“Probably.”
Not just probably. Definitely.
“It’s a big house for just you.” I turned my head and looked at the place. Two stories painted white with ivy growing up trellises between the lower windows. Besides the tree in it, the house was well maintained, the yard perfect with mulched flower beds. Not a stray leaf dared blow onto her recently cut grass. Meticulous, just like the owner herself.
“It was my parents’ house. I inherited it.”
I stilled, stroked her hair then gave it a slight tug so she’d look up at me. There, in her blue eyes, was a mix of emotions. She would be a horrible poker player. I saw weariness. Surprise at the slightly controlling touch. And arousal.
Was it how I firmly gripped the back of her neck? Or the pull on her hair? Or being in my arms? I was going to find out. I wanted to know this and everything else about her. While her lips were right fucking there, I wouldn’t have our first kiss be in front of her damaged house with a fire crew milling about.
“What happened to them?” Inherited meant they weren’t alive.
I had lunch with Bridget and my brothers last week and we’d gotten to talking about our fathers. She mentioned hers had died but hadn’t elaborated. She certainly didn’t say anything about her mom being gone, too.
“Car accident when I was twenty-three,” she explained matter-of-factly. “Bridget was with them, driving home from one of those princess shows on ice in Billings. She was in the back seat, asleep. Not a scratch on her.”
Holy fuck. Lindy lost her parents in one go, and almost her sister at the same time. No wonder she wasn’t freaking out about the tree through her house. Worse things had happened to her. She knew true tragedy. Lived through something that wasn’t fixable and could only move on as best one could.
“Oh sugar.” I kissed her head again and held her close. She didn’t resist. We stood there until a fireman approached. He had on bunker pants and boots but skipped the jacket. He was totally ripped. Instead of wondering if Lindy found him attractive, I should be thankful the civil servants of the community were so fit.
Still, telling him to fuck off, that Lindy Beckett was mine, was on the tip of my tongue, but he was doing his job, not proposing.
“Hey, Lind.” He gave her a smile that screamed familiarity right along with how he shortened her name.
Damned small town.
“Gant,” Lindy said.
She pulled back and I let her go, but I rested my hand on her shoulder.
Gant noticed the placement.
That’s right. She’s mine.
“You can go inside, but obviously you won’t be living there.” He glanced over his shoulder at the house for a moment, then back to Lindy. “They won’t turn the gas or electric back on until the tree’s removed and the wiring’s been inspected.”
“Right,” she replied.
“You got a place to stay?” he asked.
I wasn’t sure if he was offering his bed or ensuring she was settled somewhere. Either way, it didn’t matter. I took care of what was mine.
“With me,” I told him.
She looked at me with wide eyes because she hadn’t said yes. I was taking her options away and speaking for her, but… well, I didn’t give a shit.
“It’s safe to go in and get some stuff,” the guy continued. “Clothes and whatever you might need. We’ll board up that lower window that’s damaged to keep people out, but there’s not much we can do about the rest of the holes.”
“Mr. VanMeyer called his insurance company and mine is sending someone and said they’d connect with a tree service and contractors.”
“Good.” He tipped his head toward the house. “Go ahead in.”
I followed her through the front door. From the entry, it didn’t look like anything happened. The back of the house was where the extent of the damage became clear. The kitchen had a broken window, which was easily fixable, but there was a branch that came down through the ceiling and pierced the top of the stove.
Upstairs, there was a tree branch that poked through the ceiling in the hallway and another through the bathroom. It was Lindy’s bedroom that took the brunt. She stood in the doorway and stared. A big section of the exterior wall along with a large picture window were gone because the trunk of the tree was through it and across her bed. I could see where an offshoot branch went down into the kitchen.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. What if she’d been home? Asleep?
Lindy blinked, then started moving about. She went into her closet, which was unharmed, pulled out a bag, then started pulling clothes off hangers.
“I need clothes for work. Yoga. Toiletries. Bridget will want some things. I need to clean out the fridge as the food will spoil.” She paused and ran a hand over her face, then continued. “I need to make a list.”
“Slow down, sugar.” I reached out and took the bag from her. It was cloth and quilted or some shit with flowers on it.
“Slow down?” She set her hands on her slim hips. “You know what’s worse than telling a woman to slow down? To calm down.”
I bit my lip and tried not to smile, but it was really fucking hard.
“I had work to do tonight, Dex. A schedule. I’ve barely talked to Mr. VanMeyer.”
The lumberjack next door.
“I think Mr. VanMeyer’s been talked to. By the fire department. The police, most likely. The gas and electric guy. His wife, who should have told him to slow the fuck down with that chainsaw.”
She shifted her gaze from the mess to me. “He’s not married.”
“That’s not a surprise,” I said.
“I still need to make a list.”
It seemed that was something she did. That it helped her feel organized. In control. Especially now when she definitely wasn’t.
I looked around her room for a pencil but all I could find was a fucking tree. I pulled my cell from my pocket and pulled up the notes app.
“Okay, let’s make a list.”
Ten minutes later, I walked out to the car with two bags slung over my shoulder and a list a mile long in my phone.
The fire department had boarded the kitchen window and left. Mr. VanMeyer was nowhere to be seen.
Lindy locked the front door behind her and followed me to my car–we’d left hers at the grocery store in our rush to get here. After tossing her bags in the back, I held the passenger door open for her.
As she slid in, she looked up at me and said, “I can stay at a hotel.”
I took in the way her jean skirt rode up her thighs, which made my one word reply a little louder than it should have probably been. “No.”
“I need to go tell Bridget about this, then stay with them.”
I leaned on the open door so I could meet her gaze. “Call Bridget, but sleep in Mav’s guest room? Sugar, you really want to do that?”
I didn’t want to point out that her little sister was going to be busy having sex with my big brother.
She quirked her lips, coming to that conclusion too.
“You could stay at a hotel, but you’re not,” I told her. “You could stay with your sister, but you’re definitely not. You’ll stay with me where I know you’re safe.”
“Safe? I can take care of myself.”