The Drake House (7 page)

Trisha knocked him down a peg with that fortune cookie crap. That mouth of hers, he may have nearly taken it, but his will allowed him the ability to back off. But for a second, he wondered what it would have been like to kiss her. Would he loose himself in her, or would the pain halt any physical contact, like it had with other women after the shooting? In the past year, there had been no sex, no touching, no kissing. He was casually dating a woman when the shooting happened. To forget, he tried to bury himself in her, in the mindless feeling of sex, but when he cried out in pain, she abruptly left and he never saw her again. Nick dared to try once more with someone else, with the same result. After that, he’d never had trouble fending off a woman, especially one who was clearly trying not to be interested.

Like Trisha Eaton.

And why is that?
he wondered. Trisha was different, made
him
different. Made him want to try.
Dangerous ground
. Trisha wasn’t clingy and demanding. She wasn’t trying to “fix” him. He had no idea what to do with her.

The phone screamed, jolting him upright in his automatic city response. Glancing briefly at his alarm clock on the floor next to him, he grunted in exasperation at the late hour. Who the hell would need him now?

“Yeah,” was all the politeness he mustered.

Silence.

He was about to hang up when a drone pulsed. Humming, vibrating. Slowly growing louder until he had to pull the phone from his ear. Goosebumps skated over his arms. The sound stopped and he put the phone back to his ear.

“Thank you for coming…” A shriek. An echoing, hollow voice like whispered through a tunnel.

His spine turned to ice. The voice didn’t even sound human.

Dial tone.

He set the receiver down and stared at it, unsure why the prank jarred him so deeply. The call came in on the house line, not his cell. Most everyone had his cell. Could this number be in the directory already?

His cell rang.

No one answered his greeting.

Completely pissed off now, he growled again. “Hello?”

“Stay away from her,” came a harsh, muffled whisper. Not the whisper from the first call.

Who does this idiot think he is messing with?
Nick didn’t question who the caller meant in reference to
her.
He just knew. “Who is this?” he questioned, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer, but probing for chatter.

“Stay away from her,” the voice said again.

Nick tried to make out the caller, but his limited and new involvement in the town meant the solution wasn’t near. Even if it wasn’t muffled, he wouldn’t recognize the voice. “I don’t take well to threats.”

“You better,” it said, then a click.

Nick glared at the ID before snapping the cell closed. Unknown caller.

Ten seconds later, his cell buzzed again. “Fuck.” Nick ground his teeth and answered.

“It’s Wayne. I need you to head over to Eaton’s Orchard. Trisha just spotted an intruder on the property. She sounded scared.”

Nick was already on his feet and stepping into his jeans. “On my way.”

Chapter Four

The air was crisp with a slight bite, but it held promise of gentler days to come. Overcast skies threatened rain and Trisha pushed the men to get the necessities done on the orchard before it held good to that threat.

Wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with her forearm, she glanced four rows over and was satisfied that Brad and Chuck were as far along as she. So were Eduardo, her dad, and Andrew two rows over. The other men were too far to see from here. Hefting another bag of fertilizer over her shoulder, she trudged through the pain, from what she attributed to another pulled muscle, and dropped the bag solidly next to the last tree in her row. Ripping it open, she used the spade to spread the nourishment around the base.

The conversation with her father last night was bothering her. His gentle and often comical demeanor wasn’t present. Instead, there was a dark fearsome man whom she had never seen before. And was very certain she didn’t want to meet again. He’d never looked at her the way he did in those brief moments, had never laid a hand on her. Furthermore, she had no idea why some silly nightmares she’d had her whole life or a scraped knee thirty years ago brought out these characteristics in him.

She was also beginning to question whether she imagined the man in the orchard last night—a manifestation resulting from stress and insomnia. Nick had taken it seriously last night when he came over, but when he looked at her one last time before leaving, it seemed like he wanted to say more.

Probably wanted to declare her insane.

Her task done, she sat on the back of her four-wheeler, watching Eduardo and her father working side-by-side like they used to for many years. They really only got the opportunity now when Mom and Dad visited, but Eduardo had been working for her father since long before they retired. Trisha promoted him to fulltime foreman then.

