Snow Bound (11 page)

“Havin’ fun, Victoria Jane?”

She
froze, assaulted by the memories of the last time she’d heard that voice. From the courtroom in
Nashville
, screaming out his anger and intent for revenge. This could not be happening. Her heart regained its rhythm. She forced herself to breathe, then turned slowly to face the hulking shadow that separated itself from the gloom near the kitchen doorway.

A hard swallow loosened her throat enough for her to speak, though her voice was thr
eady from fear.
He looked even angrier with the bruises forming on his face.
“Bobby Joe
. What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t I tell you I’d be back?” A smile, mocking for its lack of warmth, stretched his lips. His face was no longer softened by youth, but hard angles and planes. Brown hair spiked close to his skull, as if it were growing out from a tight buzz cut. But the things that scared her the most were the menacing hardness in his once-familiar brown eyes and the obviously developed muscles under his white thermal shirt. He’d definitely put the long hours in prison to s
ome use, keeping himself in tip-
top shape.

His state of undress, just the shirt and jeans, without the bundling of layers he’d need if he’d just come from
hours spent
outside, stopped her heart for a moment. “Making you
rself at home?” she asked, her gaze
sweeping over his clothes.

That creepy grin remained firmly in place. “Why shouldn’t I, Victoria Jane? No need for me to stand out in the cold, freezing my ass off, while you’re upstairs fucking that busybody from next door. Lowered our standards, have we?”

Unfortunately
he sounded way too hopeful. And the thought of him watch
ing while she and Damon had sex nauseated her
. This had been the most exciting night of her life, and now it was tainted by the idea
that it had been shared—
with the jackass that had ruined her life once before.

“How did you get in here?” she asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything. Though if she made it out of this alive, she’d be nailing every loose door tighter than Dick’s hatband.

He stepped fa
rther into the light from the now crackling
fire. “I remembered where your d
ad kept the spare key for the cellar. Guess you didn’t get around to changing the locks when you did the renovations on this place, huh?”

Panic rose
, her heart beating loud in the silence of
the house. As Bobby Joe
moved forwar
d, he kept himself angled so
the staircase was in view. T
he shotgun
was still
upstairs
. Now she faced a man almost one hundred
pounds heavier than her, intent on revenge, with no weapon and Damon lying unaware upstairs. Should she call for help? Was there some way to get out of this without it turning violent?

Memories of the men tumbling around her backyard, exchanging punches,
gave her the answer. She was
screwed unless she found a way to
outwit the menacing man
in front of her.

Maybe she could keep him talking. Though he’d kept his voice low, she raised her own. If Damon heard her through the open doorways, he would be alerted that someone else was in the house. “What do you w
ant, Bobby Joe
?”

“What do you think? Revenge.
Oldie but goodie.
You ruined my life. If it wasn’t for you testifying in court, it would have been my word against
the prosecution
.”

“And hurting me is going to do what? Besides get you sent back to prison.”
Where you belong.

“Nobody knows I’m here. The plan was to be in and out before
anybody knew better.” His once-
handsome mouth twisted into a sneer. “But that was before I realized you’d been living the high life while I was stuck in prison.”

She remembered hearing the prosecutor in his ca
se saying
Bobby Joe
had a problem with impulse control, a lack of ability to think his actions through. This was definitely one of those moments.
“Bobby Joe
, the police are the ones who warned me you might show up here. One of the detectives let me know you had been released for parole. If anything happens to me, you’ll be the first suspect on their list.”

Expletives poured from his tight lips
,
and he started to pace the open wooden floor. As his concentration fractured, she inched to the side. On the small table beside the couch sat Damon’s
Maglite
. It wasn’t a gun, but it was heavy. Smashing it against the side of
Bobby Joe’s
head would do quite a bit of damage, in her opinion. And she had enough adrenaline running through her to do it, too.

“Damn,”
Bobby Joe
was saying. “Why can nothing go right for me?”

Maybe because you’re an idiot?

“This has been a fuck
up from the beginning. And you
—
“ H
e swung toward her, bringing her to a halt. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since I met you.”

“I didn’t force you to come here,
Bobby Joe
.”

“You did. Every night I lay in prison thinking about how you betrayed me, how you told that jury that I beat you
—
”

“You did.”

“
—
turned them against me. You turned all my friends against me. My parents have never looked at me the same. It’s all your fault.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Don’t say that!” His yell reverberated through the house, causing her to winc
e. Yet a small part of her rejoic
ed
because she knew without a dou
bt Damon had heard that. Another
good side effect of
Bobby Joe’s
ranting and raving was his lack of focus. Surely Damon would find a
way to end this.

Before he could make an appearance,
Bobby Joe’s
frantic paci
ng stopped. As he turned toward
her, she got a good look at the rage on
his face. Her heartbeat tripled and
her chest tightened,
making
it hard to breathe. Her muscles tensed in anticipation.

