# A Sheltering Love

Terri Reed

Who was the handsome stranger who'd saved her life - twice?That was what Claire Wilcox wanted to know, especially after she'd impulsively invited the man to stay at her shelter for runaways. She sensed there was more to handyman Nick Andrews than met the eye - there was a great loss this loner was trying to run from. Claire knew what running was all about. A former runaway herself, she'd established a haven for troubled teens.As Nick earned his keep repairing damage to the shelter, he grew closer to Claire, to the kids she cared for…and to the God he'd shut out of his heart. Could Claire's faith begin to fill the spiritual void in his life and give him a new reason to love?

## Claire turned to thank the stranger, but he’d walked away.

The pocket-size Bible sticking out of his back pocket snagged her attention. Interesting.

She hurried after him, not wanting him to disappear without thanking him. In this day and age, not many people would have come to her aid.

“Hey, wait,” she called.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. When she caught up to him, he arched a black brow. His expression was less intimidating now, more playful. She swallowed.

Her first impression that he was good-looking had been marred by the anger hardening his features. She realized he was beyond good-looking and sliding straight toward gorgeous. Everything inside went on alert, like the quills of a porcupine sensing danger.

## TERRI REED

grew up in a small town nestled in the Sierra Nevada foothills. To entertain herself, she created stories in her head and when she put those stories to paper her teachers in grade school, high school and college encouraged her imagination. Living in Italy as an exchange student whetted her appetite for travel and modeling in New York, Chicago and San Francisco gave her a love for the big city, as well. She has also coached gymnastics and taught in a preschool. She enjoys walks on the beach, hikes in the mountains and exploring cities. From a young age she attended church but it wasn’t until her thirties that she really understood the meaning of a faith-filled life. Now living in Portland, Oregon with her college-sweetheart husband, two wonderful children, a rambunctious Australian shepherd and a fat guinea pig, she feels blessed to be able to share her stories and her faith with the world. She loves to hear from readers at P.O. Box 19555, Portland, OR 97280.

## A Sheltering Love. Terri Reed


Do to others as you would have them do to you.

—Luke 6:31

To Robyn, friends forever. Thank you for all the times you listened. For all the times you were there when I needed you.

Thank you to author and retired social worker Delle Jacobs for so patiently answering all my questions. Any mistakes are purely mine.

Thank you to my editor, Diane Dietz, for believing in me and for the wonderful pep talk.

## Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

## Chapter One

Here comes trouble.

Maybe some kids were beyond her help.

Claire Wilcox eyed the two teenage boys sauntering across the grassy park toward the shaded spot where she and fifteen-year-old Mindy were talking. Claire’s gaze zeroed in on the taller, dark-haired boy with scraggly, shoulder-length hair and a thin face. The early April sunlight splintered off the earring dangling in his left ear. In his hands he carried a golden retriever puppy.

Behind the two boys, in sharp contrast, the purity of the majestic snowcapped peak of Mount Hood rose in the distance like a sentry, standing watch over Oregon’s Willamette Valley.

She’d seen the dark-haired boy around town.

Some locals blamed last month’s vandalism at the downtown theater on this kid. She didn’t know his story, but she would soon if the opening of the teen shelter went as planned this coming July.

“Hey, Johnny, catch.” The dark-haired boy suddenly tossed the puppy to his blond companion, who awkwardly caught the small dog.

Claire’s heart pitched. She stalked forward, her hands clenched at her sides. “Hey! Don’t do that!”

Johnny shoved the dog back into the hands of the taller kid.

“Do this?” He tossed the small dog back to his companion.

The puppy yelped and Johnny caught the little fluff ball, then held it at arm’s length by the scruff of the neck. The kid’s gray sweatshirt and faded jeans were dirty, as if he’d rolled or slept on the ground. His gaze darted away from Claire, his face flushing guiltily.

“Tyler, stop it,” Mindy wailed as she moved to the side of the taller kid.

So this was Tyler.

Claire scrutinized the dark-haired boy in his red T-shirt with some rock band’s logo on the front and ripped, dirty jeans. Mindy had said he was nice. He didn’t look nice. He looked downright nasty. The kind of guy she would have fallen for at Mindy’s age. The kind that would give any parent a heart attack.

Not her. She knew better. Everyone deserved a chance.

Claire understood the pain of the rebellious teens she was trying to help. She understood—had experienced the wounds of childhood. Wounds inflicted by those she should have been able to trust.

Teens like Mindy and Tyler stood on the cusp of adulthood, where the choices they made would affect the rest of their lives. By the grace of God, Aunt Denise had stepped in and helped Claire when she’d been at the point of no return. Not every teen was as fortunate.

If only Claire could get through to kids like these. Earning the right to be heard, to be trusted, would take time. Once The Zone officially opened, she hoped to make a difference in their lives. Give them a place to belong, to come to when it became too rough at home.

A safe haven.

But her only concern right now was for the animal.

She flexed her hands and willed herself to stay calm. With as much control as she could muster, she said, “Give me the puppy.”

Tyler snorted and grabbed the puppy back from his friend. “You ain’t the boss of me, lady.”

“No, I’m not. You’re the boss of you. But I don’t think you’re cruel, either, Tyler. Just let the pup go.” Though she’d gentled her tone, anxiety wavered in her voice.

Tyler flipped his unwashed hair over his shoulder as his eyes narrowed. Claire met his challenging gaze dead-on. He wanted attention, wanted someone to trust, somebody to care. Well, she’d show him she cared and that she wasn’t afraid or intimidated by him.

Most people in Pineridge would just as soon lock up these kinds of teens. The “throwaways.” But Claire had different ideas. They needed help and understanding. And she could give that to them.

Tyler dropped his gaze first, affirming to Claire that he just needed some guidance, some boundaries. But when he lifted his gaze back to hers, she sucked in a breath at the malicious intent in his gray eyes.

“You want the dog?” His mouth curled up in a sneer. “Then you catch the dog.”

Tyler flung the puppy upward. Fear clamped a steely hand around Claire’s heart. The dog yelped again, its legs flailing in the air. She lurched forward, her arms outstretched, her hands ready to catch the dog. But she was too far away. Her feet stumbled on a rut in the grass. Her pulse pounded. The teens’ snickering echoed in her ears.

Dear Lord, help!

A shadow crossed her peripheral vision. The air swirled with a rush of heat as a dark shape overtook her, passed her. She skidded to a halt.

A man.

He deftly caught the small pup and cradled the trembling dog against his black leather-clad chest. His big hands gently soothed the puppy with long strokes down its back.

The man was tall, well over six feet, wearing black leather down to his heavy boots. The ebony hair curling at the edge of his collar needed a trim and a few days growth of beard shadowed his square jaw. Tiny brackets edged his mouth and weathered little creases outlined his eyes.

But it was those dark orbs that sent her pulse into shock.

Though he stared down Tyler, she saw the hard glint of rage shining from the fathomless depths of his black eyes.

Tall, dark and dangerous. Nothing but trouble there.

Claire resisted the urge to back away. She’d learned long ago that she was susceptible to the kind of guy that sent good girls scrambling for cover. Claire wasn’t a good girl; she’d done some horrible things in the past. Things she was ashamed of. But she’d turned her life around and wasn’t about to backslide.

Tyler scowled. “Hey, mister, that’s mine.”

“Not anymore.” Anger punctuated the stranger’s words. His accent wasn’t from the Pacific Northwest.

He thrust the butterball of a dog into Claire’s arms. His gaze flicked over her before once again settling on Tyler. Claire shivered at the fury in those impenetrable eyes.

She cuddled the puppy close. Its heart hammered against its little ribs. She met Tyler’s fierce glare. Animosity glowed bright in his eyes. She wasn’t winning any points with the kid. A long, tough road stretched ahead if she wanted to help him. But she was up to the challenge.

