Brenda Minton - Her Guardian Rancher

“Get out. And don’t come back. Next time I’ll have more for you than this baseball bat, Pete. Stay away from my house. Stay away from my family. We don’t have anything.”

Pete lunged at her, but she swung, hitting his arm with the bat. He let out a scream. “You broke my arm!”

“I don’t think so. But next time I might.” She raised the bat again. She might be barely five feet tall, but she packed quite a punch. Daron resisted the urge to laugh. Instead he took a few quiet steps forward, in case she needed him.

“I’m not going to let you hit me, Emma.”

“You’re not coming back inside this house.” Emma Shaw swung again and Pete fell back a pace, still holding his injured left arm.

It looked as if he planned to leave. Daron remained in the shadows, watching, waiting and hoping Pete would walk away. When the other man lunged, Daron stepped out of the shadows. “Pete, I think you ought to listen to her.”

Pete turned, still holding his left arm, still looking kind of wild-eyed. He was thin. His hair was scraggly. Meth. It was easy to spot an addict. The jerk of the chin. The jumpiness. The sores. A person couldn’t put poison in his body and expect it to be good for him.

“This isn’t your fight, Daron.” Pete held up his right hand, showing he still had half a brain. “But I’ll make it your fight.”

Or maybe he didn’t have half a brain. Andy’s younger brother took a few steps in Daron’s direction.

“Really, Pete?” Daron remained where he stood. “Get in your truck and get out of here. Get in a program and get some help.”

“I don’t need help. I just need the money. I know she’s got it hid somewhere.”

“I don’t have money, Pete. I don’t have anything but bills. You blew through the money Andy left. You bought that truck and you bought drugs.”

“None of us were at the wedding,” Pete countered. “I doubt you were even married to my brother.”

“Go away, Pete. Before I call the police.” Emma advanced on the other man, as if she were taller than her five-foot-nothing height. Daron stepped forward, coming between her and danger.

“Pete, you should go.” Daron said it calmly, glancing back at the woman who didn’t appear to be in the mood to appreciate his interference. He wasn’t surprised. For three years she’d been telling him to go back to his life, that they weren’t his responsibility.

Pete backed away, his eyes wild as he looked from one to the other of them. “Yeah, I’m leaving. But I’ll be back. I want what belongs to my family.”

“Go. Away,” Daron repeated.

He followed the other man to the road and watched him get in his truck and speed off into the night. When he returned to the house, Emma was gone and the front porch light was off. He grinned a little at her bravado and knocked on the door anyway.

He didn’t mind that she kept up walls with him on the outside. It certainly hadn’t kept him from watching over them. Them meaning Emma, her aging grandfather and the little girl, Jamie. Even with their limited contact he was starting to think of her as a friend.

A friend who didn’t mind closing the door in his face. He grinned as he lifted his hand to knock a second time.

* * *

Emma leaned against the door, needing the firm wood panel to hold her up. Her legs still shook with fear and adrenaline. She’d barely gotten to sleep when she heard a window opening, the creaking sound alerting the dog that slept on the foot of her bed. Fortunately her grandfather and Jamie had slept through the racket.

Racket? No, not really that drastic. She’d pounced on Pete as he climbed through the window. He’d pushed back, hitting her into the china cabinet, but she’d steadied it and herself, managing to get a good grip on the baseball bat she’d carried from her room.

Pete wasn’t healthy and it had been easy to back him out of the house and take control. Or at least it had felt like she was in charge. She’d had it handled.

The last thing she needed was Daron McKay in her home and in her business. But there he’d been, standing in the shadows like some avenging superhero, ready to rescue her.

He’d been playing the role of guardian since he got home from Afghanistan. He’d been at the hospital when she had Jamie. He’d brought gifts and food in the years since her daughter’s birth.

No matter what she said or did, she couldn’t convince him she didn’t need his help. They were making it. She, Jamie and Granddad. They’d always made it and they would continue to do so.

Yes, it would have been nice to have Andy’s help. But Andy was gone. No use crying over what couldn’t be changed.

The door behind her vibrated with a pounding fist knocking just about where her shoulders touched the wood. She jumped back, letting out an unfortunate squeal.

“I know you’re there,” Daron called out, his voice muffled through the thick wood.

She didn’t move, didn’t speak. Surely he would take the hint and go away.

“I want to check and make sure everything is okay. And I’m not going anywhere until we know Pete isn’t coming back.”

Pete might return. She should have thought of that. Of course he would return. Usually he came during the day, demanding money she didn’t have. Andy had divorced her just prior to deploying and he’d made Pete his one and only beneficiary.

She’d called him after he deployed, to tell him he was going to be a dad. He’d made promises about the two of them and she’d told him they could talk when he got home, not when he was thousands of miles away and she was still hurt by his betrayal and him walking away from their marriage. Slowly, hesitantly, she touched the lock, took a deep breath and opened the door. Her gaze slid up, her eyes locking with the gray eyes of the man standing on her front porch. Drat, but the man made her feel safe. As much as he annoyed her. As much as she wanted him to go away.

“Well, you opened the door.” His voice was low and rumbled, sliding over her, causing goose bumps to go up her arms. She hugged herself tight, her hand touching a spot on her opposite arm and feeling a sticky dampness.

“Ouch.” She glanced down. Her hand came away stained with blood.

“You’re hurt. Did he do that?”

“I backed into the china cabinet. But I’m fine.”

“We need to call 911 and let them look for him.” He took her by the uninjured arm and started through the house with her, guiding her as if he knew the way.

“We don’t need to call the police. He won’t be back tonight. He’s just a stupid, messed-up kid.”

“A stupid, messed-up kid who’s on drugs and breaking into homes. Let me look at your arm.”

“I’m fine. You can go.” Bravado didn’t work when her voice shook, from fear, from aftershock.

“Let me take a look anyway. Even though we both know you’re fine. Is this the first time he’s broken in?”

She nodded as he led her into the kitchen. Without warning, his hands went to her waist and he lifted, setting her on the counter.

“Would you stop manhandling me?”

He grinned at that, as if he thought she didn’t truly mean it, and he went about, rummaging through cabinets until he found salve and bandages. He wet a rag under the sink and returned. Without looking at her he took hold of her and wiped at the gash on her arm. She flinched and he held her steady, smiling a little but still not looking at her.

That gave her time to study his downturned face, his eyelashes, the whiskers on his cheeks, the column of his throat.

She swallowed and tried to pull away. He glanced up then, his dark gray eyes studying her face so intently she felt a surge of heat in her already-flushed cheeks.

“How did you do this?” he asked as he dried the cut and then applied salve.