Keeping What's His: Tate (Porter Brothers Trilogy Book 1) (14 page)

“I’m thankful they were there for you.” Tate lifted her hand to his mouth, his lips delicately brushing the scars on her wrist.

“I don’t give Scott any power over me any longer, but my wedding band reminds me not to trust in my heart ever again. It’s let me down two times.”

“Your heart didn’t let you down; the men you loved did,” Tate said. “I can’t change the past. I would give my own life to bring back your daughter for you, but I can’t. I can only prove I’ll be there for you from now on.”

Sutton pulled away from him, tugging her hand out of his firm grip. “I’m not going to give you or any other man another chance. I’m finally content with my life.”

“You might have a million reasons not to trust me when I tell you I want to start over with you.”

Sutton shook her head. There was no way she would have a relationship with Tate. He might crack the wall she had created around her heart to protect it.

“Don’t say ‘no’ yet. We’ll take it slow. I’ll even let you set the rules.”

She stared at him doubtfully. Tate letting a woman be in control was beyond his capability.

He grinned at her expression then stood and reached down to pull her to her feet.

“You might have a million reasons not to trust me, but I only need one chance to prove you wrong.” He lifted her into his arms.

“Tate, put me down! You can’t carry me down this mountain. You’re too weak. You’ll fall!”

He buried his face in her neck and she slid her arms around his neck, careful not to press against the wound on his chest.

“Your heart is telling you to give me a chance … Look where we are, Sutton.”

She gazed around her, and it took her only a moment to realize where they were. It was the exact spot where they used to meet when they were teenagers, where they would lie on the old quilt and talk about their future.

Like a wounded animal, she had unconsciously sought the place she had found her greatest happiness, feeling safe in Tate’s arms.

Her heart was telling her what her mind wouldn’t accept: she was going to give him another chance.

Chapter 16

“You’re cheating,” Sutton accused him.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You said we could move at my speed. You walking around the house half-naked is cheating.”

Tate gave her a saccharine smile. “It’s hot.”

Sutton couldn’t disagree with him. He was hot, and his body awakened desires she hadn’t felt in years, reminding her she was still a flesh-and-blood woman. She unconsciously licked her bottom lip when she noticed the growing bulge in his jeans.

Tate was leaning back on the kitchen counter, drinking a beer, wearing jeans that fell to his hip bones. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, which showed off his broad shoulders. The man was rock-hard. He didn’t have a six-pack; he was too muscular for that.

The sexual tension was building, every time she came in contact with him, the hair on her arms would stand up from the electric charge that passed between them.

“Want a sip?”

“No, thanks.”

“I thought, from the way you were staring, you wanted some.”

Sutton gritted her teeth. The man was too experienced not to know that she was attracted, just like a cat wanting catnip.

“If I want one, I’ll get one all by myself,” she taunted.

“Really? Can I watch?”

“Sure.” Sutton walked to the fridge, taking out a beer and popping the top. Taking a drink, her eyes met Tate’s. The tension between them escalated with the deliberate challenge in her gaze.

Tate slammed his beer down on the counter then made a sudden move toward her.

Her desire died as she took a step back.

Tate stopped a few feet away from her, his chest heaving as his hands clenched at his sides.

“Sassy pants, I can take the teasing, but I can’t take the fear. I would never hurt you. I would give you my rifle to shoot me if I ever did.”

Her body relaxed against the counter. “I believe you.”

“You better.” He slowly walked closer, placing a hand on each side of her on the counter, pinning her in place. “I’m not going to rush you. You deserve to be courted and made to feel special.”

“You’re not exactly a man I would take for being patient.”

Tate gave her a seductive look. “I’m very patient.”

A nervous laugh escaped her as she placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back. “I need to cook dinner. Go into the living room and finish your beer.”

Tate was turning to head that way when a knock sounded on the kitchen window at her back.

“Are your brothers ever going to come to the front door?” She stared at Greer who was gawking at her from the other side of the glass.

“I think he and Dustin are getting a kick with all the sneaking around. Don’t spoil their fun.”

“I’d rather kick them in the ass.” Sutton pushed the window up higher so Greer could clamor inside. “Don’t knock anything over,” she sneered at him.

She quickly moved the crockpot of beans she had spent the day cooking, if the big goof knocked them over, she would knock him over the head with the pan of fried potatoes sitting on the stove.

“Do I smell soup beans?” Greer sniffed the air, his feet still hanging from the window. “And cornbread?”