“Time for you to leave, little boy,” the man said. A command, not a suggestion.

She groaned into the puppy’s fur. Not the thing to say to a teenage boy who was trying to grow up too fast. Was the man deliberately trying to provoke Tyler? A quick glance at the tall stranger confirmed what she feared. His expression dared Tyler to react.

Tyler’s chin jutted out in a mutinous gesture. “Who’s going to make me?”

The man didn’t move a muscle, didn’t say a word, but the charged silence crackled with suppressed hostility.

He’d have no trouble taking on an undernourished fifteen-year-old, even one with the attitude of Godzilla. Why was the man still so enraged now that the puppy was safe?

Beside her, Mindy shuffled her feet, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Wide-eyed, Tyler’s friend looked between the intimidating man and Tyler. His hunched shoulders and the way he edged away from Tyler told Claire that the blonde would bolt at the first sign of a fight.

The fire in Tyler’s eyes slowly turned to fear as the man stood there waiting, his expression intense and unyielding. She held her breath, hoping Tyler would take heed of his own internal warning system and leave.

He didn’t.

“I’m not going. Not without the dog.” Tyler’s voice quivered slightly.

“You might want to rethink that idea.”

The steely edge in the man’s voice sent a ripple of concern down Claire’s spine. Time for damage control. She couldn’t let this male posturing go any further. Tyler was just a boy trying to survive in the world.

She stepped toward the stranger and laid a hand on his arm. The leather-clad muscles of his forearm bunched beneath her palm and shot little sparks of heat up her arm to settle in the middle of her chest.

Her hand tightened.

For a tense moment she thought the man wouldn’t back down, but then he turned his gaze on her. The burning anger in his eyes slowly drained. Stark, vivid torment filled his expression.

Aching compassion welled within her, making the need to heal, to offer comfort, tangible. She’d seen the haunted expression before, in the faces of teens who’d confronted the unimaginable and survived. But glimpsing the wounded soul of this man made tears sting the back of her eyes.

His eyes widened slightly, giving her the distinct impression that he’d somehow glimpsed her thoughts. Invaded her mind. She blinked rapidly, using her unshed tears as a shield against the threat of this man who twisted her up inside and made her forget to breathe.

Abruptly, he turned away, fixing his attention back on Tyler and giving her a moment to catch her breath. His body language relaxed slightly, giving her the signal that she could remove her hand from his arm. She did, her hand immediately turning cold.

“Go. Just go.” The tired, ancient sound of the man’s voice gave testament to the pain she’d seen in his eyes. “And don’t come back.”

Claire opened her mouth to protest, to say she wanted the teens to come, to know that they’d always be accepted at The Zone. But she met Tyler’s gaze and the words died in her throat.

Hatred gleamed from his gray eyes. He brought his hand up and made a slicing motion across his throat. The stranger stiffened, all semblance of relaxation vanishing.

Tyler curled his lip and backed up. “Come on, let’s blow this dump,” he said, his chin jutting out once again.

Relief showed on the other boy’s face. “Yeah, this is boring.” He didn’t waste time retreating, gaining a large lead on Tyler as he headed west toward one end of the park.

Tyler kept backing up, his gaze darting between the man and Claire. “Mindy, let’s go.”

Claire put a hand on Mindy’s slender arm. “You don’t have to go. I can help you.”

Mindy chewed her lip, her young face pale, scared. Indecision shone in her blue eyes.

“Mindy!” Tyler’s demand made the girl jump.

“Don’t go,” Claire implored.

The puppy squirmed in her grasp and she loosened her hold. Mindy twirled her long, dirty brown hair around a finger, gave Claire an apologetic grimace and scurried after Tyler.

As Tyler’s arm settled around Mindy in a gesture that Claire knew all too well, heaviness descended on Claire’s shoulders. Billy had possessed her like that. Made her his property. She shuddered and repressed the memory. She was never going to allow herself to be that needy again.

“Lord, please protect Mindy,” she murmured the prayer aloud.

Claire snuggled the puppy and turned to thank the stranger, but he’d walked away. His long legs carried him in the opposite direction of the teens, toward the parking lot at the east end of the park. The pocket-size Bible sticking out of his back pocket snagged her attention. Interesting.

She hurried after him, not wanting him to disappear without thanking him. In this day and age, not many people would have come to her aid.

“Hey, wait,” she called.

He paused, glancing over his shoulder. When she caught up to him, he arched a black brow. His expression was less intimidating now, more playful. She swallowed.

Her first impression that he was good-looking had been marred by the anger hardening his features. She realized he was beyond good-looking and sliding straight toward gorgeous. Everything inside went on alert, like the quills of a porcupine sensing danger.

He raised both brows. Heat crept into her cheeks. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“No big deal.”

The soft rumble of his voice vibrated through her, sending tingles along her nerve endings.

He started forward again and she doubled her steps to match his lengthy stride. “But it was a big deal to this little guy…and to me.”

One corner of his mouth kicked upward in an appealing way as he scratched the dog behind the ear. “You two take good care of each other.”

Claire watched that big, strong hand stroke the yellow fur and envy flooded her. It had been a long time since a man had run his fingers through her hair. A long time since she’d allowed anyone close enough to touch her at all. But this was the wrong man to want that from.

She pushed aside her need for physical contact. “Where are you from?”

“That obvious, huh?”

She grinned. “Most Oregonians don’t have an accent.”

Both brows rose again. “Sure you do. You just don’t hear it.”

She pulled her chin in. “Really?”

He laughed and the sound warmed her all over. “Yes, really.”

Bemused that she sounded as different to him as he did to her, she probed, “And you’re from…?”

“Long Island.”

“You’re a long way from home.”

His ebony eyes took on a faraway glaze. “Yes. A long way from home.”

The loneliness in his voice plucked at her. “Where are you staying?”

His gaze came back to her, those dark eyes alight with an unidentifiable emotion. “I’m not.”

Curiosity gripped her. “Where are you headed?”

He shrugged again.

A drifter. A twinge of sadness weaved through her curiosity. Did the pain she’d seen earlier drive him to keep moving, to drift through life? Looking at his tall, lean frame, she wondered when he’d eaten last. The familiar urge to help, to do something, rose within her.

“Could I make you lunch as a way of saying thanks?” She pointed to the gray two-story building at the north end of the park. “I live there.”

He stopped, tilted his head to one side, and studied her. She gave him a smile of encouragement and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. This man with his dark good looks and bad-boy image was just the kind of guy to turn her crank. But she wasn’t going to let her crank be turned again only to be left idling on the side of the road. Her smile stiffened.

“Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk to strangers, let alone invite them in?”

She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She’d heard similar warnings from all the well-meaning people of Pineridge who thought she shouldn’t open her heart and home to the teens.

Granted, this man was far from a teenager. But he posed a threat on so many levels that she would be wise to heed the warning. Wisdom was something she was still working on. “I run a shelter. Inviting strangers in is part of what I do.”

“A shelter?”

“A teen shelter, to be exact.”

“Why?”

She sighed. The infernal question seemed to be at the top of everyone’s list of questions and asked in the same wary, derisive tone, though his held more edge to it. “The stigma of runaway teenagers is that they’re crazy and out of control. But they’re still just kids. Yeah, they’re rough and tough and act horribly at times. But deep down most are scared, confused and need help.”

“But why you?” He seemed genuinely interested.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the unvarnished truth. Why she felt compelled to make him understand was a mystery. So instead she settled for her pat response. “I remember the anxiety and chaos of those teen years. If I can make a difference in someone’s life, I know I was put on this earth for a reason.”

“That’s admirable.”

His compliment pleased her, as did the almost wistful look on his handsome face.

“But woefully misguided.” His expression hardened. “Thank you for the offer, but I should be heading out.”

“Why are you in such a hurry, if you don’t know where you’re headed?”

