Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) (9 page)

“Y’know … it doesn’t look that bad there.” She tapped a finger on her chin and gauged the furniture placement. “Maybe a little to the left.”

Giving the chest of drawers a quick shove with her hip was just enough to put the old thing in perfect position. She glanced down at George, who sat there, tongue hanging out, watching her rearrange the bedroom.

“Whaddya think?” she asked. Stupid mutt’s answer was to flop onto the floor and put his furry head on his paws.

Guess her manic activities wore him out. Heather frowned. She had to give it to him. This was the fourth configuration of a space that didn’t offer many alternatives. If she had a brain, she’d be disinterested too. But this wasn’t about intellect or reason.

“Well, screw you,” she muttered irritably. What fucking good was having a dog if he just gave you shit?

“The feng shui diagram said far left wall. Away from the door. So there,” she griped, quickly followed by a loud, derisive raspberry.

He just looked at her.

“Whatever.” Throwing up her hands in defeat, she stomped away and went to find something else to do. Maybe go through the junk drawer in the kitchen.

On the way, her tummy growled reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Rubbing her stomach as the hungry rumble lingered, a glance at the refrigerator was all it took to remember that the cupboard was more or less bare.

Oh, goody. Nothing like feeling famished when a shopping excursion was long overdue.

Ding dong.

Startled by the doorbell, Heather’s head swung toward the front door.

Ding dong. Ding dong.

Seriously? Whoever was insisting on themselves on the other side of the door was about to get put on blast. Screwing up her face with an expression promising mortal danger, she stomped heavily to the door and yanked it open with a vengeance.

The second it opened, she thought,
Probably shoulda looked through the damn peephole.

Brody.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” he chirped a bit too happily in a sexy Southern drawl. “I’m in your neighborhood today looking for someone to sample my goodies.”

Scrunching up her face, Heather stared at him so hard she was going to end up with a headache. “Uh … you’re what?”

He was grinning like a naughty kid with a huge secret. She didn’t know he could do that. Grin. She knew his O face pretty well, but amusement? Not so much.

“My goodies,” he barked with laughter.

Still majorly confused and getting more and more flustered by the second, she felt like an idiot standing there parroting what he said.

“Your goodies?”

His grin got bigger. “Yeah. You know … goodies.” On a teasing note, he held up a white plastic carry-bag that on closer inspection was two bags wrapped in his fingers. The other hand held a garish bouquet of flowers and by his feet was a brown paper bag. The guy came fully loaded.

All of a sudden, she heard a frantic scratching sound on her hardwood floors and turned just in time to see George come scurrying like mad down the hallway toward them. At the last second, he woofed and launched at Brody, who took the impact without dropping anything even though he’d been shoved back a step.

“Buddy!” He laughed as George went doggy apeshit. “Okay, okay, boy. Get down.” To Heather’s utter astonishment, the damn dog dropped to an obedient sit with his tail thumping the floor. He never listened to her that way.

Still grinning, Brody looked Heather up and down, smirked ever so slightly, and then cleared his throat. “May I come in?”

The hesitation was real as her imagination had a field day. What if he was a vampire? Wouldn’t inviting him in make her vulnerable to his wicked ways? What if he bit her?

She shivered slightly. Brody was well familiar with her predilection for being bitten. And he was damn good at it too. Could bite the crap out of her without leaving any marks. The man possessed many talents.

He was also juggling an armload of stuff and staring at her with an expectant expression on his handsome face.

Shit and fuck.
Handsome face?
Heather sighed heavily. She wasn’t supposed to think of him that way. It only muddied the waters.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” she muttered irritably. Pushing some hair behind her ear, she shuffled uncomfortably foot-to-foot, painfully aware of how she looked. Frazzled wasn’t her best fashion statement. And it showed.

He might have been reading her thoughts when he said, “You look fantastic, as always. Now, stop fishing for a compliment and grab that bag by my foot, would you? This shit is getting heavy, and our dinner will be cold if you don’t step aside. Immediately.”

George made a doggie whimper. She glared at him. “No one asked you.”

And just like that, the whole thing struck her as hilariously funny. She was hip deep in a daylong freakout, and looking like a rag picker as her dog defected and her normally depressing New Year was under invasion. By someone laughing. Maybe at her.

“All right. I can see I’m outnumbered.” The sulking side shade she directed at the dog got a chuckle from Brody. Quickly biting back his reaction when she arched an eyebrow at him, she made a production of flinging the door wider and stepping aside.

The absolute second Brody stepped inside her apartment George went insane. Though he tried stepping around the silly dog, it was kind of hard to do with the excited overly large pup running circles around him.

“Easy, buddy,” he drawled in a quietly commanding voice. “Let me put this stuff down, okay?”

Heading for the kitchen and leaving Heather literally holding a brown paper bag, she shook her head, shut the door, and followed in their wake. By the time she got to the kitchen, he was already on one knee vigorously rubbing George’s neck and belly.

Scooting around them she set the bag down and peeked inside. Bottles. That was what she’d thought when she picked it up.

“Champagne,” he quipped. “Cheapest shit I could find.”

That almost did it for her. Keeping the amusement off her face and the laughter from her voice wasn’t easy. This was a new side to the normally taciturn loner. Was it there all along and she just hadn’t noticed? Brody Jensen was a good guy, that much she knew. But the relaxed and jovial man invading her private agony? He knew what he was doing and hadn’t picked this night of the year for no reason.

