my-fingers-through-it  way, and he's breathing hard as if he just finished up a run.

"Yeah, the pan was dirty so I figured I'd save myself the energy of  washing it right now and just lock the door," I tell him with a hint of  my own smile.                       
       
           



       

Nate laughs. It's the sexiest laugh I've ever heard - with deep timbers  and a throaty growl to it - and does weird tingly things to my dormant  lady parts. "Well, I'm personally glad you answered the door without  brandishing a weapon," he retorts with another award-winning smile.

I cringe when I recall how we met yesterday morning. "Yeah, I'm still so  sorry about that. I never meant to hurt you," I tell him.