He leaned toward her, his jet-black eyes probing and his decidedly masculine scent, full of leather and the outdoors, engulfing her senses. “You’re tenacious.”

Her spine stiffened and she lifted her chin. “Persistence is a virtue.”

Amusement danced in his gaze. “Patience is a virtue.”

Her cheeks flamed at being corrected. “I consider both to be virtues.”

That appealing half-grin flashed again. “Both are admirable traits.” His tone dropped to a deep and husky timbre that she found fully alluring. His accent rasped along her skin like a velvet caress. Her knees wobbled and knocked together. “We’ve established you have persistence, but do you have patience?”

Oh, yeah, she had patience. Hard-won and, at the moment, stretched taut.

Every instinct warned her that this man could endanger her vow to be self-sufficient with nothing more than his smile, let alone how his voice lulled her senses, and threatened to impair her judgment. He could make her want to lose herself in those dark eyes with one glance.

She didn’t need or want a man in her life. Never again would she allow herself to be vulnerable to the whims of a guy, to be used and abandoned, forgotten.

She stepped back, needing to put distance between them. She’d offered help. He’d said no. She needed to accept that. Time to stay focused and in control of her own responses.

“Be safe.” Her voice sounded breathless. And she didn’t like it.

This time there was no half-grin, but a full-blown, toe-curling smile that sent her blood zooming. He saluted and then sauntered to a low slung, shiny chrome-and-black motorcycle with the unmistakable winged insignia of a Harley.

He threw one long, lean leg over the seat, looking at home on the bike. He plucked a black, sleek-looking helmet from where it hung on the handlebars and put it on. A second later the bike came to life with a thundering rumble.

“Hey,” she yelled over the noise of the engine and stepped closer.

He gave her a questioning look.

“What’s your name?” She didn’t know why it was important, but she needed to know.

His eyes widened slightly, then a slow smile touched his lips. “Nick.”

His smile made her heart leap. He’d stormed into her life like a knight of old and performed a heroic deed, all the while putting her female senses into overdrive.

He flipped down the visor on the helmet and rolled away. She watched him turn the corner toward downtown Pineridge and then disappear from sight. It was a good thing he’d roared out of her life before she’d lost her head and done something embarrassing like drool.

“Well.” She stood rooted to the ground for a moment as her heart resumed its natural rhythm. She held the puppy up and stared into his sweet little brown eyes. The puppy licked at her face. She laughed and hugged him close. Gwen was going to just love the little guy.

“Well, little Nick, you want to come home with me?”

Nick Andrews couldn’t get the pretty blonde out of his head. The woman’s heart gleamed in her baby blues and every subtle and not-so-subtle expression that had crossed her face.

Oh, she had courage, he’d give her that. Not many women—let alone men—would have stood up to those punks. She cared for those street urchins. But she might as well have worn a sign that said “Heartache Welcome.”

She talked a good game, how they were just kids in need of some help. He didn’t believe it.

Thankfully she wasn’t his problem. No matter how attractive the package or how much he admired her spunk, he had enough to deal with. He wasn’t exposing his heart to the pain of loss again.

He gunned the engine and took the exit out of Pineridge that dropped him onto Interstate 84 headed west toward Portland. As he jockeyed for a position in the traffic, a sharp urge to turn back assaulted him.

He frowned, convinced he was being paranoid.

Yet he couldn’t shake the image of Tyler’s slicing gesture.

Nah, the kid didn’t have the guts to do anything serious. Just throw a defenseless animal around, a tiny voice inside reminded.

Nick’s jaw tightened.

The kid was a bad seed. Nick had seen eyes like that before. The eyes of a killer.

Man, he’d have pulverized that kid in the park, would have gladly exorcised two years of bottled rage on the punk, if the blonde hadn’t restrained him with her gentle touch.

He hadn’t even asked her name.

Not my problem.

But yet…

He wove around a slow-moving truck. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the nagging feeling he should turn back. Serena would have said it was God’s nudging, but God had been quiet two years ago when a nudging could have saved her life.

So why would God start communicating with him now?

Twenty miles ahead the freeway split. He could either take the interstate exit for I-5 North heading toward Washington State and on up to Canada or he could take I-5 South toward California.

He was at a fork in the road, literally. Which way to turn? How far could he go to outrun the past? Where would he find peace? What had he done to deserve such punishment? How could he leave the blonde so unprotected?

“She’s not my problem!” he shouted.

The words swirled around inside his helmet until they were sucked out by the rushing wind.

## Chapter Two

“Here you go, little Nick.” Claire set a plastic bowl full of water on the linoleum floor in the kitchen area. “Nick?”

The puppy had been sniffing around the kitchen floor moments ago. Now the little scamp was out of sight. Claire walked into the open area of The Zone. She looked under the Ping-Pong table that the Jordan family had donated, and behind the brown corduroy sofa she’d found at Goodwill. “Nick, here boy. Where are you?”

She wasn’t equipped to care for a puppy. She needed dog food, a collar and a doghouse. Whew, the list was endless and could be expensive. She shrugged. Whatever was needed, she’d find a way to provide. She couldn’t turn the dog out any more than she could a human.

“Ah, there you are.”

The little fluff ball was snuggled up against a bright yellow beanbag chair. Claire scooped him up and he licked her chin. “Thank you for the kiss. I wonder who you belong to. I’d sure be upset if I’d lost such a cutie.” She snuggled her cheek into his soft fur. She’d have to make flyers and post them around town. Surely Nick’s owners would be looking for him.

And if no one claimed him?

She would keep him.

She carried him back to the kitchen and set him down in front of the bowl. His black nose sniffed at the plastic rim and then, apparently deciding it was okay, he lapped at the water.

“Thirsty boy.” Claire smiled at the ball of fur. Tenderness tightened her chest. She’d never had a dog before. She was excited by the prospect, but her internal monitor quickly warned not to expect to keep him. Somewhere out there were the little guy’s owners.

She found a blanket in the closet under the stairs and made a cozy bed on the floor in the kitchen.

“Here you go, Nick,” she said, picking up the puppy and setting him on the blanket. He walked in a circle, sniffing at the material.

A bump sounded from beyond the wall of the kitchen. Nick paused; his ears perked up. Claire walked to the window over the sink and peered out. Nothing on the grassy yard stretching to the woods that edged the property. She twisted her head, craning to see left, then right. Nothing.

“Probably a squirrel,” she muttered to Nick. “You’ll like chasing those when you’re older.” She wagged a finger at the dog. “I don’t think you’ll ever catch one, but if you do, don’t bring it home. Wherever your home ends up being.”

Nick plopped down in the middle of the makeshift dog bed and rested his head on his paws.

“Look at the size of your paws.” She shook her head. “You’re going to be a big one, aren’t you? Just like your namesake.”

The image of the tall, dark man sitting on his gleaming motorcycle made her flush again. He was the stuff dreams were made of. A modern-day knight coming to the rescue. But she didn’t need to be rescued. She could take care of herself.

What was his story? Where would he end up?

There was something compelling about his dark eyes. She’d seen pain and intelligence, rage and mischief there. The way he’d smiled at her when he’d said his name was enough to make any woman’s knees weak. The man was too handsome. But not in a pretty boy way or even a GQ way. The angle of his nose, the jut of his whiskered chin and the planes of his cheeks could have been sculpted by a master’s hand.

She gave a wry laugh. Well, he had been, you dolt. God had done a nice job on Mister Nick. On the outside to be sure, but on the inside…?

A man who stepped in when he saw trouble was a rarity indeed. A man who carried a Bible with him out in the open even rarer. Was he a man after God’s own heart?

She’d never know. He was long gone now, just a wonderful memory of a guy on a bike who’d offered his help and wanted nothing in return. Definitely a rarity.

A man like Nick would be hard to resist. Good thing she wouldn’t face that temptation again.

