Wrapped in You (21 page)

Zach eased the basement door open, paused, and listened. Nothing. One step at a time, he listened for further proof of an intruder. Had this person started the fire? What on earth were they still here for? It wasn't uncommon for someone to break into abandoned homes, but in Haven that was something he'd only experienced once in all his years of working construction. Still, this could be some random stranger just passing through.

By the time Zach got to the bottom of the steps, he gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but he needn't have bothered by the time his focus landed on the far corner behind him. A boy stood at the electrical box, flashlight in hand, muttering something under his breath.

“Turn around,” Zach stated loudly.

The boy jumped, dropping the flashlight until it rolled across the floor, coming to a stop halfway between them. Zach kept his eyes on the boy as he slowly moved to get the light. Once in hand, he held it right on the stranger's face. His bruised, swollen face. But the bruises weren't fresh, so whatever he'd endured had been a while ago.

“What are you doing in my house?” Zach demanded.

The boy, wide-eyed, tipped his chin up a notch. So, he was afraid but he wasn't about to give in. Zach ran the light over his clothes, torn T-shirt and holey jeans. Could be a normal outfit for some kids these days, but Zach seriously doubted this boy was a typical teen. From the look of him he might be sixteen.

“Either tell me what you're doing in my house, or you can tell the cops when I call them. I imagine they'll have you tell the story to children's services too.”

Those wide eyes were instantly filled with fear, and Zach cursed himself. Maybe he should stick with dogs. Clearly people weren't his strong suit.

“I'm leavin',” the boy muttered and headed for the steps, forgetting his lost flashlight.

Zach ran, cutting him off at the base of the stairs. “You're not going anywhere until I know who you are and why you're here.”

“This place was empty,” the boy murmured.

Warning bells sounded all through Zach's head. “It was. Now it's not. Who are you hiding from?”

The boy shrugged. “Doesn't matter.”

An inkling of familiarity slid through Zach. Suddenly this boy mattered, because Zach wondered if he was looking at a version of himself years ago.

“What's your name?” When the boy said nothing, Zach sighed. “I'm Zach. Now you go.”

“Brock,” he mumbled.

“Where do you live?” Zach was pressing his luck in the questioning, but there was no way this boy was leaving without Zach learning more. Those bruises came from somewhere, and Zach had a sinking feeling. “Or are you trying to live here?”

Brock's haunted eyes came back up. “Listen, man, get out of my way. I'll leave and you can forget about this.”

Some people might let this guy go and forget he was here, but Zach wasn't about to just turn a lost boy loose. Zach had been a lost boy once too . . . still was, if he was honest with himself.

“I'm not going to hurt you.” Zach should've led with that, because right now those words were the most important ones. “I just have some questions.”

“Did you call the cops before you came down here?” the boy retorted.

“No. And I won't as long as you answer my questions honestly.”

Zach truly had no intention of calling the cops about the kid. Now, if he discovered who'd used their fists on his face, he might reconsider.

“How old are you?”

The boy took a step back. “Old enough to defend myself.”

Zach muttered a curse. Brock was definitely a younger version of Zach, chip on his shoulder and all. And the fear in his tone was all too telling.

“Sixteen?” Zach guessed.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“You've been staying here a few days, haven't you?” Putting all the thumps and creaks together, Zach had to assume this boy had been hiding for some time. “How have we not seen you?”

“I'm pretty good at hiding.”

Zach nodded toward his face. “Not too good. Who did that to you?”

“Car accident.”

Rolling his eyes, Zach snorted. “I'm not stupid, so don't treat me like I am. You get in a fight with a friend?”

Brock kicked his worn sneaker against the cracked concrete floor. When he remained silent, Zach's heart literally ached for the boy. Damn it, he didn't want to have this conversation. He didn't want to be in this situation. Brock didn't want to be in this situation either.

If the Monroes hadn't stepped in, Zach wouldn't be where he was today, so there was no way in hell he could turn his back on this kid.

“Do you have parents who are wondering where you are?”

Brock merely snorted and shook his head. Okay, so clearly this boy was keeping his cards close to his chest, which was fine. Easier on Zach that way, but that wouldn't prevent him from caring. Damn it, he instantly cared. Caring is what caused hurt to seep in. Caring for people is what made you vulnerable.

“You're not hiding out here anymore.” Zach turned, heading toward the steps. “Follow me.”

