When It's Right (7 page)

“Do you regret it?”

She reached the top of the stairs and stared at Justin jumping on the bed in his room to the right. The smile on his face was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes. “Not a single moment. Look at him. He's happy. I could have kept him and taken off and started over. It would have been hard, because I don't have anything. What little was left in the apartment I pawned or left. I brought him here because I want him to have a chance at a normal childhood. I want him to have that, and I will do anything to make that happen.”

“What about you, what do you want, Gillian?”

The intensity in his gaze said her answer mattered. For the life of her, she had no idea. Up to this point, she'd just been surviving and keeping Justin safe. She looked up at Blake, and although he was too close, she shrugged. She didn't step back and found that she didn't feel the need. That was something new.

Dee ran the water for Justin's bath in the bathroom across the hall. The smell of vanilla and peaches bubblebath floated out on the air. Dee came to the door, a soft smile on her face as sweet as the fruity smell.

“Your room is there. Go see if you like it. We'll fix Justin's room to suit him. I made up yours, but if there's something you need, just let me know.”

Gillian walked into the room and stopped short. It looked like something from a magazine. The walls were a soft, pale green with white curtains across the tops of the windows. Pictures of antique water pitchers filled with spring flowers hung on the walls. French doors led out to a small deck area with a turquoise café table and chairs. A walkway connected with the apartment above the garage and served as a cover for the first-­floor walkway that led to the garage and the stairs up to the second floor. She liked the design.

The room smelled of the lemon oil and beeswax Dee used to polish the wood dresser and night table. A cream bedspread with tiny pink roses embroidered into the material covered the queen-­size bed. So very lovely, it looked soft and inviting. A green glass vase filled to overflowing with flowers from the garden sat on the bedside table. The flowers and the pretty bedspread that Dee had chosen touched Gillian's soul. No one had ever done something so nice for her in her whole life. No one had given her pretty things just to make her happy.

She put her hand to her mouth to stop the sob that squeezed her throat tight and threatened to escape.

Dee and Blake exchanged a concerned look. Blake raised his shoulders, letting Dee know he didn't know what was wrong.

“If you don't like the room, we can change whatever you don't like. I can put you in with Justin if you'd rather be with him.”

Her grandfather walked in through the adjoining door. “Gillian, we can fix whatever's wrong. Just tell us,” he coaxed.

She stood in the middle of the room, staring at the bed and night table, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “Stop. Just stop. Stop being nice. I don't have any defenses for nice. It's too much,” she said and looked from her grandfather to Dee. “Please stop.” She turned to Blake and hoped he'd understand. Someone had to understand. “She polished the furniture. She put a pretty blanket on the bed. She put flowers in my room.” She couldn't hide the misery in her voice. “Don't you see? You can't do this to me.”

Justin snuck past their grandfather and came to her. He wrapped his arms around her leg and held tight. “Do we have to go now?”

Blake came forward and kneeled in front of Justin. “Your sister is very tired. She's in a lot of pain. She hasn't quite accepted that we want to be nice to her.”

“Ron used to smile. It wasn't a nice smile. It usually meant that I had to hide, and then he'd yell at Gillian. Sometimes he hit her,” he said as if Gillian wasn't standing right there.

Blake looked up at Gillian's devastated face, her eyes filled with anguish. Everyone had a breaking point. She'd reached hers. That she took a deep breath and pressed on made him all the more proud of her.

“Your sister is just now figuring out that not everyone wants to hurt her,” Blake said as he looked up and met Gillian's steady gaze. No tears, just a sense of utter defeat. They'd overwhelmed her with kindness, and she didn't know how to deal with it. “Can you get yourself into that awesome bubble bath by yourself?”

“Yeah. I take a bath alone. She just checks on me to make sure I'm okay.”

“Great, why don't you go get in, and I'll check on you in a minute. Okay?”

Justin went into the bathroom across the hall and closed the door, leaving it open a crack.

Dee stepped forward and stood beside Blake when he rose to his feet again. “Bud and I will go in the other room and turn down the bed for Justin. I'll find him a spare set of clothes. I'll put his things in the drawers. Would that be all right?”

At Gillian's nod, Dee and Bud left through the adjoining door, closing it behind them.

