But surely even a person as close to crazy as Damon had turned out to be wouldn’t waste his entire life trying to exact revenge.
Her mind went back to the weeks after he’d attacked her in Phoenix. Damon had been arrested, but with the fancy attorney his father hired, he was out of jail in hours. She had stupidly believed beating someone nearly to death would result in at least several months in jail. Instead, he’d been sentenced to rage management, counseling, and community service.
She had never been safe from him again.
She thought of their last encounter and a faint shiver slid down her spine. How long had he stayed tied up? Had someone called the police? If so, was she wanted for a crime of some sort? Surely protecting yourself wasn’t illegal.
She sniffed as an odd smell reached her, frowned when she caught a whiff of smoke. With a shriek, she rushed toward the oven. As she opened the door, thick black smoke poured into the kitchen.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod!”
“The house is on fire, Mama!” Ivy raced in from the living room.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. It’s just the chicken.” Just the chicken? Ohmygod ! Grabbing a set of pot holders, she pulled the carefully prepared bird out of the oven and set it down on top of the stove. She slammed the oven door but it was too late. The smoke was so thick she could barely see across the room, and the outside of the bird was burnt to a black, ugly crisp.
“Eww, Mama, it looks awful.”
“This can’t be happening,” Tory said.
“Tell me that isn’t my supper.” Boots thumped on the floor as Josh walked into the kitchen.
Tory’s eyes slid closed. She should have known. The man had an uncanny sense of timing. She felt like bursting into tears.
Instead she forced herself to turn and face him. “I don’t know what happened. It’s been in there way less than an hour.”
She looked up at him, read his disappointment, and the tears she’d been fighting welled in her eyes. He was going to let her go. She’d be back on the road looking for work, looking for a safe haven for her and Ivy.
It was just too much. Her last hope had gone up in smoke, just like the chicken. A sob escaped. Then another.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Josh said. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a chicken.”
She wanted to say it’s the end of my world. Or at least it felt that way. Another sob escaped. She tried to salvage her dignity. “It wasn’t my fault. It was your damnable—darnable oven.”
She brushed a tear from her cheek. “I set it at three twenty-five. It should have been perfect!” Then she covered her face and started crying. And she couldn’t seem to stop.
Dammit, dammit, dammit. She couldn’t do this. She just couldn’t!
A hard body stepped into her space and she felt the heat, felt Josh’s powerful arms go around her, ease her against his chest.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. You don’t have to leave. We’ll figure something out.”
The softly spoken words finally penetrated her anguish, his voice as soothing as a summer rain. She relaxed into his strength, for several seconds just held on to him. It was stupid. It was embarrassing. She felt like a fool.
With a shaky breath, she stepped away. “I’m sorry.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t cry. I mean, I’m not a crier. Not usually.”
“Only after you set a chicken on fire?”
She felt the faintest tug of a smile. “Yeah, only after that.” She was still looking at Josh when she glanced over at Ivy. The little girl crouched on the floor against the wall, completely drawn into herself, her eyes huge, her face as white as a sheet.
Tory ran to her, swept her up in her arms. “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Everything’s okay. Everybody’s fine.”
“He . . . he hurt you. He . . . he made you cry.”
“No. Josh didn’t make me cry. It was the chicken. I was crying because I ruined his supper, but he wasn’t mad, sweetheart. He was being nice.”
The little girl looked over at Josh. Two pairs of blue eyes assessed each other.
“I wouldn’t hurt you or your mother,” Josh said softly. “I’d never do that. I promise you, Ivy.”
Ivy hid her face in Tory’s neck. She gave her little girl a fierce hug, then set her back down on her feet. “I’m going to finish making dinner for Josh, and then we’ll go home, okay? In the meantime, you can finish your coloring, all right?”
Ivy nodded. Turning, she took off for the living room, settled back down on the floor. Picking up a crayon, she went back to work as if nothing had happened.
Kids, God love ’em.
“We need to have that talk,” Josh said, regaining Tory’s attention. “Somewhere private. It’s warm outside. Now would be a good time.”
“What . . . what about supper? I can salvage the chicken. I’ll take off the skin and make some gravy. I’ve got a nice salad to go with it, some potatoes. You’ll like it, I swear.”
“After,” he said, then turned and walked outside.
Tory sighed. Damon had tried to beat her into submission, but Josh could make her jump through hoops with only a single word.
Tory didn’t like the notion.
But she walked out onto the porch.
*
He shouldn’t have held her. Now he’d never get the imprint of her soft breasts and feminine curves out of his head. Add to that, it was completely out of line. He was her boss. She was his employee.
Aside from satisfying his physical needs once in a while, he didn’t have time for a woman. He had plans for the ranch, goals, ambitions. And he was still coming to grips with the changes in his life, the transition from being a soldier to a civilian.
On the surface, he had everything under control, but every once in a while, he had a disturbing flashback or a nightmare. It wasn’t uncommon for soldiers who’d been in combat.
Eventually it would fade away, but until that time, he needed his space, his privacy. The last thing he wanted was a woman living right there on the ranch.
But damn he felt sorry for her. She’d been sure he was going to fire her, and he could see her desperation. He’d told her she could stay. Unless there were unknown factors, he wouldn’t break his word. But as he had said, they needed to talk.
Tory shoved the screen door open and stepped out into the cool evening.
“I need a beer,” Josh said. “You want one?”
She looked up at him. “Sure. I’d love a beer.”
“I’ll get them.” A woman who liked beer. That was a plus.
He returned a few minutes later, twisted off the top to a Lone Star, and handed it over. Twisted off the cap to the other one and took a long swallow.
Tory took several sips. “Thanks. After a long day, that really tastes good.”
They sat down on the porch, she in the swing while he took a seat in a wire mesh chair a few feet away. He tipped up his beer and took another long swallow, felt the relaxing burn of the bubbles going down his throat.
“Here’s the thing,” he started. “I know you’re in some kind of trouble.”
She opened her mouth but he held up his hand. “I know you’re on the run. I don’t need to know what happened to you in the past or why you’re here. The way your little girl reacts to a man pretty much gives me the story. What I need to know is if the sheriff or the cops are going to come pounding on my door. I need to know if you’re running because you’ve done something illegal.”
Tory sat up straighter in the swing. “No. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.”
“Be easy enough for me to find out. Howler’s a small county. Police Chief Logan over in Pleasant Hill owes me a favor. I could have him check you out.”
“Seriously? Do I look like a criminal to you?”
Amusement slipped through him. With her petite frame and fine features, Tory Ford looked as far from a crook as he could imagine. “No, but looks can be deceiving.”
“I’m not wanted by the police. At least I don’t think so, since I didn’t really do anything wrong.”
He didn’t even want to know what that meant.
“I admit there are people I’d rather not know I’m here,” she finished.
“Your husband?”