Chapter 4
Kelsi
“There’s no need to fear the wind if your haystacks are tied down.”
~ Rowan O’Sullivan
Yes! I trust you. My inner voice was screaming right up until my anger smothered it with a pillow. I wasn’t sure who I was madder at in that moment. Me for being an idiot or Bryson for being so irresistible.
“Kelsi?” he prompted.
“No,” I lied as I pulled my hand back from his. “I don’t trust you.”
He winced at my response, and I wasn’t sure if it was an act. Was he trying to play hurt since I didn’t fall into his arms and thank him for being my knight-in-shining-armor? Or was he sincerely hurt that I didn’t trust him? What if he honestly was an upstanding guy that didn’t have ulterior motives?
I quickly dismissed that thought. Going down the What If Highway would only lead to a dead end. It was a pointless journey. I didn’t know him from Adam, so there was no way to decipher his intentions. What I did know was me, and if I was attracted to him—which I was—then he was bad news. That was a fact.
Bryson nodded sadly and stepped towards his friend. His friend that looked so scary I almost peed in my pants when I’d seen him. He was a beast in a cop uniform. He wasn’t just physically imposing either. He had a no-nonsense, follow procedure, you do the crime you do the time, by the book air about him that had my stomach doing more somersaults than Jack and Jill rolling down the hill.
How could Bryson be sure that this guy would look the other way on an underage B&E? I’d only ever lived in Detroit and Milwaukee, but from the little bit I knew about small towns, most of which I’d gleaned from television and movies, the residents tended to feel one of two ways about new people. They either welcomed them with open arms or they didn’t like outsiders, especially trouble-making outsiders. I was crossing my fingers, toes, eyes, and legs that Bryson’s friend fell into the first category.
“I’m responding to a call about a disturbance,” Robocop said when Bryson approached him, living up to my all business theory. Also, on a side note, I’d thought that Bryson had a deep voice, but this guy could be a Barry White impersonator.
“Right.” Bryson motioned to my brother. “The security company alerted me that the alarm had gone off. I came down and saw that the back window above the dumpster was shattered and I found him behind the bar. He’d already downed a bottle of Kettle One and was working on a bottle of Jameson.”
The cop’s brows scrunched slightly and his mouth pursed in a pained expression before he recovered and went back to looking like he was made of stone. Seeing him react that way to my brother’s ingestion of vodka and whiskey was the first glimmer of hope I had that he might be human after all.
His eyes cut to me. “And you are?”
“This is,” Bryson started, but I cut him off.
“I’m Kelsi Robbins. Milo is my brother, and I’m his legal guardian.” For some reason, “legal guardian” sounded better without the temporary in front of it. Not that how something sounded was going to make a bit of difference if Bryson was wrong about his friend’s willingness to handle this off the books.
My response must have satisfied Robocop because he let me out of the laser eye-lock I’d been held in and began walking across the room towards my brother. I started to follow, but he stopped and held out his hand. “I’m going to need you to wait there, Miss.”
Miss? Wait there? No! The same inner voice that I’d smothered just moments ago screamed.
Before I was able to vocalize my internal protest, Bryson was back at my side, his hand resting on my lower back. His touch instantly calmed me. The heat of his palm radiated through the thin material of my cotton tee. I hadn’t noticed that Bryson’s hands were larger than average, but they had to be to span my back from hip to hip. I was a naturally petite person, but no man’s hand had ever taken up that much real estate and I loved the feeling of being totally enveloped by his touch.
He leaned into me, and I felt the warmth of his breath fan down my neck, the same way it had when he’d spoken to me in the hall. Just like the first time I’d experienced that sensation, a tremor quaked through me.
I needed to get a serious grip on my hormones. There was a time in my life when I had no responsibilities, no one depending on me, no one to disappoint if I got caught in a bad boy’s web of sexiness. But that time had passed. There was too much on the line for me to even entertain the possibility of anything happening. I needed to get some protective walls in place, and I needed to do it now.