Blake remained only a ­couple feet from her, the closest she'd allowed him so far. “You're going to feel better in the morning.”

Gillian let out a deep sigh and frowned. “I'm going to feel like an idiot in the morning. She did all this for me, and I was nothing but an ungrateful shrew.”

“No, you weren't. You showed her that the effort she put into making you welcome here was worth it, because you appreciate that she made the room nice for you. You could have walked in and said, ‘Yeah, it's fine.' Lots of ­people just look at the surface. You saw the details. You saw the love she put into this room for you, and it scared you half to death because for the first time you see that someone wants you. They want you here. I want you here. You may not want to hear that, but there it is.”

He gave her a minute to absorb that, then he pointed out the French doors. “I spend my evenings in the office above the garage. See that house over there.” He pointed to his place across a field. “I've lived here the last five years. I've known your grandparents since I was a kid. They're friends with my parents and like a second set of parents to me. They're family. Dee feeds me.” He shrugged and cocked up one side of his mouth in a half grin.

“I've got some leftover pain meds at my place from when I hurt my shoulder,” he continued. “They won't cut the pain you're in by much, but they'll take the edge off. I'll take you into town tomorrow to the drugstore, and we'll get you a new prescription for whatever you need.”

“Um, wait,” she said, stopping him before he went out the door. “Ah, the cuts on my back . . . do you have any antibiotic ointment I can put on them?”

“Did your stuff go into the fire?”

“Yeah.” She spoke to his boots.

He stared at the top of her head, fighting the urge to brush his hand down her hair and reassure her that everything was going to be fine. The set of her shoulders and the rigid way she held her body told him she wouldn't believe him. She was done. She needed to be in bed and get a solid three days' sleep before she felt better. Too bad she wouldn't be curled up next to him. It was a nice thought, but she had “Hands Off,” “Stay Back, and “No Trespassing” stamped all over her.

“Just give me a minute. Okay?”

When she nodded, he left through the doors and walked across the deck to the office stairs to run over to his place. He was back in a matter of minutes with the pills and a bottle of water.

She glanced up. “Why are you doing all this? You could have gone home.”

He made a show of looking out at his place not so far away. “I'm basically home.”

“You know what I mean. You don't need to be here dealing with me.”

“I don't do anything I don't want to do.” It was the truth. He wanted to be here with her.

“Yes, poor Gillian. She's all beat up.”

He should have known she wouldn't believe him. “No. That should be,
Poor Gillian, she's tired and hurt and deserves a break. If she'd stop being stubborn and accept a little help, she might feel better
.”

“Pity.” Gillian spat the word out like it tasted as bad as the thought.

“No one could pity you, Gillian. You've got guts and strength and a will and determination anyone would admire. I do. When I look at you I see—­”

“A dozen bruises, a broken arm, a sprained wrist and knee, and a baker's dozen stitched-­up glass cuts,” she said sarcastically.

“I see,” he went on, ignoring her interruption, “a woman with enough guts to take on raising a newborn baby. I see a woman who worked her ass off to graduate high school and work a part-­time job at whatever she had to in order to feed and clothe her brother. I see a woman who thinks about a little boy's welfare in exclusion to her own. I see a woman who is fearless and took on a drugged-­out man with a gun in order to prevent him from hurting or killing a defenseless little boy. I see a woman who is fearless enough to put herself in the path of that man over and over again to spare her brother. I see a woman who is fearless enough to come to a new state, to a family member that she isn't sure will be decent to her, because she wants her brother to have a normal childhood, and she's hoping this is his shot. I see a woman who has enough guts to stick it out and see if it works, and who knows that if she has to turn around and leave, she'll do everything in her power to give that little boy that normal childhood even if it kills her. Pity,” he said distastefully. “I don't pity you. I have an overabundance of respect and admiration for you.”

She sat on the edge of the bed with her arms wrapped around her middle. He wanted to reach out and brush his hand over her hair and watch the colors change as the strands caught the light.

Offer up the comfort she didn't want, and he shouldn't give.

