I shut down the welding rig and took off my helmet and gloves. I had no choice but to surrender and give up for today. Tomorrow I could start fresh without visions of her tits and questions about what had her so scared clogging my brain.
None of it made any sense. She’d always seemed to be in a good mood when I saw her at the Minimart. But what did I really know about her beyond her name and that she worked at Mama’s Minimart? Hell, I didn’t even know her last name.
I turned off the lights and closed the door to my work. A good, long run was what I needed. That would clear my head.
Three miles from home, I turned around and started the run back. The exercise had helped, but not enough. My mind kept coming back to the beautiful girl asleep in my house.
Somebody had worked her over a lot more than needed to merely take her purse away from her. Kicking a woman when she was down was certainly overkill if robbery had been all there was to it. Rage or intentional cruelty had fueled the asshole. But that wasn’t the only thing that bothered me.
Why was Debbie suddenly afraid to go home? What had her so fearful of going to the hospital? Going to the police might not have had any effect in terms of getting her money back, but why not file a report?
The beating had to be tied to why she wouldn’t go home, and she was deathly afraid of someone.
My feet pounded the pavement on the way back home. None of it made any sense. All I had were questions and a girl too scared to talk—one who had to be protected.
Reaching the house, I pulled my key from the pocket on my shoe and unlocked the door. Everything was as I had left it—no sign that she had woken yet.
After my shower, I couldn’t resist the temptation to check on her.
She’d left the guest bedroom door open a crack.
I shut off the hall light and peered in.
She was a silent lump under the covers.
I closed the door. A microwave dinner called me from the freezer. I was pretty sure there was at least one Salisbury steak left.
Rest was the best thing for her. Waking her for dinner would be mean.
After heating up the meal and placing it on a tray, I settled into the couch to watch some TV with the sound down low. I took occasional bites of the food, and when I pushed the empty tray away, I realized I hadn’t followed a single bit of the storyline of the show. Debbie’s plight kept intruding and taking over my thoughts.
I got up and poured myself a glass of Jack. It didn’t take long before I followed it with another to settle my mind. I continued to sit in front of the screen, watching a show that held no interest for me.
I was into the second hour of reruns when a tap on my shoulder surprised me. I jerked around to find Debbie up from her sleep.
“Can I join you?” she asked.
I shifted over on the couch and hit pause on the remote. “Sure.”
She rounded the couch with a limp and eyed the tray on the coffee table.
“I ate without you,” I explained. “I thought you were going to sleep through.”
“Sorry. I was supposed to make you dinner, wasn’t I?”
“No. You needed the rest. Can I get you something now that you’re awake? I’ve got plenty of things I can heat up in a few minutes.”
She sat down with only a mild wince. “No, I’m not hungry. The soup was filling.”
That was a damned lie. She’d only finished half of it.
I’d seen both kinds of cases—the ones where trauma made them ravenous as a sort of coping mechanism to take their minds off things, and the kind like her, that curled up and lost their appetite.
I got up, and a questioning look crossed her face. “How’s the pain?”
“Not bad.”
“It’s been long enough. You should have more Tylenol.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
When I returned with more Tylenol and a glass of water, I found her lying down on the couch. “Sit up, Red.” I offered the pills. “These should help.”
She sat up in the center of the couch and downed the pills.
I sat down on the other side of her and restarted the DVR.
A half hour later, she was leaning slightly against me, her eyes at half-mast. She wasn’t going to last long.
The warmth of her through my shirt was enticing, but I kept my hands to myself.
When the show ended, her head had lolled over on my shoulder, and she’d fallen asleep. Much time like this and her neck would be feeling it all day tomorrow.
I nudged her awake. “Time to get you to bed, Princess.”
She slapped my thigh surprisingly hard. “You promised to stop calling me that.”
I had. “Sorry, I’ll try to be better. But it’s still time for you to get to bed.”
I rose and pulled her up by her good arm.
She went with me back to the guest room. She still had a limp, but it was better than this morning. Before reaching the bed, she turned around and tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt with her good hand. “These are pretty hot to sleep in. Do you have anything thinner?”
“Will a T-shirt do?”
She nodded. “Yes, please.” She yawned.
I returned from my room with one of my old T-shirts and tossed it on the bed. “Anything else?”
She tapped the cap on her head. “Do I have to wear this all night?”
“Yup. A day or two. It’s especially important tonight. Don’t scratch at it.”
I turned to leave and almost had the door closed behind me when she spoke.
“A little help, please.” She shrugged her good shoulder. “I can’t…”
Her shoulder obviously hurt like hell to move. I came back to her. “Turn around.”
She did.
I reached around and unzipped the sweatshirt, pulling it off her arms carefully. Next, I pulled the T-shirt up her bad left arm and over her head.
She wiggled her good arm up and out through the other sleeve. “And the pants too,” she added.
I spun her around, pulled the bow on the drawstring loose, and slid the sweatpants down her long legs, catching a feel of her soft skin as I did. She sat back against the bed, and I pulled them off her ankles, trying not to stare up at the expanse of skin in front of me or those pink panties again.
This wasn’t at all how I’d pictured undressing this girl in any of my morning jerk-off fantasies. Having the real thing this close and not touching her was going to require serous concentration as I slept next door. When I stood up, her perky nipples saluted me through the T-shirt.
I tried not to stare. “Get some rest.” I failed.
Ten minutes later, the doors were locked, and my external video camera was armed in case my midnight intruders came back. Still, I felt something off when I closed the door to my bedroom. It didn’t feel right.
Going back into the kitchen, I double-checked that the fridge door was closed all the way. The stove and oven were both off.
I checked the garage. The outside door was locked. Everything was the way it should be, yet I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d forgotten something. I set a nightlight in the hall.
In case I had to get up in the middle of the night and encountered my guest, I donned a pair of the silk boxers Brooklyn had gotten me last Christmas. She was under the mistaken impression that I actually wore something to bed.
Sleep was a long time coming.