KRISTI GOLD - His Sheltering Arms

“In counseling?”

“I have an MBA. I have a pretty good head for business.”

She had a pretty good body to go right with it.

Damn! He needed to get a grip. This was business; she represented a client. Try telling that to his testosterone.

He shifted in the seat. “Public service is a bitch, though. Lousy pay, long hours. With your credentials, have you thought about finding a more lucrative job?”

When she didn’t immediately answer, he glanced her way again. The look she gave him could melt the tires out from under his truck. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“If you mean that my job is a waste of my talents, I assure you that what I do matters. If you’d ever looked into the eyes of the child of a batterer, then you’d know what I mean.”

“Believe me, Ms. Brailey, I have.” He’d been that child.

She shot him a remorseful look, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you have. I’m just a little testy when it comes to defending my reasons for staying with the shelter.”

“I was just speaking from personal experience.” But he wasn’t so jaded that he didn’t know exactly where she was coming from. Dealing with kids who were victims of adult brutality had never been easy. In fact, it had torn at his heart and had nearly destroyed his faith in humanity. People like Erin Brailey were few and far between. She reminded him that good did exist in this screwed-up world. And he admired her for her commitment, her passion for the cause. If only he could feel that way again—the way he’d felt before it had all come apart.

Zach didn’t know what to say or if he should just keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t help but wonder if Erin Brailey’s passion carried over into her personal life. Was she as all-fired enthusiastic about other things?

He might as well get “other things” out of his head if he wanted to remain objective. No problem. Control was one of his stronger suits. Under normal circumstances.

A few minutes later the truck crunched up the gravel drive leading to the shelter. The gate hung askew, the paint on the white frame house was blistering and peeling. Someone had finished painting the front facade but not all the way up to the second floor. From the looks of things, another month might not be enough time to get the place in shape.

Zach barely put the truck into park before Erin opened the door and slid out. As he watched her walk toward the entrance, he realized she looked as good in back as she did in front. He got out of the truck muttering a litany of curses and cautions.

Zach entered the shelter but didn’t immediately see Erin. His booted heels echoed in the hall as he walked the well-worn hardwood floor. At the end of the foyer he found Erin at the bottom of the stairs surveying a freshly painted wall.

“This is looking much better.” She faced him with a polite smile. “The bottom floor consists of mainly the manager’s quarters, a kitchen, a living room and a small den. All the bedrooms are upstairs. Where do you want to start?”

He surveyed the surroundings, noting some places that looked vulnerable to a security breach. “Down here’s fine.”

“Okay.” She glanced up the stairs, then turned back to him. “You can start here, and I’ll be with you in a minute. If you don’t mind, I want to check on the second-floor children’s room and make sure it’s been done right.”

The sudden softening of her features took Zach by surprise, and then he recalled her earlier comment about the kids. “The children’s room, huh?”

Her smile was almost self-conscious, as if she’d been caught in some illicit act. “Don’t look so shocked, Mr. Miller. I admit I like kids. I work with them at the shelter with a self-esteem program. It’s important to break the cycle before they reach adulthood.”

“I understand.” More than she would ever know. Zach made a sweeping gesture toward the stairs. “By all means check it out. You can join me down here when you’re done.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back in a while.”

After Erin departed up the stairs, Zach got busy surveying the rooms, checking the windows, making notes about his concerns. He listed all points of vulnerability and completed the initial evaluation and still he had yet to see Erin again. Although he would need to return at least one more time before getting started on the wiring, in case he missed something, he was pretty much finished evaluating the first floor. Might as well go find Ms. Brailey.

He headed toward the staircase, shaking his head. Erin Brailey liked kids. He wouldn’t have guessed that about her, but then his instincts about women weren’t always correct. Those who appeared the toughest on the surface often hid their vulnerabilities from the world. He’d learned that the hard way. But Erin Brailey wasn’t a victim.

Zach gripped the rickety banister and took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the top landing, the acrid smell of fresh paint assaulted his nostrils and burned his eyes. He moved down the hall, glancing into each room, one newly renovated, the other waiting its turn. He paused to consider what a place like this would have meant to his mother. Maybe things would have been different if she’d had the resources to change her life for the better. Maybe he would have been different. But that was the past, something Zach couldn’t alter.

Continuing on, Zach found Erin in the third room beyond the staircase, a small bedroom decorated in a pastel blue with yellow rabbits bordering the wall where it met the ceiling. Normally he wouldn’t notice what the room looked like, but Erin Brailey’s fitted skirt contrasted with the walls like black leather against a backdrop of sky. She was standing on the top rung of a ladder in her stocking feet, reaching up where a piece of the bunny border had obviously come undone.

He could very well come undone if she didn’t get down off the blasted ladder. He had the strongest urge to go to her, run his hands up the sides of her sculpted thighs…

Hold it right there, Miller. He streaked a hand over his eyes as if that could erase the image. Man, oh, man, he was in trouble. He should get out of here, go to his favorite bar and find himself a woman. Easier said than done. Erin Brailey, with the soft spot for kids and no-holds-barred confidence, held more appeal than any woman he could think of, past or present.

“Need some help?” he asked.

She regarded him over her shoulder. “No…I’m just about done.” She smoothed the border with one long tapered hand, then slapped it for good measure. “There. Good as new.”

She backed down the rungs and once she reached the bottom, turned to face him. Using the ladder for balance, she slipped her heels back on and asked, “Did you get a good look?”

Hell, had he been that obvious? “At what?”

“Downstairs. Did you see what you wanted to?”

At the moment he’d seen much more than he’d wanted to. Correction. Needed to. “Yeah. So if you’re through hanging paper, you could show me around up here.”

She brushed a few golden strands of hair away from her face with one hand. “I’m through for now.”

“Is paper hanging in your job description, too?”

“Not exactly, but we’re lacking in volunteers. Considering the nature of this project, the fewer people who know the location, the better.”

“I’m pretty handy with a brush. Maybe I could help.”

Erin took two steps forward and studied him with eyes as blue as the sky blue walls. “I’m sure you have better ways to spend your time than painting an old house.”

“Actually, I don’t. After business hours, at least.”

She raised a thin brow. “Your wife wouldn’t mind?”

“I don’t have a wife.” Since she had broached the subject, he might as well ask. “How about you? Husband?”