She didn’t have lo
ng to wait. With a roar of rage
,
Bobby Joe
strode across the space between them, murder narrowing his eyes. Instinct had her scrambling away, only to stumble over the edge of the recliner.
Bobby Joe
tackled her on her way down, slamming into her stomach. Pain exploded across her torso and down into her hips, stealing her breath, but she fought to move the moment they hit the floor.

As he scrambled up
,
she lifted her legs
, forcing space between them. He balanced on his hands and knees, but she didn’t wait
for
his next move. Tw
isting, she started to scramble
from beneath him. Curses raining from his mouth,
Bobby Joe
snagged a handful of her hair, jerking her head back. Tears ran from her eyes, muddying her vision, but the exact location of the flashlight was embedded in her brain. If she could just reach it
—

Hard footsteps registered over
Bobby Joe
’
s voice. He jerked
, his scream splitting her ears
then her hair was free. She didn’t look at the brawl behind her. She knew Damon was there, but her focus remained on the weapon in front of her. Now she could scramble those last few feet
,
and her hand closed
around the heavy weight of the flashlight
.

Twisting back
, she found the men locked in a deadly embrace simil
ar to their earlier f
ight. They rolled on the floor, exchanging punches wherever they could get one in. Male grunts and harsh breathing were loud in the room. Tori remained tense on the perimeter, afraid to get too close and be knocked over or distract Damon when he needed all the focus he could get.

The men seemed evenly matched
despite
Bobby Joe
’
s over
developed muscles. But apparently Damon had learned a few dirty tricks in the army, because
Bobby Joe
howled after a particular blow and Damon was able to
roll to the top. Unfortunately
his weight wasn’t enough to keep the other man pinned.

As they twisted once more, Tori saw her opening. Rushing forward, she remained poised until Damon was safely out of range
,
and then,
bam
! She cracked the heavy flashlight down in the vicinity of
Bobby Joe
’
s head. He froze, then fell forward in a boneless slump.

Damon rolled the body off, then climbed to his feet.
Two fingers slid around to the front of Bobby Joe’s neck. Then h
is gaze bounced from
the bleeding, unconscious man to Tori’s immobile form. “Damn, woman. Remind me never to piss you off.”

With extra effort
she managed to tear her gaze away from
Bobby Joe
to Damon’s admiring look. Immediately a squeezing sensation took up residence in her chest and she started to pant. As if from a distance she saw him frown, then rush forward as black edged into her vision. The last thing she felt was his arms slipping around her, providing the warm support she so desperately needed.

* * *

Damon slung himself o
nto a bar stool at Bailey’s
, then hunkered down into relative comfort. He’d found himself here more often than not since the snowstorm, finding the pub-like atmosphere more c
omfortable than the local honky-
tonk these days.
 

And wasn’t that a miracle? He’d spent practically every weekend since he’d moved here at that bar. Now the blat
ant sexuality and focus on hook
ups made him itch
under his skin. Every woman’s
 
“
I want you
”
look made him think of the one woman he really
desir
ed, the one who wanted him but was too shy to say so anywhere but behind closed doors.

He burned for another taste of that sexy innocence.
Yet he’d walked away as cool as could be, pretending his heart hadn’t stayed behind in her magnificent sleigh bed.

“Well, if it is
n’t the hero of the hour,”
the bartender said.
Colin
was a
cool
, down
-
home guy who looked like he’d be at home in a
n upscale restaurant
or behind
,
well
,
a bar. But the outline of
muscles under his shirt and deadly ease with which he m
o
ved spoke of someone ready to handle any trouble.

Someone Damon could appreciate.

He shrugged off Colin
’s comment. He wasn’t interested in being a hero
, despite all the
unnecessary talk
from people thanking him for
“
saving the
town’s precious princess
”
. He was just the type of
guy who took care of business. “
It is what it is.”

Colin
nodded slowly
as if meeting the admission with approval.

O
thers didn’t feel the same way.

“Joe, you think
ole
Demon here ain’t enjoyin
’ all the attention he’s gettin
’ around town?”

Damon grit
ted
his teeth at the aggressive voice at his back. He kept his gaze
steady on the Bailey’s logo on Colin’s tee. “T
he name’s Damon.”

“R
ight, right.” The guys laughed loudly behi
nd him.
”Ain’t you just lucky you live right next door to help t
he resident
damsel in distress
.”

The logo started to waver before his eyes. Was it turning red?

“I think she and her father’s trusty hunting rifle could handle things just fine,” he ground out, dragging in a steady breath before t
urning to face the numskulls. F
or some reason
he had trouble maintaining
his even-keeled ways these days.

Pipsqueak Number T
w
o had to add his own two cents worth
. “Sure. We believe you.”