All she wanted was her parents’ approval. She’d worked hard all her life with them to gain it. Disappointment had rarely reared its head and, what disturbed Trisha the most, was she had no idea the cause for it this time. Her father asked her not to speak of it again, demanded it when those dark eyes bored into hers. So she wouldn’t ask, or probe deeper, though her curious nature longed to make it right. They were only here for two weeks, two short weeks, and she wouldn’t ruin their time together.

Nodding to Brad, indicating the wrap to another day, she drove back to the shed with them in tow. She parked the vehicle and checked her watch. Chuck took off his ball cap and scratched his sweat-soaked head. She grinned. “Chuck, you have time to shower before dinner so we don’t have to smell you.”

Chuck slanted his eyes at her before grabbing his chest in an exaggerated gesture. “Oh, that hurts, Trish.”

When those slanted eyes lit with mischief, she backed up two full paces. “Stay away, Chuck. I mean it.”

He gripped her by the waist and wiped his sweaty brow on her flannel. “Ooh, Trish, you don’t think I smell good?”

“Brad, a little help here,” Trisha piped before another round of laughter hit.

Brad crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “That’s what you get. Your own fault.”

She pushed Chuck away, but not before he planted a smacking kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you in twenty for chow.”

After the men left, Eduardo and her father parked their vehicle and assisted her silently in stacking the rest of the unused bags inside the shed. Trisha marked the inventory on her clipboard hung on the wall and turned to them.

Her father’s short brown curls were mixed with more gray since their last visit and his round cheeks were pink-tinted from the chill. Though tall, he still seemed dwarfish compared to Eduardo’s massive height. Where her father was stocky and solid, Eduardo was broad and well-toned. Both could work circles around her, as well as work each other into the ground.

Eduardo eyed her silently for a moment, running a hand through his black ponytail before apparently deciding he could discuss the matter in front of Hank. “Mike was sick again today.”

Trisha wiped her brow with a forearm and planted both hands on her hips in disappointment. “I noticed. What was it this time?”

Eduardo shrugged. “Just said he was sick.”

Mike Peltzer had been on the orchard for a year, the newest of her men, and the laziest. She hated laziness. “I’ll deal with it. Go shower. I’ll meet you inside for dinner.”

Eduardo glanced at Hank and then back to her. “You sure?”

Her dad placed a concrete hand on the shoulder of the man by his side. “My daughter can handle it, can’t you?”

Trisha nodded and smiled, pleased her father appeared undisturbed from the night before. “Go on. I’ll talk to him.”

After locking the shed, she headed toward one of the ranch homes behind hers. Disciplining the men was not her favorite task, but with running a spread comes responsibility. She could lay down the law as easily as she could smile. Business was business.

Pushing the nerves to the back of her mind, she slipped inside the back door. “Woman in the house, be decent!” she yelled.

Andrew McArthur met her in the hallway. Dark red hair mussed from his shower and a towel draping his wiry frame, he grinned. “Hope this is decent enough, ma’am.”

She liked Andrew. He worked hard, got along well with the men, and had been stable at her orchard for three years now. She smiled. “It is. Get dressed and eat.”

He leaned in a little closer. “You looking for Mike?”

She nodded, and he peeked over his shoulder before whispering again. “He’s been acting a little funny, ma’am.”

She ignored the “ma’am” comment. No matter how many times she told him to stop he kept doing it. She looked square in his hazel eyes. “How so?”

“He’s been moody, stays in his room a lot.” He looked over his shoulder again as if to find him there. “He started a fight with Chuck last week. Nothing major, but started it just the same.” He rubbed a hand over his wet hair. “Forgive me, ma’am, but if we can’t get along, we can’t work.”

Trisha patted his arm. “You’re right. I’ll talk with him and meet you at the main house.” Glancing around, she asked, “Are you the last one here?”

He nodded, then slipped into his room down the long hallway.

Trisha knocked smartly on the last door to the right. “Mike, I need a word with you.” Taking his grunt for an invitation she opened the door and shut it behind her.