Hitting the second step, Zach glanced over his shoulder to the boy, who remained still.

“That wasn't a question.” Brock met his stare and Zach stared back into the depths of hurt and vulnerability. “I'm not going to hurt you. I plan on feeding you and letting you rest somewhere besides an old, dirty house.”

Brock's eyes widened. “I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't know you. Listen, man, just don't call the cops and I'll leave.”

“You're leaving,” Zach confirmed before turning to mount the steps. “With me.”

Zach was surprised when he heard footfalls behind him on the steps. He figured he'd have to do more coercing. The boy was coming, but Zach hadn't earned any type of trust, which was fine. That didn't mean he was going to ignore Brock, and he sure as hell wanted to uncover what Brock knew about the fire . . . and who had put those marks all over his face.

When they reached the first floor, Zach headed toward the kitchen. “I need to lock the back door, then we're heading to my house.”

“Dude, I'm not—”

“Listen.” Zach held up his hand. “You can take your chances that I'm not lying to you and come with me, or we can let the cops deal with you. Those are your options.”

Zach didn't like scaring the boy, but there was no way he was just letting him go wander out to who knew where. Zach cringed at the thought of what could happen to Brock if he was truly out on his own.

Brock stormed around Zach and jerked the front door open. “Fine. But you touch me once and you'll regret it.”

Those words told Zach more than he wanted to know, and everything he'd feared. There was no way in hell Brock was going anywhere for now, except to Zach's home, where he could rest without worry and have a warm meal. After that . . .

Zach sighed. After that he didn't know what, but he'd make damn sure this young boy was safe from whatever he was hiding from.

After leading the dogs out to go to the bathroom, Zach had another pressing matter to deal with.

Easing the spare bedroom door open, he checked on Brock, pleased to see the young boy making use of the antique queen mission-style bed that had once belonged to Chelsea. It was nearly seven o'clock in the morning, and Brock was completely out of it—on top of the covers with his ratty tennis shoes still on.

Zach gently closed the door and headed down the hall. At least Brock had fallen asleep, even if he couldn't fully relax and trust his surroundings. No child should have to worry about where they were sleeping or if they were safe. Zach had been awake most of the night, making sure Brock didn't try to run again. Worry kept Zach fully aware of how delicate this situation was.

Today Zach was getting some answers. First, he needed to know if anyone was missing Brock. No dancing around the topic. Zach wasn't going to get in trouble with the law for having Brock stay here. On the other hand, Zach also wasn't turning Brock out into the world until he knew exactly where he was going and if he'd be safe.

Time for some breakfast. Zach wasn't the greatest at cooking. Okay, fine, he was flat-out awful other than the spaghetti he'd made for Sophie.

Sophie. Should he call her? Was this a day she taught water aerobics or not? He honestly should learn more about her life.

Intimacy aside, he wanted her to be a friend if nothing else, and as a friend, she needed to know he cared.

He led the dogs into the utility room, refilled their water bowls, and fed them before heading to the kitchen. Pulling his phone from the charger, he sent Sophie a quick text.

While he waited for a reply, he scrounged around in his cabinets to see what he could come up with. The bread seemed to be all white, nothing questionable growing on it. Now if his milk wasn't chewy and he had eggs that didn't smell, maybe French toast would be an option.

His cell vibrated on the counter.

Did she have to add the bit about the shower? Was she trying to torment him? Knowing the new, sassier Sophie . . . yes.

Okay, bribing was taking it a bit far, but he was desperate. He really didn't want to give Brock a piece of toast and a glass of water. The boy deserved more. Last night he'd insisted he wasn't hungry, and Zach wasn't fighting with him any more than he had to. Brock had come to his house, so Zach needed to take that victory.

He kept his eyes on the screen of his phone and smiled when she replied.

Be right there
.

Relief slid through him. Sophie didn't even ask why he needed her, and she was heading over. Maybe he should warn her or at least give her a heads-up.

One of the pups scratched at the gate Zach had put in place. “No,” he told the pup, glancing across the kitchen into the utility room. “You stay in there for now. You've been out and you have food. I need to work on breakfast for someone else.”

Damn it. He was having a full-on conversation with the dog. One-sided talks were not normal.

The dog yipped as if talking back.

“Nope. I'm not giving in. You need to listen.”

Zach rolled his eyes and pushed off the island. He was losing his mind. For a man who thrived on being alone, he now had eight dogs, and a teenage boy he'd known all of twelve hours, staying in his home.