“I know you're tired and not strong enough right now to keep all your defenses up, so I'll forget that you could possibly think I pity you. I'll go check on Justin.” Water splashed in the other room, and what sounded like bombs went off every few seconds. “It sounds like he's having a good time. Take the pills and unpack. You can take a shower and go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning.” Blake left her room.

She felt like a fool. She thought about what he'd said. It wasn't so much the words as the way he said them. He truly respected her and what she'd done to keep Justin safe and raise him the best she could. No one had ever acknowledged her in that way.

She'd never met a man like Blake. He had a way of getting past all her defenses and speaking right to her heart. He was dangerous in a whole new way. A very dangerous man, indeed.

 

Chapter 9

T
wo hours after he left the main house, Blake stared at the dark ceiling from the sofa in the office above the garage. He couldn't bring himself to go home. Too far away from Gillian her first night here. Some irrational part of his mind made him believe she might need him, despite the fact that she maintained a six-­foot personal-­space bubble around her. After the way she reacted to the room Dee made up for her, he didn't want anything else to upset her, but he wanted to be close if something did.

Like a nightmare about killing her father. How did she feel about killing the bastard? Did it haunt her?

The rage he'd been holding back since he'd seen her bruised and broken body wanted to surface and explode. He wanted to punch Ron and make him feel as bad as Gillian looked and felt. Ron was dead, but if he wasn't, Blake would hunt him down. He wouldn't stop until he found him and made him pay for what he'd done to her. Not just for her physical injuries but the torture he'd made her endure all her young life.

Blake couldn't conceive of how a person could hurt another like that. That Gillian had been physically and emotionally abused her whole life made him sick. She could have turned out mean and bitter. She could have turned her back on Justin and the responsibility of taking care of him.

She could have, but she didn't have it in her to give up. The word “quit” wasn't in her vocabulary.

Under her strength and determination was an underlying kindness and love. It shined through every time she looked at Justin and cared for him with infinite patience and gentleness. Blake hoped one day soon she found an inner peace and learned to smile again. He'd really like to see her smile.

Blake kept his promise and checked on Justin in the bath. The fading bruises on his arms and back sickened Blake. Ron had gotten in a few licks before Gillian had stepped in and stopped him. Permanently.

Blake had watched Gillian with Justin. She adored the little boy. She'd given him some medicine to bring down his fever and tucked the sleepy child into his own bed, where she'd kissed him goodnight. Justin had hugged her tight and hadn't let go for a good long minute. Gillian had given him all the time he'd needed, despite how much it must have hurt her back to bend over like that.

Justin's piercing scream broke the quiet night. Blake jumped up from the couch barefoot and bare-­chested, and he ran for the door.

The scream woke
her with a jolt. Gillian should have known better than to let Justin sleep alone in a strange place. He wasn't feeling well, and suffered nightmares ever since the night of the attack.

She rolled to her side, planted her hand on the mattress, and pushed herself up sideways, ignoring the pain in her back and leg. She swung her braced leg off the bed and hobbled into Justin's room. He thrashed in the covers, trying to run, and whimpered. The sad sound broke her heart. She touched her hand to his cheek and called his name. “Justin.” He woke with a start, eyes wide, and launched himself out of bed and into her arms. She caught him, but it cost her.

“That's it, now. You're fine. You're safe, baby.”

Justin sobbed and held on tight around her neck. She rubbed his back with her fingertips and rocked side to side with her hips. Blake rushed toward her from her room, and her grandfather came in from the hall, letting the light spill into Justin's dark room.

“He's fine,” she said to both worried men. “He's just fine. It was just a bad dream,” she crooned softly and ran her fingers through Justin's sweaty hair. “Just a bad dream that's all over now.”

“It was him. His eyes. He picked me up off the couch and threw me to the floor.”

“Shh. Baby, you're okay. He can't hurt you anymore. No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

Justin sobbed harder. “He punched you. You fell, and he kicked you in the stomach.”

She fell back onto the bed and sat with Justin in her lap, with his legs wrapped around her. She pulled him back and held his face in her hands so his tear-­filled eyes gazed into hers.

“I'm fine, honey. Look at me. I'm fine. He can't hurt us anymore.”

Justin sobbed harder. “You aren't fine. You don't look fine.” He put his hand to her swollen eye and touched it softly. Then he traced his fingers along the bruise on her jaw.