With a quick glance to make sure the puppy still slept, Claire headed for her office—a small room located in the front of the house. It was an ideal spot to work and still be able to keep an eye on the main area of The Zone.

The bedrooms were all upstairs and she’d taken the largest of the five bedrooms at the far end of the hall. Gwen’s room was at the top of the stairs while the other three rooms were in various degrees of readiness for taking on more teens. Not that Gwen was a teen any longer. She was a college student now with a part-time job—a far cry from the strung-out, skinny orphan Claire and Aunt Denise had first brought home.

Having Gwen come into their lives solidified Claire’s desire to start a shelter. She’d decided to open it here in Pineridge because no such facility existed in the area.

But there would be soon.

Claire sat at her desk and rummaged through files and notes. There was still so much to do before she could officially open. More government hoops to jump through, the community to convince and teens to build trust with.

And a puppy to care for. She compiled a list of needs for Nick. Just in case she was unsuccessful in finding his owners, she wanted to be prepared. Then she went to work on her plans for The Zone.

The clock ticked by another hour.

The hairs on the back of her neck raised and chills raced down her spine. Something wasn’t right.

The loud shrill of three fire alarms pierced the quiet. Heart pounding with dread, she jumped from the chair and raced into the living room. A gray haze hung in the air, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs.

Fire!

“Nick!”

She raced toward the kitchen. Smoke billowed from beneath the crack in the back door and through the open window over the sink, filling the room with frightening quickness. She heard the puppy whimper, but she couldn’t tell from where.

She dropped to her knees like she’d been told to do in elementary school. She crawled across the floor toward the kitchen. The heavy smoke swirled around, making it difficult to see.

The puppy’s blanket was empty. She crawled out of the kitchen. “Nick!” she called again, taking in smoke. She winced as her lungs spasmed. In the laundry room she found the puppy huddled in a corner, its little body shaking.

“Here, boy.” Claire scooped the pup up and cuddled him close.

Claire crawled toward the front of the house while holding Nick in one hand. She breathed in. Coughed. Her lungs burned. She caught her hand on the leg of a chair and went down on her elbow, her knees scraping on the floor. Nick yelped as she tried to catch herself with the hand that held him.

The smoke became dense, more intense. The front door seemed a mile away. Somewhere in the closet under the stairs was a fire extinguisher. She’d get Nick out, come back for the extinguisher and put out the fire.

She crawled forward again, laboring to breathe. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The puppy whimpered.

“It’ll be okay, Nick. Dear Lord, please let us be okay.”

She coughed, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Her stomach rolled. She paused, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It didn’t. She forced herself to continue on despite the effects of the smoke. Her survival instinct pushed her, urged her to keep crawling away from the source of the smoke.

Her wrist gave out, forcing her weight down hard on her elbow, sending pain up her arm. Her head fell forward to smack against the hardwood floor. Spots of light popped in front of her eyes.

She couldn’t stop, she had to keep going.

Where was the man in black leather when she needed him?

Flames shot from the back of the house.

Nick’s heart slammed against his ribs as he stopped his bike at the bottom of the cement stairs leading to the front door. He set the kickstand and jumped off his bike. He rushed up the porch steps and burst through the front door.

Smoke billowed around him, stinging his eyes. His gaze zeroed in on Blondie crawling toward the door with the puppy clutched to her chest with one hand, while she balanced with the other hand.

She lifted her head, her eyes wide. The puppy squirmed out of her grasp and ran past Nick’s legs and down the steps.

Nick scooped up Blondie and carried her to the front yard where he gently laid her down on the grass. She opened her mouth to say something but coughed instead. He rolled her to her side as she spit out black soot between taking in gulps of air.

Relief surged through Nick. He’d finally given in to the urgent, nagging feeling that he should turn back. And a good thing, too. He patted her shoulder, offering her comfort as his heartbeat began to slow.

“You came back,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

“Yeah,” he acknowledged.

“The puppy?” she rasped, her eyes widening as she sat up and was momentarily gripped with another bout of coughing.

“He ran out. I’m sure he’s fine.”

She raised her gaze to her home. “My building.”

The disappointment and hurt in her voice burned in his gut. This shouldn’t have happened. He knew who was to blame. His fingers curled into a fist. He’d make sure they paid.

Seeing that the blonde was out of danger, he rose. He refused to consider why he felt the need to help her, why her distress tightened a knot in his chest. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He left her on the grass and went around to the back of the building where the smoke seemed to originate. Two garbage cans were on fire directly below an open window as well as the wooden slats of the back porch.

Pillows of black smoke rolled into the kitchen. The flames were licking at the back door and the ceiling of the porch, curling the gray paint and blackening the wood, which crackled and snapped.

Nick skirted around the fire to where a garden hose lay rolled on the ground. The faucet turned easily and water sprayed out. He aimed the spray on the door and porch since that would be where the damage would be most devastating.

Off in the distance the wail of a siren drew close, bringing hope of help. Within minutes firemen bustled about, waving off Nick and his efforts. He dropped the hose and headed back toward where he’d left Blondie.

He spotted her as he came around the corner and his chest tightened more. Grass clung to her hair, streaks of soot marred her creamy complexion and smeared her white blouse and jeans.

Two paramedics were tending to her. Or rather, trying to. She brushed away their attempts to get her into the ambulance. Nick stepped over a fire hose as he approached.

“No, I can’t leave,” she said as she dodged one EMT and snagged the arm of a passing fireman. “Do you know how much damage has been done?” Her voice rasped with the effects of the smoke. A purple goose egg formed on her forehead.

“Not yet, ma’am.”

She dropped her hand away and the fireman continued on, giving Nick a nod as they passed each other.

The worried lines framing her mouth deepened and her eyes were troubled as she turned to face Nick. She closed the distance between them in a rush of steps. “Is everything ruined?”

The anxiety in her voice tore at his heart. He didn’t want to care. He couldn’t. “Hard to tell. The fire department will let you know. You need to go with the paramedics and let them check you out.” He took her elbow and steered her back toward the ambulance.

“I need to find the puppy!” She doubled over, coughing.

He held fast as she tried to pull away from his hold on her elbow. “What you need to do is let them take care of you.”

“But who’s going to take care of things here?” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “I have to be here.”

“Is there someone, a friend, a family member, you could call who could come?”

Two little lines appeared between her dark blond brows. “This place is my responsibility.”

Was she a control freak or did she really not have anyone she trusted to help? What did it matter to him, anyway?

But it did matter. This happened because of him. His interference. He felt responsible for her. For her situation.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll stay—make sure the police and the firemen have everything they need—while you go with the paramedics.”

“You’ll stay?” Big tears filled her eyes. She rapidly blinked them away.

That knot twisted another notch, warning him he was getting too involved. But guilt was a stronger motivator than self-preservation. He owed her a debt because he’d brought this on her.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’ll stay.”

She sagged and allowed him to help her into the ambulance.

“Wait,” she called as he stepped back. “You’ll find the puppy?”

“Sure.”

Her smile held gratitude. “Thanks. His name’s Nick.”

Their gazes held for a moment before the doors of the vehicle closed.

Nick stared after the ambulance. She’d named the puppy after him. Flattered warmth spread through him, heating his face. He was treading water in the deep end.

Not my problem?

He scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Claire sat on the gurney waiting for the emergency-room doctor to return. She swung her bare feet, picked at the cotton hospital gown and tried to ignore the noises from the other exam rooms.

She felt vulnerable and exposed, but mostly she was worried. Worried that everything she’d worked so hard for was ruined.

She chewed her lip, wondering if Big Nick had found Little Nick.

The corner of her mouth lifted at the memory of his expression when she’d told him the pup’s name. He’d looked dumbfounded.

She still could hardly believe God had answered her prayers by bringing Nick back. When he’d come storming into The Zone she’d thought she was dreaming. Dreaming about a dark warrior who used his powers for good, not evil. Like some comic book character, except the strong arms that had held her so tenderly had been very real.