Oh, god. Did he … care … about her?

The kitchen wobbled, and she felt the oddest sensation, like a constriction in her center. A scary tightening along nerve endings stretched so tight it started to hurt. And then, a release. The only thing she could compare it to was a rubber band after it was pulled to the max and then let go. She’d been wrapped so tight for so very long that when it quickly eased, she felt paralyzing fear instead of relief.

Weakened and with a low humming noise in her head, Heather reached for the edge of the counter for support. Right before her knees turned to jelly, she thought
Damn, I really should have eaten something.

B
RODY WAS PUTTING
the champagne in the fridge when the warning bell went off in his head. A chill wrapped around him. He knew that sensation. It meant something wasn’t right. Looking at Heather, he found her waving an arm in search of the kitchen island; with a face so pale, she looked like a ghost.

Shit
. In two steps, he was close enough to put an arm around her shoulders and pick her up before she hit the floor. Recognizing the stress overload, he held her close and murmured softly as he moved them back to the living room.

“Everything’s okay, honey. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”

Sinking onto the sofa, he kept her on his lap as waves of tremors shook her body.

“Heather,” he commanded softly. “I want you to breathe along with me.” He took a deep, deep breath, making his chest expand … held it briefly, and then let it go in a long exhale. Again and again, he set a slow, calming rhythm while gently rubbing her back.

Though his jaw clenched knowing the agony she was feeling, he never wavered, just kept breathing and caressing. At first, George sat with his head resting on her feet. Before long, he’d crept onto the sofa nestling in the curve of her bent legs. As she calmed, the dog made his way onto her lap until the three of them were plastered together with Heather held safe in a George and Brody sandwich. When she wrapped an arm around the dog’s neck, Brody sighed mentally. She was on her way back.

His mouth twisted into a grim frown. Fuck. He should have been prepared for her reaction. What the hell was he thinking surprising her like this?
Pfft.
He’d been thinking about Heather, knowing how difficult these end-of-year days were for her. Talk about shitty timing. Nothing like having the worst moment of your life tied to a major, worldwide celebration.

“Feeling better?” he asked softly.

Her head nodded on his chest, but she wasn’t talking. Fine with him. He was enjoying having her on his lap. And not in a sexual way either. As he guided her through the panic, Brody was aware on a deeper level of how much she needed him. Since she was not the type to ever let so much as an inkling of her personal torments out in front of others, it felt huge that she let him get so close.

He liked how that made him feel. Heather actually needing him was something new in the mix.

Eventually, she shifted and sat up straighter, lifting off his chest. Muttering a shaky, “Thanks,” he noted that trembling fingers fussed with her hair while she kept her eyes cast down.

Oh, fuck no. He wasn’t having any of that.

“Hey.”

She still didn’t look up. As gently as he could, Brody put a finger beneath her chin and tilted it until he forced her to look at him. Though her expression remained closed, a pink flush replaced the deathly white pallor. And she felt soft and warm against him instead of the stiff, unyielding block of ice he’d rescued from hitting the floor.

“Don’t be embarrassed, honey.” He rolled a shoulder and gave her a quirky grin. “I know how much today sucks for you.”

She bit her lip. Yep. That was right. Heather Clarke, counselor, social worker, and all-around badass solver of other’s problems actually bit her goddamn lip. Add that to the category of ceaseless wonders.

He could feel the conflict rolling off her in waves. She wasn’t used to being the one in crisis. He understood. PTSD was like that. An equal opportunity head fuck. It could reduce even the most together person to a quivering mess or a raging freak in seconds.

Kissing her on the tip of her nose, he tried to lighten the mood and give her a chance to get past what triggered the collapse. Reaching into his pocket wasn’t easy. Not with the fully-grown female sitting on his lap and the big, dumb, year-old puppy sprawled down her front.

“Seriously. This calls for a selfie. You. Me. The damn dog.”

Before she could protest, he held his phone up, chuckled, “Smile,” and went for it.

“Brody,” she yelped. Swatting his chest, she turned eyes blazing with annoyance his way. “I look like shit. Let me see that picture.”

As she grabbed for his hand, he easily swatted her away. “Oh, look,” he drawled. “You have nothing to say until you get your picture taken, and then it's ‘I look like shit’? Women,” he teased as he shook his head.

Laughing as she tried to look stern and frosty, he pinched her butt and kiddingly shoved. “Come on, m’lady. You and your mangy dog are fucking heavy, so move it, would ya?”

Muttering curses that sounded like a damning soliloquy on how fucked up men are, she scrambled awkwardly off his lap. Just as she struggled to her feet, he distinctly heard her say, “And here I was thinking I might actually like your disappearing ass.”

Whoa! Really? The temptation to rile her up a bit was there, but he held it in check and let the moment pass. He’d heard what she said. That was good enough for now. No need to rub her nose in it while she was in a vulnerable state.

Brody wanted to kiss George when he started making doggie noises by the door. Perfect timing.

“I think he needs to go out,” she muttered darkly.

Smiling, he answered drily, “I can see that.” Walking to the basket by the front door where she kept his leash, he grabbed it and then casually waved his hand. “I’ll run him down to the dog park. Give you a chance to freshen up.”