“They'll go away. They look better now than before. Right?”

The tears faded and he nodded. She brushed her fingers through the sides of his hair and wiped his tears from his red cheeks. Dee came in and gave her a warm washcloth. She took it and wiped his face and neck. His fever was back and most of the cause for the nightmare.

Dee handed over a tissue, and Gillian helped Justin blow his nose. Justin lay on her shoulder while she rubbed his back. His little body trembled against hers. Dee sat on the bed beside her and brushed her hand over Justin's head. Touched, Gillian smiled.

“I'll go get his medicine. He's on fire. We might need to call the fire department,” she teased.

Justin's cheek scrunched on Gillian's shoulder when he smiled at Dee, and Gillian's heart felt lighter.

“Thank you.” She glanced at her grandfather and Blake. “He's okay now.” She couldn't help but take a second look at Blake, with his hair disheveled and his wide chest bare. The man looked rumpled and gorgeous. She felt like someone stuck her in the middle with a hot poker and the fire spread from there to encompass her whole body and throb low in her gut. He should register those biceps as a lethal weapon. All that strength, yet he stared down at Justin with such warmth and sympathy.

Did the man have to look so damn good in the middle of the night? More than the expanse of muscles rippling over his chest and belly, it was that damn hair of his that made her want to touch him. It looked like he'd run his fingers through it half a dozen times. She wanted to push her fingers through the thick mass and grab a handful and let the softness of it glide through her fingers.

She tore her focus from the half-­naked man and tried to remember Justin needed her—­she didn't need Blake.

“Justin. Look at me. You are safe here. Look, Grandpa and Blake came running when they heard you needed help. They won't let anything happen to you.”

Gillian caught the startled look on her grandfather's face when she called him “Grandpa.” Maybe like her, he was settling into it. She hadn't quite made up her mind completely about him, this place, or the too-­handsome-­for-­his-­own-­good Blake. She gave both men a stern look, making sure they understood they better not make a liar out of her. Both of them gave her a reassuring nod they understood her silent message.

Justin turned to Blake and his grandfather. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

“No trouble, buddy.” Blake came closer and bent in front of him. “I'm glad you're okay now. Everyone has bad dreams once in a while.”

“Do you have bad dreams?”

“Sometimes,” he confirmed. Not tonight, though. He had a feeling his dreams would be filled with Gillian and her gorgeous, creamy skin, her long legs and silky hair. He'd dream about stripping her out of her pink tank top and flannel boxer shorts. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the thin tank top fabric didn't leave much to his overworked-­since-­the-­moment-­he-­met-­her imagination.

“I was once in a car accident.” Bud came closer and bent on his knee so he could be at Justin's level, like Blake had done. “It's scary to relive bad things in our dreams, but I can tell you, they'll go away. I hardly ever think about that car crash, and I don't dream about it anymore. The same will happen for you.”

“I don't want to think about him anymore.”

“We're going to work real hard to make that happen. Tomorrow will be your first full day here with us, and you'll see that living here is much different than living with your father. I think you're going to like the ranch, and especially the horses.”

Blake wanted to help reassure him, too. “That's right. Your grandpa and I will take you around the ranch, and maybe we'll even take you horseback riding.”

“I can ride them.” Justin pulled away from Gillian to look at Blake.

“Sure you can. I'll teach you how.”

“Can I, Gillian? Can I ride them? Please. Say yes.”

“If your grandpa says it's okay. You'll have to follow the rules and do what Blake says.”

“Will you come, too?”

Blake answered for her. “Sure she will.”

Dee handed Gillian Justin's medicine. “How about we all go back to sleep? Morning comes early on the ranch, and Justin can barely keep his eyes open.”

Gillian poured the proper dose of medicine and handed the small cup to Justin to drink. He did so with a sour grimace at the end, but didn't complain. Gillian handed him the glass of water she'd left by his bed. He took a sip and laid back on her shoulder again.

“Thank you, Dee, for being so kind. I think we'll be fine now.” She brushed her fingers through Justin's hair again. “You want to sleep with me?”

Blake wished she'd asked him that question.

“Yeah,” Justin answered.