And the concern in his eyes called to her in a way nothing else could. It had been a long time since anyone had shown any real concern for her well-being. Oh, people had shown her kindness, but she often felt it came from obligation to her late aunt’s memory rather than for herself.

The need to belong to someone rose sharply and she squashed it like an irritating fly. She couldn’t allow herself to want anyone, to expect anything from anyone because expectations only led to disappointment.

More likely, Nick wouldn’t stick around as he’d promised. She sternly steeled herself against any pain from hope. She wouldn’t fret over it, wouldn’t let it matter.

She was thankful he’d arrived when he had and that she hadn’t inhaled too much of the smoke. The doctor had said her lungs might hurt for a few days and she’d probably have a headache from smacking her head on the floor, but otherwise she was in good health and could return home. He’d gone off to tell the nurse to discharge her.

But what would she be going home to?

Her stomach twisted. She had a pretty good idea who’d set the fire, but she hadn’t told the police when they’d arrived because she wasn’t a hundred percent certain.

She had to focus on moving forward no matter how much this incident set her back. She’d push through it, as always.

First she had to get back to The Zone. She didn’t have money for a cab with her. She shrugged. She’d walk. She didn’t relish putting on the smoke-scented clothes she’d arrived in, but she’d do what she had to.

The nurse pushed aside the curtain and stepped in. She was tall, African-American and very striking. Her black hair was pulled back into a fancy twist and her smile was kind.

In one hand she held a clipboard and in the other a brown paper bag, which she set on the counter. “The doctor says you can be released. I have a few forms for you to sign.” She handed Claire the clipboard and pen.

Quickly looking over the form, Claire worried her bottom lip. She wasn’t sure how the bill would be paid—if the insurance would cover it or not. She signed where appropriate and handed the clipboard back. She’d deal with the financial stuff later. “Where are my clothes?”

The nurse moved to the counter behind the gurney and picked up a clear plastic bag that contained Claire’s dirty clothes. Wrinkling her nose, she said, “You’re not going to want these anymore.”

She set the bag down again and then grabbed the brown paper bag she’d brought in and handed it to Claire. “Your boyfriend brought you these. When you’re dressed, come on out.”

Claire blinked. Boyfriend? She opened the bag and pulled out her red polo shirt and fresh jeans. Embarrassed heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks.

Someone had gone through her things.

Nick?

A jittery panic hit her stomach like a spray of pebbles. He couldn’t be her boyfriend. Not in a million years. She didn’t need a boyfriend.

But she had to admit it felt good to have someone care.

Anticipation quickened her pulse. She put on the clothes. Finger-combed her matted mop of hair. Then sedately walked out from behind the curtain toward the administration desk.

Her nervous flutters fled, replaced with a melting warmth as Nick unfolded his long, lean frame from a chair and strode to her, reminding her of a dangerous panther stalking its prey.

And to her utter dismay, she realized she wanted to be hunted.

“The doc said you’re okay,” Nick stated by way of greeting as Blondie—Claire, he corrected himself—slowly drew nearer to him.

He’d waited to come until after the fire engines had disappeared and the investigators had finished scouring the area for clues to the arsonist. He’d answered the investigator’s questions and told them what he could about Blondie and the teens.

She’d changed into the clothing he’d brought her. Smudges of soot stood out in stark contrast on her pale face. Her hair poked out in different directions with bits of green grass peeking out here and there. He stifled a smile.

She was adorable, vulnerable and in need of protection.

In need of help from someone other than him.

He’d get her settled safely, then leave.

She blinked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to get you. I didn’t figure you’d have a way back. I hope the clothes are okay. Your roommate, Gwen, picked them out. She was pretty upset but I told her you’d call her as soon as you could. She had to get to work or she’d be here now.”

“Thanks. I’m glad Gwen did the responsible thing and didn’t come here.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How…how bad is the damage to the building?”

Anger flared in his gut at what those punks had done. “The porch is gone. You’ll need a new back door.”

They headed toward the doors of the hospital. “And the puppy?”

He slanted her a glance. “Nick is fine. I found him in the park chasing bees.”

Ducking her head, she chuckled. “I hope you don’t mind that I named him after you. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

He held the door open. “I’m flattered.”

To his amusement, her cheeks turned pink. “I guess I’ll have to call him Little Nick. So I don’t get you two confused.” They walked in silence for a moment before Claire glanced back up at him. “Thanks,” she said.

“For what?”

She stopped and tilted up her heart-shaped face. “I could have died if you hadn’t rescued me.”

The glint of admiration in her baby blues spread through him, making him think of knights, damsels in distress and fire-breathing dragons. Making him feel like a hero.

Stupid.

He was nobody’s hero.

“You were almost to the door,” he said.

“Why did you come back?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He ushered her to the parking lot where he’d parked her little green four-wheel drive Subaru.

“Try me.” Her eyes widened. “Uh, thanks for bringing my car.”

He lifted a shoulder as he unlocked the door and held it open for her. “Gwen gave me the keys—we didn’t think you’d want to ride on the back of the Harley.”

A gleam of longing entered her blue eyes. “Actually, I would have liked that.”

He raised a brow. “Then I’ll take you for a spin before I leave.”

The hunger in her eyes set his blood to racing at full throttle on an open road, then abruptly she shook her head and wariness entered her gaze. “No, no. That wouldn’t be such a good idea.”

She climbed in the car and primly folded her hands in her lap.

Nick shut the door, grateful for the reprieve. The thought of her with him on his bike with her arms wrapped around his waist sent a shiver through him.

Not a good sign.

He wouldn’t allow himself to become attracted, attached or anything else to her.

Gotta keep moving, he warned himself.

## Chapter Three

Driving with Claire down Pineridge’s main street, Nick surveyed the town with a jaundiced eye. Small-town America. He’d passed through so many over the last two years, they tended to blend together.

Redbrick storefronts with large, single pane windows lined both sides of the wide cement sidewalks. Every few stores sported a blue awning over the doorway. Nick barely glanced at the pedestrians moving at a sedate pace from shop to shop, going about their lives. He didn’t want to consider an old man’s frown or a young mother’s smile. Didn’t want to make a connection with anyone.

On both sides of the main street, about ten feet apart, stood a lone birch tree with a small square patch of dirt at its base. Kind of like himself, part of the whole, but separate.

On the west side of the main drag, cars parked between white angled lines. Red bricks indicated the crosswalks instead of painted lines. The street signs were tall, white posts with arrow-shaped slats and street names printed in bold black letters. The white posts rose out of large, round, colorful flowerpots. At each intersection, old-fashioned black metal lamp-posts added charm to an already charming community.

A family sort of town. A place to raise kids, watch summer parades and grow old in. A place he couldn’t easily disappear into. A place where he didn’t belong.

All the buildings were the same height. No high-power skyscrapers here. The perfect place for a woman like Claire, he thought, glancing over at her. Generous and kind. Open and friendly. A big city would eat her alive.

At the far end of town, he turned down the side street that led around the park.

The Zone came into view, a solitary structure flanked by empty lots. A lone police car sat at the curb in front. Nick parked behind the police car. Claire was out and up the cement front stairs before he had opened his door.

As he followed her inside, the puppy barked a greeting and raced to Claire. She bent and scooped him up for a quick hug. “Oh, you sweet little thing. I was so worried about you.”

Nick’s gaze focused on the officer rising from the couch. This guy had been here earlier. His uniform was starched and his badge shined. Not a single strand of hair was out of place. His young, clean-shaven face led Nick to guess the man to be in his early twenties.

The officer gave him an assessing once-over before focusing on Claire. “Good to see you’re okay, Claire.”

Nick didn’t like the way the man said her name with such familiarity. And he didn’t like that he didn’t like it.

At least she didn’t go all moonie-eyed. Not that he cared.