Danger Zone. Danger Zone. Danger Zone. I repeated in my head.
“It’s okay. I promise,” he whispered.
“Pfft,” I huffed. His promise and a dollar would get me whatever one hundred pennies could buy.
I was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his promise when his fingers curled, applying just enough pressure that it sent a lovely, warm sensation rolling through me that derailed my train of thought and made my knees go weak. I swayed back slightly, but Bryson’s large hand held me in place sending a second wave crashing into me. I’d heard about pressure points of the body before, but I had no idea that any were located around the base of the spine.
Trying to distract myself from my body’s traitorous responses, I focused my attention where it should be…on my brother. The closer that Robocop got to him, the larger his eyes grew. Goliath moved so he was positioned in front of the imposing force and it made me feel a million times better seeing the buffer.
“What’s your name, son?”
Milo blinked twice before answering. “Milo Alan Robbins.”
“And you’re new to town.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sir! Woohoo. I knew it was ridiculous to get excited over such a small pleasantry, but I had to take my Ws where I could get them because lately all I’d been having were Ls. And Milo speaking with respect to the sheriff was definitely a win.
“Where are you from?”
“Detriot.”
“Why did you move here?”
“I got into some…my sister got a job here.”
I was happy that he’d stopped himself from revealing the real reason we’d left Michigan. Respect was one thing, oversharing was another, especially when talking to the law.
“Did you break in here tonight?”
My first impulse was to rush to my brother’s side. To tell him not to answer any questions without a lawyer. But, since I couldn’t afford a lawyer and, for some completely inexplicable reason, I did trust Bryson, I continued to silently watch from afar.
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re old enough to know better.” The sheriff stated.
Please, please, don’t be a smartass. Milo tended to lash out when challenged, and to a punk thirteen-year-old, I was pretty sure that had sounded like a challenge.
“Yes, sir.”
Oh, thank God. I wasn’t sure why Milo was being so cooperative, but I would stare at my gift horse’s ass before I would look it in the mouth.
As Robocop continued questioning my brother, he answered each and every question without an ounce of attitude. I was relieved that Milo was taking this seriously. His track record in that area was less than stellar, to say the least.
Last month, before we moved, Milo was suspended from school for getting in a fight with a teacher. When he was in the principal’s office for the offense, he knocked over the man’s coffee, damaging his computer, his desk, and his iPhone. The little savings I’d had left went towards replacing the items he’d damaged. As much as I wanted to protect my brother, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea that Bryson had called his friend. If my brother continued down the path he was on, he was going to end up in juvie.
For the first eight years of his life, I’d protected him as much as I could. And since I’d been back in his life the past few months, I’d picked up right where I’d left off. Every time he got into trouble, made a mess of things, I did my best to defend him, protect him, clean it up, and shelter him. But tonight had showed me that I wasn’t doing him any favors. His behavior was getting progressively worse by the day. I hoped that a talk with the cop combined with some manual labor would be enough for him to see that there were consequences to his actions.
I was just starting to breathe again when the sheriff turned to me and motioned for me to join them. Bryson followed beside me.
“Milo has something he’d like to tell you.” Robocop looked between Bryson and me. “Both of you.”
Milo stood up from the stool, and his head bobbled a little. Apparently, the visit from the law hadn’t been enough to sober him up.
“I am very sorry for sneaking out,” he said to me then turned to Bryson. “And for breaking the window, and drinking your stuff. I will do whatever it takes to make what I did right.”
His words were a little slurred, but they sounded sincere. My jaw had metaphorically hit the floor when he apologized the first time; it went right through the hardwood now. That hadn’t sounded rehearsed or like he was repeating what he’d been told to say. It sounded like honest contrition.
