Keeping What's His(15)

“Things changed.” She didn’t turn around or elaborate on the distance that had developed between her and her parents.

At one time, she would have told him without asking. She had been an open book. Now, she was closed off emotionally and physically, not just from him, but others who had been important in her life. Could her husband’s death have affected her so badly?

“Your father said you’re a widow.”

“Is that all he told you?”

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason, just curious. I didn’t know if he knew Scott was dead.”

“That must have been some fight you had with them.”

Sutton turned back from the window. “Can I get you some more soup?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be lucky if I can keep this down.”

Without a word, she left the room. She was gone several minutes, and he was beginning to wonder if she had gone to bed when she returned.

“I made Pap’s bed for you. You’ll be more comfortable there.” She held her hand out to help him up from the couch.

Tate stared at it for a second before taking it, trying not to give her too much of his weight. He grimaced as the pain in his chest and ribs nearly made him fall back, but Sutton grabbed his belt, steadying him.

“Put your arm over my shoulder,” she ordered.

Tate hesitated, but he knew he couldn’t make it to the bedroom alone, and if he spent another minute on the old couch, he would be a cripple come morning.

He placed his arm over her shoulder as they walked in the direction she led him.

“Do you want to use the bathroom before you lie back down?”

“Yes.”

She opened the door next to the open bedroom door, leading him inside after she flicked on the light switch.

“Open the door when you finish,” Sutton said, leaving the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

Tate used the toilet then went to the bathroom sink. The man reflected in the mirror wondered how Sutton didn’t believe him capable of killing Lyle. His hair was plastered to his head, and he had a drugged-out look in his eyes. He looked like a serial killer.

He ran the water, making it as cold as he could. Using his hand, he splashed water onto his face and hair. When he finished, he opened the door to find Sutton waiting patiently.

He let her help him into the bedroom where he dropped onto the mattress, feeling too weak to bend over and take off his boots. As Sutton crouched down in front of him, doing it for him, Tate felt his dick stirring again.

She glanced up, catching him staring at her.

“Do you need some help to get out of your jeans?”

He was tempted to ask for her help, but decided his dick wouldn’t be able to handle her hands anywhere near his belt buckle.

“I can do it.”

Sutton nodded. Going to the boxes stacked against the wall, she rummaged through the one on top, pulling a pair of pajama pants and top from inside. She handed them to him.

“They might be a little short, but they should fit well enough.”

“I usually sleep naked,” he taunted to see what kind of reaction he would get.

“Go for it, but if the state police come to arrest your ass, don’t blame me if they carry you out of here with your dick flapping.”

Unable to help himself, he laughed then held his ribs from the pain it caused.

“You’ve become sassy. At one time, you would have turned bright red and taken off.”

“I’m not seventeen anymore.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, his eyes going to her full breasts and curvy hips.

She ignored his appreciative gaze. “Do you need anything else? If not, I’m going to bed.”

“You ever regret dumping me for Cash?” Tate didn’t know why the question came out of his mouth other than it had been one he wanted answered.

“Really?” She stared down at him angrily. “You want to ask that at three in the morning?”

“Never mind. I don’t give a fuck about the answer, anyway.” He wasn’t about to let her think it had bugged him over the years.

“If you didn’t want to know, then why ask? No, I never regretted Cash. What’s wrong, Tate? Does it burn your Porter pride that you weren’t the one who broke up with me?”

“You were replaced”—he snapped his fingers—“like that.”

Her mouth gave a curl of contempt. “Do you honestly think I didn’t know that? The Monday after prom, half a dozen of my friends told me by the end of first period that you spent the night with Lisa in the motel room you had reserved for us.”

He stiffened as he sat on the side of the bed. For a split-second, the controlled mask she kept on her face had dropped, and her agony and humiliation were revealed before being concealed once again by her nonchalance.

“Sutton…”

“Forget it. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t now.” She went out the door, leaving him alone, heading into the bedroom across the hall.

He wanted to go after her; instead, he changed into the pajamas she had given him then lay down on the bed after turning off the bedside lamp.

He stared up at the ceiling as the hurt she had shown played over and over in his mind. Had she regretted breaking up with him? Had it been a ploy to get him jealous?

Tate didn’t even know why it mattered after all this time. Then again, the sexual chemistry was still there between them, so maybe he wanted a taste of what he had been denied back then. Maybe he wanted to even the score and be the one to dump her this time.

Tate closed his eyes, the pain pill finally making him drowsy enough to ignore the pain. He wouldn’t be able to leave for the next few days. If he was lucky, he would finally be able to put his past with Sutton to rest. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither was she. Sutton was a widow. She probably had a couple of lovers before she married, and after the death of her husband. They both were adults, and if he decided he wanted to get her out of his system, there was nothing to stop him, not even Sutton.





Chapter 11



Sutton stretched, yawning, feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. She looked at the clock on her bedside table.

A scream escaped her when she saw a man standing at the window outside her bedroom.

“Shut up!” Greer’s loud voice could be heard through the glass.

Sutton stormed toward the window, unlocking it then raising it halfway. “What in the world are you doing outside my window?”

“I’m not a damn pervert. Let me in; I want to talk to Tate.”

“Why didn’t you just go to the door?” She stubbornly refused to budge.

“I didn’t want the cops to see me.”

“What cops?” Sutton became frightened that her pap’s home was going to be raided. Visions of police raids ran through her mind.

“The ones watching me. Now move.”

“Let him in,” Tate ordered from behind her.

Her fingers trembled when she realized he was standing so close to her.

She raised the window the rest of the way before sliding sideways so she wouldn’t touch Tate’s bare chest. She was glad he had at least worn the pants, although they were loose and hung low on his hips. His muscular body was illuminated by the early-morning sun shining through the window.

Unconsciously, she licked her bottom lip, lowering her eyes when she saw Tate was staring at her. Realizing he wasn’t the only one half-dressed, she snatched up the robe she had placed on her bed the night before, coving the thin T-shirt that came to the top of her thighs.

Greer climbed in through the widow with a dexterity that showed it wasn’t the first time he had used the method to enter a home.

Once he was inside, he studied his older brother with a critical eye. “You okay?”

“Been better,” Tate answered, his hand holding his ribs.

“What happened?”

As Tate started to describe to Greer what had happened, Sutton interrupted long enough to tell them she was making coffee.

“Close the curtains in the living room.”

Sutton stopped, glaring at Greer’s order. “I will. I’ve already been frightened once this morning. If I look out and see Dustin’s face, I’ll have a heart attack.”

Greer ignored her jibe, turning back to question Tate.

Sutton made a pot of coffee and toast for herself. She drew the line at feeding Tate. He could fix his own breakfast.

She was about to take a bite of the grape jelly smeared toast when Tate and Greer entered the kitchen, taking chairs at the table.

“Can I get a cup of coffee?”

“I’m not a waitress. Get Greer to pour you a cup.”

Both brothers stared at her mutely before Greer’s chair scraped back and he went to the coffee pot, pouring them both a cup.

“Why are you holding your ribs?”

“The son of a bitch must have kicked me while I was unconscious,” Tate answered with a grimace as he tried to get comfortable on the chair.

“Want me to tape you up?”

“No. I think they’re just bruised. I’m not having trouble breathing, so nothing’s broken.”

“You’re damn lucky whoever did it didn’t kill you.”

“They didn’t want me dead. If they did, they had the chance when I was unconscious.”

“Any idea who it could be?”

“No.” Tate ran his hand through his hair. “Go see Jo today and see if she knows why her dad was out in the woods so late.”