She set the animal back down. “Thanks, Bob. What are you doing here?” Without waiting for his reply, she walked toward the kitchen where most of the damage had been done by water. “Did the fire department say anything? How it started?”

Granting Nick a suspicious glance, Officer Bob walked to where she stood. “The fire started in the garbage cans. Whoever did this probably didn’t expect the building to catch on fire. But it was sloppy work.”

Nick stepped over to the counter and perched on a stool. “It was the teenagers from the park.”

Claire’s glare took him by surprise. “We don’t know that for sure.”

Officer Bob narrowed his gaze. “Which teenager?”

“Like I told the others, I came across two boys harassing Claire this afternoon in the park,” Nick said to the officer, but his gaze was riveted on Claire. He couldn’t figure out why she’d protect them.

Claire’s gaze was direct and pleading. “I didn’t see who did it.”

Officer Bob cleared his throat. “Maybe he did it.”

Nick’s gut clenched. The unfounded accusation rankled worse than a bottomed out stock market.

What a lame, backwater-cop thing to say. Nick stared at the officer. Bob glared at him with more than just suspicion. Jealousy filled his hazel eyes. So that’s how it was, Nick thought. Officer Bob had a thing for Claire.

“That’s ridiculous, Bob. He saved my life.”

“Maybe he set the fire to stage saving you.”

Claire gave Nick a can-you-believe-this look and then rolled her eyes. “Tell him you didn’t do it.”

“I didn’t do it,” Nick stated flatly.

“See, there you go. He didn’t do it.” Claire put the puppy down and then heedlessly splashed through the thin layer of water on the kitchen floor to the sink.

Bob folded his arms across his chest. The stance only emphasized his thinness. “He’s not from here, Claire. What do you know about him, anyway? He could be a serial arsonist, for all you know.”

Nick snorted, gaining himself another glare from Bob.

She filled a bowl with water, her movements efficient and unhurried, then carried the bowl to the living room where she set it on the dry floor for the puppy.

She straightened and leveled a stern look on Bob. “I know he’s from Long Island, that he’s traveling through town, he carries a Bible in his pocket, he stopped to help me when he didn’t have to and his name is Nick. That’s all I need to know.”

Nick blinked, touched that she’d so soundly defend him without really knowing anything more than she did. That she noted his Bible pricked his curiosity about her faith. She was too trusting and way too giving.

She needed a protector.

He wasn’t about to apply for the job, but he had a feeling that old Bob would sure like to.

“I want to see some ID,” Bob snarled at him.

Irritated to be the subject of the officer’s suspicion, but grateful someone was watching out for Claire’s interest, Nick dug his wallet out from the inside of his leather jacket and handed Bob his driver’s license. “Did they find anything useful?”

“That’s privileged information.” Bob shot him a dark look. “I’m going to run this through the computer.” He turned to Claire. “I’ll be right out front if you need me.”

She gave him a bland smile.

As soon as Officer Bob was out the door, Nick asked, “Why didn’t you want him to know about the kids? You could have been killed.”

Images flashed in his mind. The cloth shroud covering Serena’s body. The blood stains on the sidewalk. The headstone at her grave site. His insides twisted with unspent rage.

“We don’t know that they did it,” she defended.

“And we don’t know that they didn’t. Come on, Claire. You know that kid’s likely to do something.”

“You heard Bob. Whoever did it was trying to scare me with some smoke. They weren’t really trying to burn the place down.”

“You could have passed out and suffocated if I hadn’t come back!”

“Might have. And you did come back.”

He shook his head. “You gonna wait until they seriously harm you before you make them take responsibility for their actions?”

“You don’t know that they did it,” she repeated, clearly exasperated and defensive.

“Then let the police prove they didn’t do it.”

“No! I’m not going to accuse someone without proof. If the authorities find clues that implicate them, then so be it. But I won’t help them along.”

“Instead you’re going to wait for those punks to pull something else? Something worse?” Something like what had happened to Serena. He shuddered.

“I can take care of myself.”

He scoffed. “Give me a break. Lady, you’re a disaster waiting to happen.” A disaster he wanted to avoid.

“Excuse me? I don’t think you have any right to say that.”

She was right. Nick stared at her. When had he lost his mind?

When he’d come within an inch of throttling a punk over a puppy and started this whole mess. He should be halfway to somewhere else by now, not here arguing with Blondie.

But the woman was intent on putting herself at risk. Responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders, dragging him under.

What he wouldn’t give for a life preserver right about now.

Pulsing with annoyance, Claire planted her hands on her hips and glared at Nick. “I have done perfectly well before you rolled into my life, thank you very much.”

He spread his hands wide in a gesture of entreaty. “Hey, just stating the obvious. I’ve known you less than twelve hours and I’ve saved your bacon twice. Facts speak for themselves.”

“My life is not a disaster.”

“Ho!” Nick held up a hand, palm facing out. “I didn’t say your life’s a disaster. I don’t know anything about your life. I’m just saying people will take advantage of you if you’re not careful.”

His words hit her like a slap upside the head. She’d been taken advantage of before. Billy had taken advantage. Used her. Squeezed her dry and then abandoned her without a second’s hesitation.

But she was to blame for allowing him into her life, her heart. For needing him.

Well, she knew better now. She didn’t need anyone. Certainly not a tall hunk with a blinding smile who threatened her resolve without even trying.

She had to send him on his way. Now. “Look, I appreciate your help. I thank God you were here, but feel free to go. I’m going to be fine.”

“You won’t be safe until the police find out who did this. What if next time Gwen’s here? You willing to put her life in jeopardy, too?”

She frowned, hating the tremor of fear sliding along her limbs. As long as Gwen was under her roof, she was responsible to keep her safe, as well. “You’re right. I’ll mention to Bob that maybe Tyler might know something about the fire.”

He gave her an odd look. “You and Bob an item?”

She pulled in her chin. “No. Not even. We’ve known each other since high school. His family lived next door to my aunt Denise. He’s not my type, anyway.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. Her pulse did a little two-step.

“What is your type?” he asked.

Mysterious, gorgeous, a heartbreaker. Like you. The thought sent ribbons of heat winding through her bloodstream, warming her face. “I don’t have a type,” she stated firmly and spun away.

She walked to the back door where charred wood and curled paint spoke volumes. It could have been so much worse. A wave of helplessness hit her, threatening to overwhelm her. This was going to set her back both financially and time-wise.

She squared her shoulders. Somehow she’d manage. She always did with God’s help. She didn’t—wouldn’t—need anyone else.

“It’s really not as bad as it looks,” Nick said.

She turned to see him rising from the stool. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing a black T-shirt stretched taut over wide shoulders and well-defined muscles. His boots squished through the grimy water on the kitchen linoleum as he approached.

His tanned face bore traces of the sooty smoke that burned in her lungs. That explained why she was breathless. From inhaling too much smoke.

He stopped next to her, his attention on the wall. “Mop up the water. Replace a few boards. Sand and paint. It’ll look good as new.”

She sighed. If only it were that easy. “Did I thank you for saving me?”

Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “You did.”

“Good. You should leave now.”

He widened his stance. “You trying to get rid of me?”

She blinked. “Yeah, I am.” She had to for her own sake. “This isn’t your problem and I’m not your responsibility,” she said, her tone harsh.

A flash of something—hurt, maybe?—made his eyes seem impossibly darker. “That’s what you really want?”

It wasn’t. She felt safe with him around. Liked having him around. Which was exactly why he had to go.

“Yes, it’s what I want.”

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, tense and hard. His face became a mask of granite, the angles and planes unyielding. “And if I refuse?”

She swallowed and winced at the painful reminder of what had happened. She didn’t have the strength to physically make him leave and she didn’t know if she could find the strength again to ask him to leave. Not when all she really wanted was to have him hold her. To feel those strong arms around her. To have him tell her everything would be okay. To save her again if she needed it.