The sheriff nodded in approval as he looked down at Milo. “I’m going to be talking to Mr. O’ Sullivan every day to make sure that you’re not giving him any trouble. I’m going to be watching you. This is a small town; there is nothing that you can do that won’t get back to me. If I hear or see that you’re slacking off—if you’re not where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be, or if you even think about getting into trouble—I’ll know about it, and I won’t be happy. And believe me, you don’t want me not to be happy. Do you understand?”
My brother’s chin moved up and down slowly. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Go clean up that glass you broke in the backroom and put some cardboard on the window. When you’re done, Mr. O’Sullivan will inspect it to make sure it’s done right.”
Milo stayed where he was, staring up at the sheriff, looking unsure of what he was supposed to do. I knew that he’d never boarded up a window before and I could see that he was nervous about the task.
“Go,” Robocop barked.
I started to follow along and make sure Milo did what he was supposed to do, but the sheriff held up his hand indicating that I needed to stay where I was.
“He’s never put cardboard over a window,” I explained, panic starting to creep into my voice. “He doesn’t even know where to look to find it. I was just going to make sure—”
“If he’s grown enough to sneak out, break into a bar and down two bottles of alcohol, he can figure out where to find cardboard and how to get it over a window.”
I wasn’t so sure of that, but I didn’t share my reservations.
The sheriff reached into his pocket and handed me a card. “I’m Hudson Reed. If he gets into any, and I mean any trouble, call me.”
Not a chance.
There was no way I’d voluntarily involve someone in our lives that had the authority to take Milo away from me. Maybe things would be different if I’d been granted full custody, but because my mother was fighting it, claiming that I was unfit, this temporary guardianship could be ripped away from me so fast it would make my head spin. Those were my lawyer’s exact words.
Growing up, I’d had a front row seat to all of my mom’s deceptions. She was a master at telling people what they wanted to hear to get what she wanted. Witnessing that play out time after time had given me an allergy to lying. If I even thought about bending the truth, I broke out in hives.
So, instead of making a promise I never intended to follow through on, I smiled. “Thank you.”
His left brow rose and I could see that he wanted to challenge me on my non-answer, but Bryson stepped in and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thanks so much for coming down and handling this discreetly, Hud. I owe you one.”
Robocop’s face softened, glancing at me before turning his attention back to Bryson. “Consider us even.”
The men exchanged knowing looks then shook hands before Bryson unlocked the front door and the sheriff left.
“So, where’s your new job?” Bryson asked as he relocked the door.
“The Best Little Hairhouse in Texas.” When I’d started looking for job opportunities in small towns far, far away from Detroit, the name of the salon caught my eye, and I applied immediately. The owner had gotten back to me within twenty-four hours, and one week and two video interviews later, Milo and I packed up and drove the twenty-plus hours to our new home. Normally getting a relocation approved through child services takes months, but because I could show proof of employment, Milo’s caseworker pushed through the temporary paperwork. “I’m an esthetician.”
“Oh, you’re going to be working for Bella. She was my sister’s best friend growing up.”
“Yep. I’ve Skyped with her a couple of times, but I haven’t met her in person yet. I stopped by the shop today to say hi, but she’d gone home early. The shop looked really cute though, and the two girls I met seemed nice. The last salon I was at was pretentious, and the people that worked there were horrible, I hated it. But, I think I’m going to really like working and living here.”
I wasn’t sure why I was babbling on and on, or if I was trying to convince him or myself that what I was saying was true. Making this drastic a move for not just myself but for Milo, too, wasn’t something that I took lightly. I’d lost plenty of sleep over it before I’d made the final arrangements.
He smiled widely, and the dimple reappeared on his left cheek. “I think you’re really gonna like it here, too. And I think I’m really going to like you being here.”
I tried to ignore his statement. But I failed. Miserably. His sexy grin, his gravelly voice, and his flirtatious statement shot straight between my legs and set off tiny fireworks of anticipation and desire.
Oh boy, this wasn’t just bad, it was the worst kind of bad.
It was bad boy bad.