Keeping What's His: Tate (Porter Brothers Trilogy Book 1) (10 page)

Chapter 11

Sutton stretched, yawning, feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. She looked at the clock on her bedside table.

A scream escaped her when she saw a man standing at the window outside her bedroom.

“Shut up!” Greer’s loud voice could be heard through the glass.

Sutton stormed toward the window, unlocking it then raising it halfway. “What in the world are you doing outside my window?”

“I’m not a damn pervert. Let me in; I want to talk to Tate.”

“Why didn’t you just go to the door?” She stubbornly refused to budge.

“I didn’t want the cops to see me.”

“What cops?” Sutton became frightened that her pap’s home was going to be raided. Visions of police raids ran through her mind.

“The ones watching me. Now move.”

“Let him in,” Tate ordered from behind her.

Her fingers trembled when she realized he was standing so close to her.

She raised the window the rest of the way before sliding sideways so she wouldn’t touch Tate’s bare chest. She was glad he had at least worn the pants, although they were loose and hung low on his hips. His muscular body was illuminated by the early-morning sun shining through the window.

Unconsciously, she licked her bottom lip, lowering her eyes when she saw Tate was staring at her. Realizing he wasn’t the only one half-dressed, she snatched up the robe she had placed on her bed the night before, coving the thin T-shirt that came to the top of her thighs.

Greer climbed in through the widow with a dexterity that showed it wasn’t the first time he had used the method to enter a home.

Once he was inside, he studied his older brother with a critical eye. “You okay?”

“Been better,” Tate answered, his hand holding his ribs.

“What happened?”

As Tate started to describe to Greer what had happened, Sutton interrupted long enough to tell them she was making coffee.

“Close the curtains in the living room.”

Sutton stopped, glaring at Greer’s order. “I will. I’ve already been frightened once this morning. If I look out and see Dustin’s face, I’ll have a heart attack.”

Greer ignored her jibe, turning back to question Tate.

Sutton made a pot of coffee and toast for herself. She drew the line at feeding Tate. He could fix his own breakfast.

She was about to take a bite of the grape jelly smeared toast when Tate and Greer entered the kitchen, taking chairs at the table.

“Can I get a cup of coffee?”

“I’m not a waitress. Get Greer to pour you a cup.”

Both brothers stared at her mutely before Greer’s chair scraped back and he went to the coffee pot, pouring them both a cup.

“Why are you holding your ribs?”

“The son of a bitch must have kicked me while I was unconscious,” Tate answered with a grimace as he tried to get comfortable on the chair.

“Want me to tape you up?”

“No. I think they’re just bruised. I’m not having trouble breathing, so nothing’s broken.”

“You’re damn lucky whoever did it didn’t kill you.”

“They didn’t want me dead. If they did, they had the chance when I was unconscious.”

“Any idea who it could be?”

“No.” Tate ran his hand through his hair. “Go see Jo today and see if she knows why her dad was out in the woods so late.”

Greer set their cups down on the table before sitting back down.

Tate took a drink then asked for his pain pills. Sutton went into her bedroom to get the pills, and when she came back, they were discussing the different people in town who had grudges against Lyle.

“Lucky is still angry that he nearly ran Willa over when he was drunk.”

“Lucky wouldn’t have killed him. He’s a pastor. He would have sent Shade after him, and that bastard doesn’t shoot from behind; he likes to pop them between the eyes.”

“How do you know that?”

“I saw him take someone out when he didn’t know I was watching.”

Sutton slid her plate of toast to Tate, not wanting him to get sick on an empty stomach. Greer reached out, taking a piece of the toast. That was when she decided, if she was going to get anything to eat, she was going to have to feed them first. She made a stack of toast and nuked a couple of packets of oatmeal. Setting the food down, she snatched one of the toast slices before the men could take it all.

She chewed on the toast as Greer filled Tate in on the different agencies searching for him.

“The state police came by during the middle of the night. They tore the house apart then went to Cash and Rachel’s house.”

“They tear it apart, too?”

“What do you think? Cash was standing there, watching every move they made.”

“They were too afraid of Cash to tear his house apart, but you let them tear ours apart? I’m disappointed in you.”

“Fuck off,” Greer grumbled. “I wasn’t there. I was in the woods with Dustin, trying to find any signs of who killed Lyle.”

“Find anything?”

“No.”

“If Jo doesn’t know anything, ask if she will let you look through Lyle’s room.”

“I’ll try. Probably won’t be anything left once the police are done.”

Tate shrugged. “They might miss something.”

Greer stood. “It’s gonna get busy, so be careful and stay inside. The police aren’t the only ones who might be searching for you.”

“Leave me your gun. Whoever knocked me out took my shotgun. I stashed the one they used to shoot Lyle in our hole. When it gets dark, get it and give it to Cash. Maybe he can figure out who it’s registered to.”

“Will do. The only good part of this mess is that we had already cleared the land and stashed the product.”

“Do you think whoever did this could have been searching for your weed?” Sutton asked the two men.

“Could be, but they’ll never find it,” Greer snickered. “It’s probably the best batch we’ve grown. They would have smoked it up before turning it in to evidence.”

“I doubt that.”

“Don’t. It’s some of the best. Most of what’s been grown lately is shit. The growers are trying to develop strong product for better buzz. Instead, they’re making it weaker. Others are selling that synthetic shit that’ll make you crazy as fuck. Ours is the best out there right now. I don’t care what state you live in. Tate is the best grower around,” Greer bragged.

