His to Cherish (3 page)

J. Gillie

I'd known a Madeline Gillie back in high school, blonde like the man standing in front of me. She and I hadn't really hung out together. Her parents were strictly blue collar and my mom had tried to keep me properly corralled among the country club crowd despite my being too fat for the cool, rich kids and nowhere near rich once Evan started running the horse farm.

"You're Maddie's brother, right?" I smiled, hoping this was a friendly encounter and that Evan hadn't taken my hundred dollars yesterday just to pull some sleazy legal move today to keep me off the property.

"That I am." He thrust his hand at me, grinning. "She'll be glad to hear you're back in town."

I accepted the handshake, my arm getting a good workout as he pumped it up and down.

He released my hand but didn't drop the grin. "Keppler said you're back home -- at the horse farm?"

Keppler was the septuagenarian who owned the hardware store.

I rolled my eyes. "Hard to call it a horse farm when there aren't any horses left."

Deputy Gillie nodded, the grin flattening into something almost grim. "Last of the breeding stock was sold off about a year after you left town."

That meant Evan's money problems had quickly escalated after I left. Sighing, I made a mental note to check the county tax records. I didn't need to lose the guesthouse to back taxes on the entire property. Just the idea made my stomach knot.

"Evan's got a lot of rough traffic going in and out of there." Reaching into his back pocket, Deputy Gillie pulled out a business card. Clearing his throat, he started to hand it to me then hesitated. Flipping it over, he pulled the ball point pen from his shirt pocket and wrote a second number on the back. "You have an emergency, call 911, of course, but if there's anything that just makes you uncomfortable and you want to talk about it, you can call me anytime, Mia."

His mouth pursed as he blew on the ink, his eyes on mine as he made sure the ink was dry before handing me the card.

"Do you think anything illegal is going on?" My stomach clenched another knot tighter as the specter of another type of foreclosure rose up in my mind.

"Lots of woods mixed in with those grazing pastures. He could be cooking meth, could be letting others cook it for a cut of the profits." Deputy Gillie's hands landed on his lean hips, the fingers dancing in contemplation. "We don't have any proof, but I know you, Mia. You're not the type of person who would want anything to do with that."

Gulping, I nodded. Tears sprang to my eyes. I had known coming home would be tough because of Evan. My whole damn childhood after my father's death had been hard because of him, my mother only providing a light layer of protection against his mean spirit. But I hadn't expected to return to an outright criminal enterprise.

"Six years is a long time away, people leave, new ones come in." He placed the card in my hand then squeezed my shoulder, his touch lingering. "I have day shift, so if you want to catch up over dinner..."

He let the words trail off. Looking at him, I saw something more than local law enforcement or my almost friend's big brother staring back at me. Keeping a nod in check, I smiled and dropped my gaze to the card.

Deputy John Gillie.

I gestured at the half of the car's trunk that held the paint, brushes and air mask. "I have a few health hazards at the guesthouse to fix first, but I'd like that."

A grin surfaced at my half-acceptance of his offer. He had nice face, lean but handsome, with hazel eyes it didn't hurt to look into. Protective eyes, not cutting or dangerous. Nothing in his expression reminded me of Collin Stark.

And that was a good thing.

********************

I drove home from Walmart, my suspicious gaze on the trees that lined the lane to the guesthouse and the wooded acres beyond. Parked, I hauled the ladder from the garage then changed into a pair of work jeans I'd bought that day. I would keep all my Stark International clothes buried deep in my closet until I had clients to impress or found a job that suited them or gave up the ghost and donated them. Evan seeing them would only cause me trouble, and I needed to be ready to move the minute he took too strong an interest in making me miserable.

Coming back to Keeling might have seemed like jumping from the frying pan into the fire, but, as mean and dangerous a bastard as Evan was, I always knew what to expect from him. Not once had I harbored the hope he could be any kind of replacement for my father. I'd never been stupid with my heart around him, not like I'd been with Collin.

Hauling my butt onto the roof over the spare bedroom, I growled at myself because I couldn't keep Stark out of my head. As precarious as the footing was, I couldn't afford a single brain cell spent on that man.

Focusing on the roof, I pulled out a measuring tape to figure out how much of the tarp I needed to cut. Back down I went, cutting the tarp, hauling it and the one-by-fours and nails up. I nailed some boards to the roof, stapled the tarp to the boards, then sandwiched the tarp between the first set of boards and a top layer nailed through. Two hours later, I was soaked through with sweat and done with that part of the roof.

I wouldn't touch the garage. The branch needed removed first but was partially attached to the tree. I'd seen enough bad snap backs to leave that to the roofer or a tree service if the roofer didn't want to touch it. So I put away the ladder and remaining boards then checked my phone to see if any of the roofers I'd called had left a message. Two had. I called them back, both telling me they would come out the following day.

I tackled the interior of the spare bedroom next. Everything that didn't show signs of water or mold damage I moved into the front room. The other items I picked through with gloved hands, putting them in bins of salvageable versus destroyed before starting on the ceiling and wall.

Hours from being anywhere near finished with the room, I took a shower at eleven p.m., changed the bedding in my room and fell into a deep sleep, my first since returning from Dubai in which the dreams went uncorrupted with images of Collin Stark.

Rediscovering Mia

Day three and I was on the ground in Keeling, North Carolina. I had an address to the horse farm Mia had grown up on and a description with a license plate number for the rental car she had picked up at the county airport. I started with the horse farm. I had seen pictures of the place online, back when the farm had a solid reputation for breeding champion thoroughbreds. Under its current ownership of Evan Morris, the farm retained none of its former glory. No horses were out of the stable, if any remained. The main house and grounds showed neglect.