Weak.

“I can only hope you’ll be a gentleman.”

His mouth twisted into a harsh smile.

The front door to The Zone opened and Bob walked back in. He scowled as his gaze jumped from her to Nick and back. “You okay?”

Thankful for the distraction from this confrontation with Nick, she turned and smiled. “Yes, Bob,” she said patiently.

She knew Bob was trying to be helpful—to show his concern for her—but it felt more like he was trying to control her.

“Mr. Andrews.” He handed Nick’s license back to him. “When are you moving on?”

Nick leaned against the counter. “When I’m sure Claire’s safe.”

Bob’s scowl deepened. “I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“Excuse me.” Claire waved her hands to get their attention. “I’m right here, remember, and I don’t need either one of you to keep me safe.”

“Until we apprehend who did this, you sure do.” Bob gestured toward the burned wall. “We don’t know they won’t come back.”

“On that we agree,” Nick chimed, giving her a pointed look.

She blew out a sharp breath. She’d promised. “You might talk with a boy named Tyler. He could know something.”

Bob pinned her with an intent stare. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

A knock drew Claire’s attention. She left the two men and their meddling to open the front door. Surprised, she smiled at the brunette standing on the other side. “Hi, Lori. What—”

“I heard what happened. Are you okay? Rumor has it a handsome man rescued you.” Lori Pearson, who she knew from church, peered over Claire’s shoulder. “Is he in there? With Bob?” Lori’s smile brightened considerably. “You poor thing. Two men.”

Claire laughed with wry amusement. “It’s good to see you. Please, come in.” She stepped back so Lori could enter.

Lori paused. “You sure you’re okay?” Genuine concern shimmered in her dark green eyes.

Flustered, Claire smiled. “Yes. I’m fine.”

She didn’t know Lori well enough to confide in her. To tell her that she was all jumbled up inside from her feelings about Nick and the fire.

She and Lori had met at a church gathering over a year ago. Lori seemed to find everything amusing. Claire enjoyed Lori’s outgoing personality and positive view on life. Though at times Claire felt crowded by Lori.

Claire started to shut the door behind Lori when she heard her name. Peggy and Steve Jordan, followed by their three kids, thirteen-year-old Nathan, twelve-year-old Lisa and the youngest, at six, Matthew, hurried up the walkway.

Peggy came up the stairs looking fresh in rust-colored denims and a colorful peasant-style top with bell sleeves. Her waist-length chestnut hair was held back with a clip. She pulled Claire into a quick hug.

“I couldn’t believe it when I heard what happened.” She held Claire at arm’s length, inspecting her. “You’re not burned or anything?”

The display of affection pleased her. Claire stepped back. “No, I’m good.”

Steve patted her shoulder. “If you need anything at all, you let us know.” He was a big man with large muscles and a kind smile.

“Thank you.” Claire moved aside so they could enter.

Nathan, as tall as his mother, ducked past her without a word. Lisa gave her a shy smile, and Matthew stared at her for a moment with his round green eyes and sweet expression. “You have grass in your hair,” he declared before following his family.

Claire reached up and ran her fingers through her hair, mortified to imagine how she must look. She shut the door and took two steps when there was another knock. She quickly opened the door to find her aunt’s best friend, Sandy Wellington and her husband, Dave.

“Hello, Sandy, Dave.”

Sandy grasped her hand. Her short dark, graying hair curled becomingly to frame her round face. “Dear, we came to see that you’re all right.”

Dave stepped over the threshold. His silver hair was swept away from his forehead and he wore dark slacks and a blue oxford button-down shirt. “Sandy was beside herself when we heard the news.”

“I’m okay. Really.” She could see the doubt in Sandy’s blue eyes. Claire smiled reassuringly. “Please, come in.”

The Wellingtons were kind and thoughtful people. They had also been instrumental in helping Claire on the way to realizing her dream of The Zone.

She took a quick peek outside to make sure there weren’t any other visitors before shutting the door.

The women and children had congregated at the edge of the kitchen, while the men had ignored the water to inspect the damage. Peggy Jordan shooed her children away, instructing them to go busy themselves. The oldest two went to the Ping-Pong table while Matthew sat in a beanbag chair to play with the puppy.

Claire’s gaze landed on Nick. He leaned casually against the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. Lori stood close by, smiling up at him. Something unfamiliar twisted in Claire’s chest.

She started forward, trying to discern what she felt. The corner of Nick’s mouth lifted at something Lori said. Claire’s steps faltered. She realized with sickening clarity that she was jealous.

Nick only half-listened to the animated brunette in the pink blouse. His attention kept straying to Claire. Every time someone new entered, she acted as if she were unaccustomed to people caring about her, worrying over her. Why in the world wouldn’t they? It was obvious these people were fond of her.

The Jordan family was friendly and he’d appreciated the way Steve had assessed him and then greeted him with a firm handshake. Mr. Wellington was honest in his wariness, had asked point-blank what his intentions were toward Claire, as if he were her father or favorite uncle.

He respected the man’s forthrightness and had answered truthfully that he was passing through and had no designs on Claire—only that he wanted to make sure she was safe before he headed out again. His honesty had earned him a quick nod of approval and a pleased smile from Mrs. Wellington before they moved on to look at the damage with Officer Bob, who acted the tour guide.

The brunette—Lori, was it?—said something mildly amusing and he gave an obligatory smile. She put her hand on his arm, her fingers cool and inviting. He shifted out of her reach but smiled again to soften the rejection to her obvious interest. She was Claire’s friend, after all. “How long have you known Claire?”

Lori sighed, clearly getting his hint. “For a while now.” Her gaze turned speculative. “She’s a hard person to get to know. Lots of walls up.”

Nick raised a brow. He didn’t see walls. He saw lots of open doors that invited trouble. He saw a woman protecting a puppy, protecting kids. “She seems pretty outgoing to me.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. She’s definitely not the shy and retiring type. She’s very sweet and giving, it’s…” She pursued her lips in thought. “She doesn’t talk much about herself. More concerned about others. Which is something I don’t encounter often in my line of work.”

“And what line of work would that be.”

“I’m a hairdresser. Cheaper than a psychologist and you get nice hair.”

He smirked and glanced at Claire. She looked tired, but her smile came quickly as she talked with the children before moving to where the adults had gathered in the kitchen. Mrs. Wellington had found a mop and was sopping up the waterlogged floor. Claire frowned before she bustled in and herded everyone into the living room. Then she traipsed right back into the kitchen, grabbed some sodas out of the refrigerator and began handing them out.

Not only did she need a protector, she needed a keeper. Someone to carry part of the burden she insisted on taking. He rolled his suddenly tense shoulders.

No way should that person be him.

## Chapter Four

“Claire, dear. Stop fussing. We should be the ones serving you.” Sandy took the soda cans from Claire’s hands and put them on the counter.

“Thank you.” Claire allowed Sandy to steer her away from the kitchen.

“You need rest. There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“But I really need to make some calls. Find out how soon someone can come to fix this mess,” Claire protested.

Lori stepped up to flank her on the other side. “I can make your calls for you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Lori. But no.” Claire’s gaze darted between the two well-meaning women. “Really, you two. I can take care of things myself. I prefer it this way.”

Lori shook her head, her brown hair swishing softly. “See. I told you,” she addressed Nick. “Walls.”

Claire’s cheeks flamed. They’d been talking about her?

A soft, affable smile played at the corners of his mouth. His gaze traveled over her face, searched her eyes. She could feel the magnetism that made him so self-assured, so compelling. She blinked and quickly looked away before she succumbed to the pull he had on her.

“Lori, be nice,” Sandy admonished gently, then she turned back to Claire. “What can we do to help you?”

Claire shook her head. “I don’t know. Nothing at the moment, but if I think of something, I’ll let you know.”