Sutton was curious despite herself. “If Tate is the grower, what do you do?”

“I protect the fields then sell it when it’s done. Anyone who comes near our fields is either going to be left a cripple or dead.” He gave her a sinister grin, which ran chills down her back. She didn’t doubt his words.

“What’s Dustin’s job?”

Greer’s eyes narrowed on her. “You a Fed?” he asked suspiciously.

“If I were, would I let Tate hide out at my house?”

“You tell me.”

Sutton rolled her eyes at Greer. He was still as obnoxious as he had been when he was younger.

“Dustin dries it out. Greer and I help out, but Dustin has the touch. He can tell the second it’s done. The other growers dry it out too much so it has no taste and burns quicker. They sell more that way. We don’t. Ours is high-quality and will give you a buzz that brings you back for more. That’s why everyone wants to bring us down.”

Sutton reached for the last piece of toast, smearing jelly on top. “I can’t believe you’re actually proud of your skills.”

“Why not? Pot is legal in several states now. Hell, they’re even coming up with fancy flavors,” Tate, as always, defended his family business.

“For medicinal purposes,” Sutton countered.

Greer snorted. “If they smoke ours, they’ll damn sure feel better. I know I do.”

“With all three of you smoking it, I’m surprised you have anything left to sell.”

“We don’t smoke it.”

Sutton stared at Tate doubtfully.

“We don’t. That wouldn’t be good business. Greer smokes one occasionally to test the product, but other than that, we don’t touch it.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be smart to smoke our profit away. Besides, imagine living in a candy store where you could have it any time you want. After a while, you get pretty sick of it.”

“I ain’t sick of it, just saving up for something big.” Greer handed Tate the shotgun he had brought with him.

“What?” Sutton asked.

“I want a new truck, and it’s hard to get credit in our line of work.”

“You’ll have enough after this season,” Tate promised.

“That’s what you said last year, until Logan broke his arm when he fell off the swing. The medical bills took a chunk of our cash.”

“Family comes first.”

“Yes, it does. I ain’t complaining, just explaining.” Greer slapped his brother on the back. “Take care.”

“I will,” Tate said, clutching his ribs. “Go by and see Diamond, tell her what happened. I’m going to need her help if I’m going to get out of this mess.”

“I’ll go talk to her now. She’s probably already waiting for me to stop by.”

Sutton remained at the table as the two brothers went back into her bedroom to let Greer slip out her window. How in the hell had she ended up letting a man suspected of murder hide out in her house? Her best course of action would be to call the state police and turn him over.

Her hand inched toward the cell phone lying on the table. Before she could grab it, though, Tate’s hand reached from behind her, picking it up.

“You’re not thinking of turning me in, are you?”

“You’re not going to solve anything by hiding. Turn yourself in. If the sheriff is friends with Cash, he’ll help you find out who killed Lyle.”

“Knox is a friend of Cash’s, not mine. I’m not sitting in a jail cell, hoping someone will believe me while the real killer gets away.”

“Suit yourself. You were always too stubborn to listen to any advice I gave you. I don’t know why I expected it to be any different now.” She stood, intending to go get dressed.

“You don’t have to be so pissy about it.”

“I’m an accessory if I don’t turn you in to the police.”

“You sure you’re not a Fed?”

“I don’t know which Porter brother makes me want to pull my hair out more—you or Greer.”

“You don’t have to be so sensitive. It’s a legitimate question.”

“Not for a normal person,” Sutton snapped back.

Stepping around him, she stomped to her bedroom to get changed. She had forgotten how aggravating the brothers could be when they were together. Alone, they were a pain in the ass. More than one made you want to shoot them.

She showered then put on her denim shorts and a plaid shirt that belonged to her pap. She had cut off the sleeves and tied the ends into a knot under her breasts. She had devised the top when she realized she hadn’t packed enough summer clothes.

She left her hair damp. It would dry in the muggy heat. She needed to get an air conditioner installed if she had any hope of selling the old house. Although, it usually stayed cool during the morning or evening, the large trees giving the majority of the house a cooling shade.

She went into the living room, opening the windows to let in the slight breeze blowing outside.

Tate had settled on the couch and was flipping through the channels on the television. “This house is hotter than Hell.”

Sutton went to the refrigerator, taking out a couple of beers. Handing him one, she opened hers.

“Little early to be drinking, isn’t it?” His sarcastic words didn’t keep him from opening his own bottle and taking a drink.

“Not when there isn’t an air conditioner.” Sutton rolled the ice-cold bottle against her forehead then her throat, enjoying the sensation against her skin.

Sutton noticed Tate had quit changing the channels. “Can’t find anything you want to watch?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

The sensual look he wore startled her with the effect it had on her. Her breasts tightened, her nipples hardening inside the thin bra she had put on. She was glad the shirt was loose enough on her that Tate wouldn’t notice. She felt herself dampen against the seam of her shorts, and that shook her the most.

She had believed her sexual drive was dead. Other than appreciating the way men looked, she hadn’t felt driven to have sex in so long she didn’t actually remember her last time. She knew it was with her husband, but other than that, she came up blank.

Sutton had begun to believe her husband was right when he had been unable to stir her passion and said something was wrong with her. However, the stirring between her thighs now was proving him wrong. Evidently, all it took was a look from Tate, and her body could become primed.

Only two things held her back from exploring the newness of her body’s reaction: Tate’s hatred and her brain telling her it would be a catastrophe. If she had sex with him and it was as lackluster as it had been with Scott, then her hard won confidence would be left in shreds.