The hardwood floor was littered with clothes, and the trash can overflowed with rotting food. The pungent smell stung and she pinched her eyes to the stench. Mike was sitting on the bed with his feet crossed watching an old rerun of The A-Team. The thirty-six-year-old man looked much older in the drawn light and not at all friendly.

Marching to the small window, she threw open the drapes and lifted the pane to let fresh air in. Whirling to him again, she eyed the situation. “You don’t look sick to me, Mike.”

Not acknowledging her, he continued to stare at the television. She paced over to it and slammed her hand on the power button, shutting it off. She kept her voice even. “You show a lot of disrespect for me and the other men here.”

His eyes flashed heat. When he sat upright, his sandy hair was greasy and unclean. He rose and took two full steps toward her, his size towering hers. “How dare you come into my room and bark insults.”

She stood her ground. “I’ll remind you that you’re in my house. This filth you’ve made here demonstrates how careless you are and illustrates your disrespect. You hardly show up to work, and when you do, it’s half-assed. You’re not getting along with my men, the men you have to live with and work side-by-side with daily.”

He took two steps closer and she caught the stench of whiskey. She curled her lip. “And you’re drunk, not sick. You have until tomorrow morning at seven a.m. to get your things and leave. I’ll have Eduardo draw your pay up to today and have it…”

His fist smacked solidly into her cheek with a pop.

All she saw after that was black.

****

“I want his head on a platter!”

Nick watched Brad prowl the bedroom. He’d been doing it since Nick arrived an hour ago, following Steve’s call. He glanced over to the window where Steve was talking to Eduardo and Nancy for their statement, attempting to remain professional.

It wasn’t easy getting that call. It usually wasn’t, but this one felt personal. Racing here at three times the speed limit and keeping his car on the road was no effortless task either. But walking in and seeing her slumped on the floor, a bruise already forming on her perfect cheek, took every ounce of control he had to do his job tonight.

The men were all standing outside waiting for news, huddled together in worry. Doc Wilson—as everyone in town called the seventy-year-old man who had been the sole medical personnel in Small Rapids for forty years—had come and gone. Nick wanted her in a hospital, just to get checked out, but the closest one was in Madison. The old doctor’s hands were shaking as he checked her out, but everyone seemed satisfied with his judgment.

Trisha was leaning against her mother on the floor, an icepack to her cheek and a dazed look to her eyes. Yet, she hadn’t said a word. It stirred him. He cleared his throat and turned to Brad. “How long has Mike Peltzer worked on Eaton’s Orchard?”

“Why aren’t you out there looking for him?” Brad whipped out, eyes flaring.

Nick kept his tone even. “Don’t you worry, Wayne is doing just that.” Nick flipped his notebook open and tried to focus. “How long?”

Brad sighed and finally gave in to sit on the bed. “Almost a year. I told her not to hire him.”

“Did he ever threaten Miss Eaton before?”

Brad rose again. “Listen to you!
Miss Eaton
. As if you hadn’t been on a date with her, as if you hadn’t had a meal in this house with her family. I don’t know where you came from, but we’re not cold and emotionless…”

Nick sat Brad back down on the bed with a firm hand to his shoulder. He didn’t need to give this pest any explanations. And calling her Miss Eaton was the only thing keeping Nick detached right now. “If you think this is easy, it’s not. But I have a job to do and you’re not making it simpler. Has he ever threatened her before?” He drew out every word slowly.

Brad jerked his head aside, anger draining away. “No, not that I know of.”

Nick closed his notebook and replaced it in his back pocket. “I know you two are close friends, but don’t you start going off like a vigilante. Let us handle it.” He peered over at Trisha and was surprised to see her looking at him, her brown eyes clearing and seemingly hazel in color now.

Kneeling down in front of her, all the tension crept back into his body. He strained for patience as he tilted her chin gently to get a better look at her bruised cheek. “He clocked you good, didn’t he?” He turned to her mother. “Let’s get her back to the house. I need to talk with her alone for a few minutes.”

Hank and Mabel assisted their daughter in standing and, assured she wouldn’t fall back down, Nick walked over to Steve. “I’m going up to the main house with them to get a statement from her and make sure she’s settled.”