Jerking open his fridge, he surveyed the meager contents. Seriously, he was due at the store about five years ago. Problem with buying food was you had to prepare it, so that was a waste of money. It was much easier for a single person to grab something on the way home.

When the dog continued to scratch and bark, Zach moved the gate. “Fine. But don't think you're always getting your way,” he scolded as the pup strutted by. “You're only getting out because I don't want you waking our guest.”

“Do you normally talk to the dogs like people?”

Zach spun around to see Brock in the doorway, his hair stuck up on one side . . . apparently the only side he'd slept on.

“Not always,” Zach replied, propping the gate against the wall. “Only when I've lost my mind.”

A corner of Brock's mouth tipped up, but he quickly killed the look with a scowl. “I'm going to head out now. Thanks for letting me crash.”

Zach crossed his arms over his chest. “Sit down. Reinforcement is coming to help with breakfast.”

Brock glanced around the kitchen, probably contemplating whether he should stay or go. Zach waited. He didn't want Brock to feel like he was a prisoner. This was a fine line they were both treading, because Zach didn't trust this boy. Yes, he felt a tug of familiarity and there was no denying the sympathy he felt toward Brock, but Zach knew he had to stay a step ahead of this kid.

Finally Brock crossed the room, reached down to pat one of the pups, and let it nip on his hand before he pulled out a stool at the center island. Zach stared back at the questioning eyes. Before Sophie arrived, he wanted to get some answers.

“What's your last name?” Zach asked, bracing his palms on the other side of the island. When Brock merely stared, Zach sighed. “I'm going to get the answers. I know you don't trust me, but you slept here all night with no problem.”

“Taylor.” Brock shifted in his seat, his eyes darting down to the dog, pouncing around the floor. “My last name is Taylor.”

Great. A start, as long as he was telling the truth.

“And who do you normally live with when you're not hiding in Civil War–era basements?”

Brock let out a soft laugh, and Zach couldn't help but smile himself at the brief action from such a sad-looking kid.

“My mother.”

Zach snapped his fingers at the pups when two more came from the utility room and were fighting a bit too rough. They jerked around and darted across the room. Great. Now they'd want to play. He should've let them continue to bite each other.

They nipped at his toes, and Zach reached down to scoop them up, one in each arm. “Is your mother worried because you're not home?”

One pup took a bite at Zach's ear. “Damn it,” he grumbled before placing that bloodsucker back on the tile. Little bundles of fur were still too damn cute for him to get angry with, but those little teeth were sharp.

“If she notices I'm gone, then she's probably relieved.”

Zach swallowed the lump of hurt. He'd definitely been that kid. Too many kids knew this type of pain and emptiness. It was all too easy for others to look away, because oftentimes the truth was ugly and uncomfortable. And the truth was, Brock was alone, scared, and desperately in need of love and the proper affection.

“What do you know about the fire at the other house?” Zach held the boy's gaze, refusing to back down. Arson was a serious offense and he needed to know just how deep this kid was into illegal activity. He hoped Brock was innocent; he hoped he was just trying to get away and start a better life.

“I didn't mean to,” he muttered beneath his breath as his eyes shifted to the patterned granite beneath his fisted hands. “I was trying to help you.”

Confused, Zach drew his brows in. “Help how?”

“I took electrical classes at my vocational school.” He traced a finger over the dark pattern as he spoke. “I really liked learning about it, and I was at the top of my class this semester, but I have another year and I'm not sure I'll go back.”

So much to take in from that statement. Zach started to reply when his doorbell rang. Brock jumped up from the stool, eyes wide, his feet braced.

“Relax,” Zach said, putting the wiggling pup down to scamper to the front door with the others. “It's a friend of mine. You're safe here.”

Brock didn't look any more relaxed, but he gave a brief nod.

Zach danced around pouncing pups as he made his way to the door. As soon as he flicked the lock and turned the knob, Sophie was pushing through.

“Okay, what's the emergency and why am I giving up my turkey bacon?”

Zach smiled as she whizzed by him and stopped short. Just as he closed the door he glanced over his shoulder and spotted Brock in the wide opening between the foyer and kitchen. The dogs were nipping at Brock's worn shoes and biting on the hem of his jeans.

“Come on,” he said, clapping his hands at the puppies. “Don't bite his pants.”