Sandy frowned. “You really don’t have to do everything on your own.”

But she did. She couldn’t rely on anyone. Wouldn’t allow herself to. As long as she didn’t have expectations of others, she wouldn’t be disappointed.

Of course, she couldn’t voice that thought, she didn’t want to hurt their feelings. So instead she smiled politely and changed the subject. “How are Allie and Garrett? Will they be coming to visit soon?” Allie and Garrett were the Wellington’s fraternal twins. They’d gone off to college last fall.

Sandy patted her arm with a knowing sigh. “Yes, they will be here this summer. I have an idea. Why don’t you come home with us? You could stay in Allie’s old room.”

Claire dropped her chin. “Oh, no. I couldn’t impose.”

“It wouldn’t be an imposition at all,” Dave said as he stepped to his wife’s side.

“Or you could come to our house,” offered Peggy, as she and Steve joined the circle around Claire.

“That’s sweet, but really…” she trailed off as panic flared. Things were spinning out of her control. Everyone meant well but she didn’t want to need them. Didn’t want to have to rely on anyone for anything.

Bob came around the group and stood beside Nick. The two men were so different.

Bob was good-looking, with his light brown hair and wiry build, in a very boy-next-door kind of way that appealed to some women. Not her, though. He was nice enough and they got along okay. He’d asked her out on several occasions over the years, but friendship was as far as their relationship could go. He just didn’t do it for her.

She preferred Nick’s near-black hair, dark eyes and towering muscular frame. His cool and dangerous demeanor appealed to her, making her pulse race and her brain sound alarms. He was the kind of man she didn’t need in her life.

“You can’t stay here alone.” Bob pinned her with his hazel eyes.

Claire ground her back teeth at his high-handed tone. “I’m not alone. Gwen lives here, too.”

Sandy piped up. “She can come to my house, too.”

“Or she can stay with me,” Lori offered.

Everyone started talking at once. Only Nick remained silent, his black eyes watchful. Her gaze slid away from him as she tried to reason with the people who were intent on arranging her life. She hated when people tried to arrange her life.

“Excuse me, everyone,” Nick’s voice, though low, rose above the chatter, effectively cutting off the noise. “Claire’s been through a rough ordeal today. I’m sure she could use some time and space.”

Surprised by his understanding, Claire’s eyes widened.

“Of course.” Peggy took her hand. “You let us know what we can do to help.”

“I will. I promise.” Claire’s heart squeezed slightly at the woman’s offer of help and friendship.

“Okay, kids, let’s head out,” Steve said as he took the puppy from Matthew and set him on the living room floor. He led his family out of The Zone.

Before they headed to the door, Sandy and Dave elicited a promise from Claire to call if she needed anything. Nick walked out with them.

Claire watched his retreating back with a frown and fought the ridiculous urge to cry. She’d asked him to leave, but she’d thought he’d at least say goodbye. There she went again—expecting something, only to feel hurt and rejected.

Would she ever learn?

Lori leaned in close, her gaze on Nick as well, and whispered, “He’s certainly a prize worth holding on to.”

Claire shook her head, feeling suddenly very tired. “You’re too much the romantic,” she whispered back.

Lori’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Bob, will you walk me to the shop?”

He looked surprised. “Why?”

“Because I asked you to, you big lug.” Lori rolled her eyes. “Men.” Then to Claire she said, “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

She held up a hand as Claire opened her mouth to protest. “I know, but I’m coming, anyway.” She wrinkled her straight nose. “It smells ghastly in here.”

“I’ll light some scented candles,” Claire said.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” Bob said, his expression hard, concerned.

She tried for patience. “You sound like a broken record. This is my home. I’m not leaving. Besides, the damage is mainly outside. The water’s only on the first floor and contained in the kitchen. I’ll be fine.”

“You are so stubborn.” Exasperation echoed in his voice.

“Okay, time for us to go,” Lori declared, linking her arm through Bob’s. She gave Claire a meaningful look. “I’ll talk with you later.”

Too weary to argue, Claire nodded. “Fine.”

Lori led a reluctant Bob out, leaving Claire alone.

Her lungs hurt and her throat felt like sandpaper. The place did smell and it looked horrible—all black and charred on the back wall around the door. But it was her place. The only thing she possessed worth anything. And someone had tried to wreck it. She blew out an angry breath. She wasn’t about to let anyone destroy her dream.

A wet tickle at her ankle reminded her she now had one other possession. She bent and scratched behind Little Nick’s ears. “Hope you don’t mind that it’s just you and me, little guy.”

She straightened and moved toward the stairs when the front door opened and Nick walked back in.

A surge of happiness tore through her, catching her off guard. She trampled down the giddy pleasure. “I thought you left.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” His expression was unreadable but there was a tension in his body she hadn’t noticed before.

“No. No disappointment. I’m glad to see you. I mean…I wanted to say goodbye.”

“I came to get my jacket.” He strode past her to where his leather jacket lay on the stool by the counter.

“Oh.” A bubble of disappointment popped in her chest. He hadn’t come to see her or to say goodbye.

He slipped the jacket on and crossed the room to stand a few feet from her. “I hear you might have a room to rent.”

“You know of a teen in trouble?”

He gave her a sharp look. “I’d intended to stay awhile wherever I stopped this evening. My bike needs a tune-up. And now that it’s getting late, I might as well stay in Pineridge. Steve recommended a mechanic a few blocks away.”

Her heart pounded in her ears. He wanted to stay here? “That’s not a good idea.”

One side of his mouth curled up into a lopsided grin. “You’d be doing me a favor. And I could pay you by doing the work to repair the back of the building. That way you don’t have to put any money out on expensive contractors and I can have a roof over my head. It would sure beat sleeping on the ground.”

“There are hotels downtown. And a Motel 6 on the outskirts, just as you come off the freeway.”

He shook his head. “I’ll take my bedroll to the park.”

“You can’t do that. You’ll get arrested.”

“Your front grass will do.”

“No. That’s ridiculous.”

Claire worried her lip, conflicted. On one hand she didn’t like the idea of anyone invading her space. And he would definitely be an invader. But wasn’t that the point of The Zone, to rent the rooms so kids wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground? That was why Gwen lived with her, because she had nowhere else to go.

Nick wasn’t a teen, but he obviously needed a place to stay for awhile. And apparently couldn’t afford a hotel. She couldn’t turn him out. She could only imagine the cost to his pride to have to ask for help. She knew her own pride held her back from asking anybody for assistance.

Yet, she couldn’t shake a strong suspicion that somehow this was all just a ruse concocted to keep her under his protection. Why did he suddenly need his bike tuned up? You’re being paranoid, she told herself.

Nick interrupted her thoughts. “I won’t get in your way.”

Heat crept up her neck. She was taking an awful long time to answer his question. Stalling, she asked, “You could fix the wall and the porch?”

“Yes. I’ve done carpentry work in the past.”

Having him take care of the repairs would save her time and money. He was offering to work in exchange for room and board.

He needed a place to stay. She had it to give. Even though it wasn’t a fair exchange. He would work harder than the rent she could charge. “I have a room. But I insist you let me pay you a small wage for the work.”

He frowned. “Not necessary.”

“It is to me.” She wouldn’t be a charity case. She’d use the money in the building fund for his wage, and insurance, she hoped, would pay for the repairs.

He considered her for a moment. “Okay. Deal.”

He held out his hand. She slipped her smaller one into his. Warmth spread up her arm and wrapped around her senses. Looking in to his dark, commanding eyes, she felt the force of his attraction drawing her in. She sent up a silent prayer for strength to resist such a glaring temptation.

She was determined not to end up paying with her heart.

The strain of the day settled in Nick’s neck as he lugged his saddlebag into The Zone. He’d taken his bike to the mechanic, a nice guy with an obvious love of Harleys. Nick had walked back to find Claire nowhere in sight and the front door unlocked.