Leaving my SUV, I knocked at the front door. No one answered. I walked the length of the porch, intending to peek in the ground floor windows, but all were heavily draped with the fabric pulled tight. I stepped onto the lawn and looked up at the second floor. More heavy curtains sealed out the light. Half expecting some redneck with a shotgun to come out and challenge me, I walked the house's entire perimeter.

No showdown materialized. I knocked on the front door again with a heavier hand. I didn't like the set-up, didn't want to think about Mia in the house with a man like Morris. No jail time, not even a single prosecution, but he was bad news. The preliminary report from Kane showed Morris had a dishonorable discharge from the Navy in 1980 before he completed his first tour. Some arrests followed that discharge before he married Mia's mother and some after the woman's death -- bar fights on both sides, reckless driving. Mixed in the recent reports were allegations of doping horses before showing them to prospective buyers. One of the horses had died in transit, but Morris bought the corpse back at full price plus a premium from the new owner, just managing to avoid an investigation.

Listening for any movement within the house at my knock, I grew more and more pissed.

I hadn't removed Mia from Dubai and sheltered her in Florida to have her run home to someone like Morris. Fists clenched, I stormed off the porch and into the SUV. I followed a dirt lane, rutted from the same neglect that marked the house. Still anticipating the sound of a round leaving a shotgun or rifle, I stopped at the outbuildings -- boarded up stables, maybe a garage for one of them, all with the windows covered over and heavy padlocks on the door, suggesting something of value or secrecy inside.

Given the run-down state of everything I saw, I couldn't imagine anything legitimate of value in the buildings. The locks, which looked regularly used, had to be in place to secure something illicit. Heading further down the lane into the tree line, I texted Kane to check with the local narcotics unit and see if they had a file on Morris. The information would come in handy in convincing Mia to return to Stark International.

Clearing the trees, I found my first sign of Mia in Keeling beyond the mere address given by the car rental company. A small house, the garage roof punctured by a half-snapped pine limb, but signs that windows had been recently cleaned, the front path cleared and tire tracks that likely matched the tiny Mazda she had rented. Looking through the open drapes after a knock on the front door proved useless, I saw more signs of recent cleaning.

A walk around the back of the house revealed a fresh plastic tarp over another portion of the roof, the ground still marked with the imprint of the ladder she had used. At least the small footprints around the ladder indicated Mia had been the one to repair the roof. The idea of her up there, working alone on a compromised structure for a few hours had me clenching my fists all over again. Not as bad, perhaps, as her living in the same house as Morris, but she had endangered herself in leaving Florida, compounded that danger by renewing her association with her stepfather and then she had risked life and limb making repairs.

I closed my eyes as I fought the need to punch a whole through one of the windows on her tiny home. Closing my eyes only made things worse. She needed disciplined and I only knew one way to discipline Mia. With my hands, in my bed, making her moan and come between spanks to her lovely ass or the dance of a flogger against her thighs and sweet cunt.

Arousal crowded against the worry and frustration I felt, my memory coiling around the contours of her body, the ripe breasts, the thick nipples that made her melt when I sucked on them, how tightly she could wrap around my fingers or cock, milking me as pleasure rolled through her.

My body responding, I thrust my hand into my pocket in search of the ring. Finding it, I shook my head at the lust thrumming through me. The big diamond with its platinum setting was my reminder of the baby lost and the one woman I wanted to protect more than anyone. The ring would not go on her finger. She would never be mine to discipline again. But I had to find and convince her to return to the company for her own safety. I would give her any location she wanted and a real job to do regardless of Kane's protests about the new security risk she posed as my former lover.

It was my company.

My Mia.

********************

I could have waited at the guesthouse for however many minutes or hours it took for her to return, but I had to see her without delay. I needed to see that she was whole, that her foolish departure from the safety of Stark International was taken from a point of strength. I needed to see my beautiful, obstinate woman and know that, in trying to protect her, I hadn't destroyed her spirit.

From the evidence visible at the guesthouse, I roughly sketched out Mia's priorities. Digging in, she had a home to repair and stock as she built a place for herself away from Stark International. Having left early, she likely was procuring more supplies. Taking another look through the open curtain, I noted the name of the hardware store on the bag. I decided to make it my first stop and spread out the search parameter from there for the blue Mazda rental.

A
eureka
moment blossomed in my chest twenty minutes later when I spotted the vehicle parked in the far corner of the store's lot. I parked next to it and looked inside. No map or newspaper out on the seat. No bags from other stores. No clues for her next destination.

I jogged across the lot and entered the store. Half the aisles were marked clearance. I stared down each one of them, my ears perked for the sound of her soft, lilting voice. Having scanned every row, I walked to the counter where a man somewhere in his late sixties or early seventies sat at the register and made marks on what looked like a freshly printed inventory sheet.

He looked up, a cataract obscuring almost all of one blue eye. "Help you find something?"

I removed my phone from my pocket and pulled up a picture of Mia. The old man's face moved from helpful to guarded.

All of Kane's arguments about me losing my mind where Mia was concerned bubbled up as I quashed the desire to go hard on the old timer at the first sign of his non-compliance. Instead, I smiled and forced a half-truth past my lips. "It's okay, just work related. She's my employee."

The man slapped a hand on the counter, his wheezy laugh exposing my lie. "You're from that Florida company, ain't ya? Sorry, boy, but she's my employee now."

"That was fast." I shrugged as I swallowed down my surprise. "She's only been in town three days."

"Smart cookie like that, knows her tools, easy on the eyes..." Shaking a gnarled finger at me, the old man threw a wink. "You don't give someone else a chance to hire her -- or steal her back."