“You called a woman to cook you breakfast?” Brock asked, glancing back and forth between Zach and Sophie.

“No.” Zach took the sacks from Sophie. “I called Sophie because she's a friend, and if you want real food, you'll be glad she's here. Otherwise I can pour you a glass of chewy milk.”

Brock's eyes raked over Sophie. Zach held his ground between them, unsure how the boy would react.

“I can go,” Brock stated. “This—I'm . . .”

Sophie took a step forward. “How about we have breakfast before you dart off? Okay?” Her quiet tone managed to do something Zach hadn't been able to do, and that was put a brief flash of trust through Brock's eyes. The boy nodded and bent to play with the puppies, but not before Zach spotted moisture gathering in those big brown eyes.

“Go ahead and play with the dogs.” Zach headed toward the kitchen. Meeting Sophie's questioning gaze, he jerked his head in a silent motion for her to follow him. “We'll yell when breakfast is ready.”

“What is going on?” Sophie whispered as soon as they hit the kitchen. “Who is that?”

Zach purposely rattled the sacks to mask his voice. “He's been hiding in the Sunset Lake property. I found him in the basement last night. His name is Brock.”

“Did you see his face?” Sophie asked, her voice shaking as if she were on the verge of tears. “He's been beaten, Zach.”

Zach swallowed as he surveyed the contents she'd brought. Bless her, she'd thought of everything.

“Move over and let me cook.” She shoved him aside and started pulling everything out of the sack and placing it on the counter by the stove. “You explain.”

For a moment he was stunned at how perfect she looked standing at his stove, the same stove his mother used to use. There hadn't been another woman in this kitchen, other than Chelsea, since. Something warmed him, but he didn't have time to dig into all the reasons why having Sophie here just made his day brighter and more manageable.

Holding a roll of sausage in one hand, Sophie snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Zach. Talk.”

“I don't know much,” he told her, leaning in so he could talk low. The puppies in the other room, barking at Brock, helped. “He's obviously running from something or someone. I gather he's been abused at home and his mother is at the heart of all of this.”

Soon the sausage was frying, filling his kitchen with an amazing aroma he'd missed. Real food, not takeout.

“He claims he was trying to help with some of the electrical work and didn't mean to start the fire.”

Sophie's head whipped around. “He set the fire?”

“I don't think it was on purpose. He's alone, from what I can tell, and he's afraid to go home.”

A sad smile spread across Sophie's face. “Reminds me of someone,” she murmured.

He knew she'd see the similarity too. “I couldn't let him stay there and I wasn't about to kick him out or call the cops.”

Reaching up, Sophie framed his face with her hands. Such a simple gesture, yet he felt the impact throughout his entire body. She had a hold on him, and he had to figure out whether he was willing to risk holding her back or letting her go.

“You're giving him a chance,” she said, her eyes misting. “What can I do to help?”

Zach took her hand and kissed her palm. “Don't let that sausage burn.”

With a laugh, she turned back around and grabbed a large spatula from the crock next to the stove. “Why don't you go talk to him? I've got things covered in here. I don't have to be at the office until ten, so we're good.”

“Thank you.” Without thinking, Zach reached out and smoothed her hair behind her ear so he could fully see her profile. “You didn't hesitate to come when I asked, and you didn't ask questions.”

Smiling and working on breakfast, Sophie shrugged. “You never ask for anything, so I knew it was pretty important. Either that, or you just really missed me.”

Snaking a hand around her waist, Zach shifted their bodies until her side fully connected with his chest, his hips. “I can't count the number of times I've missed you over the years, sweet Soph.”

She concentrated on the meat sizzling, but he didn't miss the tremble that rippled through her. He slid his hand up her back, cupping the nape of her neck.

“You look good in here,” he whispered into her ear. “And I've missed you in my bed.”

Zach left her with those parting words as he tore himself away. If he stayed longer he'd make a fool of himself and start proclaiming things he wanted, things he was wondering if he could ever have. How insane was that? Who was he to get a happily ever after?

Fortunately he had enough to occupy his thoughts and his time, between the resort renovations, the grants, the dogs, and now Brock. How had his life changed so much in the last few months? He'd gone from being a recluse, minding his own business and doing his job, avoiding Sophie and her boyfriend as much as possible, to sleeping with Sophie, somehow starting a new bond with his brothers, and building a women's resort and spa.