“Yeah.” She pulled him onto her shoulder and stood. She smiled at her grandfather. “He'll probably sleep like a rock. Sorry to wake you all.”

“It's no trouble,” Bud assured her. “We'll see you in the morning.” He stood with Dee as Gillian took a few steps to take Justin to her bed.

Blake moved back to let her pass. Dee gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. Bud's eyes went wide with shock and his face paled with anguish. Blake followed their gazes to Gillian's backside. Blake had been right. She'd been hiding a lot more under her clothes.

A six-­inch stitched cut ran down the back of her thigh. Another peeked out the bottom of her shorts on the same leg. The leg she had in the brace also had three or four smaller jagged cuts that were either sewn closed or scabbed over. Nasty-­looking bruises spotted her creamy skin. Cuts and scrapes marred the backs of her arms and shoulders. He could only imagine what the rest of her back looked like.

The ominous quiet alerted Gillian. What did they expect? She'd gone through a window. Her back felt like one big bruise and looked much the same. She gently laid Justin in her bed and tucked him in, kissing his forehead. His eyes drooped as he fell into sleep again. “I'll be back in a second,” she whispered. “I just have to get your blanket.”

She limped back into Justin's room. Of course, everyone waited for her. She closed the connecting door and turned to face them. Dee's sad face almost did her in, but their sympathy sparked her anger, and she was only going to explain once. She didn't want their pity.

“Listen. The glass window cut me up pretty bad, but they sewed me up and the stitches come out in a week. As for the bruises . . .” She shrugged them away. “Some of them are from him hitting me and the rest are from hitting the car. The impact from the fall broke my arm and messed up my wrist and knee. Everything will heal in time and no one will ever know I was hurt. Justin will forget, but not if you keep gasping every time you see me. So, to get it out in the open and to assuage your curiosity, I'll only do this once.”

She turned around, draped her long hair over her shoulder, and pulled the tank top up so they could see her back. Once she was sure they got a good look, she pulled her shirt back down.

“Any questions?” She faced them again but couldn't bring herself to look at Blake's face.

“Does that hurt? Are you in pain?” Dee asked the ridiculous question, unable to imagine herself in Gillian's shoes. Gillian wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Blake's steady gaze bore into her.

She gave them the truth. “The most colorful bruises go all the way into my muscles and make them spasm and cause excruciating pain. My broken arm aches all the time, and my knee at the moment feels like it wants to explode. I still get some nasty headaches, especially when I'm tired, like I am tonight.”

“But you've been picking up Justin and carrying him. How can you do that?” Worry and concern filled Dee's soft voice.

“Because she doesn't want Justin to see that she's in pain,” Blake answered for her. “And she wouldn't be in this much pain if I hadn't tossed her meds into the fireplace.”

Bud stepped toward Blake. “Why the hell would you do that? She needs them.”

Gillian stepped in between the two men. “He didn't know they were in my jacket pocket. Justin got upset. Even though I'd washed the coat, it still smelled like our dad. Justin didn't like me wearing it, and I happened to say that I'd like to burn the thing. Blake accommodated me.”

Blake wondered if she realized she was standing not a foot in front of him, blocking him from her own grandfather, who wouldn't lay a hand on him no matter how angry he got. They were friends. They barked at each other once in a while, but they respected each other and didn't have any reason to come to blows.

Bud stared down at Gillian, with her hands planted on her hips, then looked up at Blake over Gillian's head. Blake gave him an,
I know, she
's actually standing close to us
look.

“All right, Gillian. We'll get you some more pain medication tomorrow. We'll try not to make a fuss about your injuries in front of Justin,” Bud qualified. “But if you aren't feeling well and need something, you have to let us know.”

“I'll do my best. Asking for anything isn't my way.”

Blake bent close to her ear. “Make it your way,” he ordered. At her dirty look, he added, “We aren't asking you to surrender. We're asking that you bend. Just a little,” he softened.

Gillian let out an exhausted sigh and let her hands drop to her sides, her shoulders slumping. In her condition, it hadn't taken much for them to wear her down.

“I can't thank you enough for putting a roof over our heads and giving Justin a chance at a normal life. Luck has never been on my side, but I hope it shines on Justin, and one day he forgets he ever knew our father.