“No, I’m Harlow.”
“She’s my brother’s wife,” Trace supplies.
I haven’t met Trace’s famous brother, but his wife’s friendly smile tells me she’s super down-to-earth. “Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand, then turn back to Trace. “Where’s Amanda?”
I need to find her, start asking questions, and figure out my best course of action. As I drove up, a glance told me people trampled the flowers around the perimeter of the house and broke a window out front. I need to get Amanda out of here and stash her someplace both secret and safe.
A beautiful African American woman approaches down the front walkway, dressed in a white silk robe and looking very pregnant. “She’s inside. Her son is cranky since his sleep has been disrupted. She’s trying to get him back down. I’m Nia Cook.”
I shake her hand and introduce myself. “Nice to meet you. Can I go in and talk to her? I’d like to start getting a feel for how I can best help.”
“Sure. She’s at the back of the house, down the hall, first door on the left.”
“Thanks.” I glance over at Trace. “Catch up with you later?”
“Yeah. I’ll figure out a location and call you. Good to see you, man.”
“You, too. We’ll have to go fishing again soon.”
With the niceties exchanged, I head into the big house, cursing under my breath at the broken glass in the living room. As I head down the hall, I hear a fussing child’s voice.
“No!”
“Oliver, calm down, buddy. Everything is fine. Just fine…” a woman soothes.
Quietly, I tread closer, pausing just outside the bedroom. I don’t want to startle her since she and the boy have had an eventful night, but there’s something about her voice… It lures me in. It’s melodic as it caresses my senses. But it’s also steely enough to warn me against mistaking her softness for weakness.
I haven’t even seen this woman, but anticipation flares across my skin. It burns through my veins.
“That’s a good boy,” she murmurs as I turn the corner to look at her.
I freeze in my tracks.
A waifish blonde, seemingly swallowed up by soft cotton pajamas two sizes too big in a blue so pale they almost look white, stands over a playpen. Her profile is hidden by her long waves as she bends, pacifier in one dainty, outstretched hand.
Without even glimpsing her face, I’m riveted. I don’t register anything or anyone else for breathless, interminable moments.
Finally, I blink. I have to stop staring. If I can’t, there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to keep her safe.
“Amanda?”
With a soft gasp, she whirls to me, seeming to search for words. “A-are you Tanner Kirk?”
I stare at her bare face and her pouty, parted lips. She’s beautiful and wary. And she looks so fucking young.
“Yeah.” I stick out my hand. “Hi.”
She folds her much-smaller palm against mine. At the contact, she stiffens. I do my best to ignore the lash of heat that singes my palm and snakes up my arm. Any chance she’s feeling this crazy reaction, too?
“Thank you for coming. Nice to meet you.”
I nod. “Likewise.”
To stop myself from gawking at her soft face and even softer blue eyes, I turn my attention to the boy. He has a sharp jaw that’s nothing like Amanda’s…and a headful of pale curls that are. He stands in the middle of a playpen with red cheeks, glowering green eyes, and little fists.
“That’s Oliver, my son.”
“You’re not happy, big guy?”
The boy rears back at me with an angry furrow between his brows. “No.”
Beside me, Amanda sighs. “It’s one of the two words he knows right now.”
“What’s the other?”
“Ma ma.” He holds out his arms to her.
“No.” She shakes her head softly. “Sleep.”
The boy gets angrier, stomping his foot and huffing.
“I don’t think he’s going to take no for an answer,” I remark.
“He’ll wear himself out eventually. I hate to leave him because I don’t want him to be afraid.”
“Do you think he understands what happened here earlier?”
“No, thank goodness.”
But she’s terrified. Oh, she’s trying to be brave. I can tell by the way she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. If she wants comfort, it doesn’t show. I admire that, even as I want to put my arms around her and tell her I’ll take care of everything. I don’t for two reasons. First, Ellie resented my “macho BS.” And second, I just met Amanda. But after my reaction to her, if I’m going to protect her I have no business touching her.
“We can stay and talk here, if that makes you more comfortable. I’d just like to ask you some questions.”
She shakes her head. “If we stay, he’ll never sleep. Do you mind if we talk in the next room? I’ll be close enough to hear him, but…”
Far enough away that her son won’t be distracted. “No problem. Lead the way.”
“Come here, little man.” She bends to him again. When he lifts his arms to her, she folds him against her chest and holds him tight for a precious moment, kissing the top of his head before stepping away. “Now go to sleep. Or no trucks when you wake up.”
He stomps his foot again, but to her credit she ignores his tantrum and heads for the door, turning off the recessed lights overhead and ensuring his nightlight snaps on to illuminate the shadows.
“Ma ma!” Oliver sounds mad.
“Sleep tight,” she croons. “Mama loves you.”
When I file out, she breezes into the hall and guides me to the bedroom next door. Her bed looks barely slept in, and I wonder how exhausted she must be. Her suitcase sits in the corner on a luggage rack. Other than that, it appears as if she’s hardly stepped foot in here.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.” She sits on the edge of the bed, then gestures me to a plush chair nearby. “And thank you for your patience.”
She’s unfailingly polite. Have tonight’s events rattled her…or do I make her
