Ben had grown up with co-dependent, possessive parents. The bakery in town they once owned had been sold when their warped need to be each other’s sole interest had turned deadly. Ben could still remember the winter he’d turned fourteen, when the cruel accusations his parents hurled at one another escalated to a fever pitch. His father had stormed out of the house in a rage, threatening to kill them all. Two hours later he was dead from a snapped neck. Based on the evidence, he’d been speeding on the icy mountain roads, lost control of his vehicle, and been thrown through the windshield onto the unforgiving hard concrete highway.
They also found an empty bottle of whiskey on the passenger floor.
While his mother had reverted to a quiet, almost childlike dependency after her husband’s death, Ben had stepped out into the world with his arms wide open. Wolves were social creatures, needing touch from their pack members to reinforce bonds and soothe their beasts. His parents had stifled his animal’s needs, and their own, by their unhealthy dependence on each other.
Shaking the memory off, Ben wiped his hands impatiently on a napkin and rested more comfortably against the front of the couch. “And when will they be here?” Because the night was still young and this meeting was about to be adjourned.
The sound of slamming vehicle doors made his libido sink, as did his hope at catching up with Pete and the snow bunnies.
Babysitting duty was about to begin.
Chapter Three
To say Willow felt a little nervous as she followed Rome inside the two-story house nestled deep within the Colorado mountains was an understatement. The sheer number of vehicles parked in the large clearing in front of the home forewarned her that something akin to a party might possibly be taking place.
“Are you sure we’re expected?” Willow whispered, struggling to untie the wet laces of her new boots with cold fingers. Since she’d had to start all over in the clothes department once ensconced in the Witness Protection Program, and believing it would only be for a short time, Willow had only purchased the necessities to tide her over. Unfortunately, the winter temperatures in Phoenix, Arizona, was a far cry from that of the Colorado mountains. Stopping at a Walmart for warmer clothes meant most everything she now owned was stuffed in either her single suitcase or jammed in one of the many plastic shopping bags that littered the truck.
Her new gloves were packed somewhere in one of those bags, though she did have on her new coat. While Willow had only wanted a jacket sufficient enough for short jaunts from warm car to warm house, Rome had insisted on something heavier, which she was now grateful for. Being outside in the cold wasn’t high on her list of priorities, but being idle wasn’t something she did well. A walk in the woods might be interesting. Maybe she could ask Rome about skiing. She’d never been skiing. Then again, her knee and hip may be opposed to that idea all together.
She’d take it one day at a time.
“Yes,” Rome sent her a reassuring smile, patient even though he already informed her of why he was bringing Willow to this community. “These men can’t protect you if they haven’t met you, and I’m not taking any chances with your safety.”
“And you trust them?” Willow unconsciously slid her stocking feet into ballet third position on the tiled floor of the foyer.
Rome cupped her chin in one surprisingly warm hand. “With both our lives.”
Searching his dark eyes for a moment, Willow saw nothing but serious honesty. She trusted this man who had already saved her life once. If Rome trusted these people she was about to encounter, then she would as well. Swallowing her anxiety, she nodded once. “Okay, then.”
White teeth flashed, striking against the deep honey color of his face, showcasing the dimples that seemed so at odds with his rugged features. “Okay, then.”
Noticing her nerves, he placed a hand on her lower back, another sign of assurance. “Pretend you’re about to go onstage,” he suggested. “Shoulders back, head up.”
Rome was right. She might no longer have the graceful, gravity-defying movements of a dancer, but she still had the poise. Not wanting anyone to think of her as a victim, she set her shoulders back, chin up. Open epaulement, arms at rest.
Because Willow wasn’t a victim. She was a survivor.
As they stepped into a spacious living area, all conversation ceased and she found herself the attention. On stage she could lose herself in the music, forget about the riveting stare of a thousand pairs of anonymous eyes. Here, there was no hiding. All the spit in her mouth dried up when she realized not one female was present. When every male stood at her entrance, filling the room to bursting with testosterone, she took a hasty step back, then forced herself to stand still and not duck behind Rome.