“No,” Sutton lied. Deliberately, she reached out, tugging his feet loose.

“Wait …” Greer fell to the floor and glared up at her.

“Sorry.”

“I bet.” Greer stood, picking up his baseball cap from the floor and placing it back on his head. “Woman, you have a vicious streak, but I can deal with it if you give me a bowl of those beans.”

Sutton raised a brow, remaining still.

Greer sighed. “I came by to tell you there’s been another shooting in town.”

“Anyone hurt?” Tate asked sharply.

“No, but Rider has a big hole in his helmet.”

“Rider? He gave me a ride home the night I went out with Cheryl,” Sutton butted into the conservation. “Is he okay?”

“You gonna give me a bowl of them beans?”

Before she could tell Greer where she would shove those beans, Tate answered her.

“He’s fine. The son of a bitch is a Last Rider, and they each have nine lives.”

“Thank God he wasn’t hurt.” Then another thought occurred to her. “When did it happen?”

“A couple of hours ago. Knox, his deputies, and the state police are swarming all over town, trying to find Tate.”

“He couldn’t have done it. He’s been here with me the whole time.”

“Whoever is doing the shootings doesn’t know I’m here with you, or they would have waited for you to go into town,” Tate stated.

“Is that good or bad?” Sutton asked, going to the oven to take out the cornbread. Lifting the heavy, cast-iron skillet, she placed it on the stove.

“Bad. It means either the fucker is getting ready to leave town, or …”

“
Or
?”

“He’s about to escalate the attacks.”

Sutton gave Tate a worried glance. “Knox said he would come back and arrest you if one more person was hurt.”

“Knox knows Tate didn’t do it. A witness gave a description of someone smaller than Tate running away down an alley.”

“Then Tate’s in the clear?”

“Not just yet. Knox sent the message to keep low. The state police aren’t exactly willing to remove Tate from their suspect list, and they said the two killings might not be connected to Rider. They sent the bullet off to the state lab. It’s going to be a few days before they can say if it’s from the same gun that killed Helen Stevens.”

Greer reached out to pinch off a large chunk of cornbread and popped it into his mouth. “Damn, I haven’t had cornbread that good since Ma died.”

“Have a seat at the table, and I’ll fix you a plate.” Sutton ignored Tate’s amused gaze as she turned to the cabinet to take out plates and bowls.

She fixed both men heaping plates of food before placing them down on the table in front of them.

“What do you want to drink?”

“What do you think?”

Sutton went to the refrigerator, taking out the milk jug and placing it on the table with glasses. She had eaten at their home a few times before their parents had passed away and remembered how they liked to eat their cornbread.

She sat down after fixing herself a much smaller plate, enjoying watching the men eat the food she had cooked.

“I could fucking cry,” Greer complimented. “They taste just like Ma’s.”

Sutton blushed with pleasure at Greer’s compliment. “They should. She’s the one who taught me how to cook them.”

When the men were done eating, she watched as they each tore the cornbread up into their milk and ate it with their spoons.

“Never thought I’d say I would enjoy someone’s cooking as much as Ma’s.” Greer’s praise had her smiling.

She hadn’t noticed how good-looking he had become before now. His features were more handsome than Tate’s and more sculpted than Dustin’s. His nose would benefit from a plastic surgeon. Sutton thought it looked like it had been broken more often than hers. His body was leaner than Tate’s, but he was taller. Sutton could understand why the women in town would have trouble picking between the Porter brothers.

Tate’s frown showed he wasn’t happy with the way she was looking at Greer.

A fly suddenly flew by, and Sutton forgot about Tate’s frown and became angry at herself for not lowering the screen after Greer had climbed through. The aggravating thing would drive her crazy until she managed to kill it. She was about to get a fly swatter when Greer’s hand smacked down with the speed of lightning on the table, killing it. He used his fingers to flick it off the table then casually went back to eating his milk and cornbread.

Her eyes went back to Tate at his chuckle. “How am I looking now?”

“Better.” Sutton laughed with him.

Greer looked at them suspiciously. “What?”

“There’s soap and water over at the sink.”

“Why, because I killed that little fly? I have an immunity to germs,” he bragged.

Sutton thought for a second he was joking then realized he was serious.

“It’s the truth. I’m never sick.”

“I bet the others around you can’t say the same.”

“Nah, they’re sick all the time.”

“I wonder why,” Sutton said sarcastically. She had a feeling Greer was a reincarnation of Typhoid Mary.

“Because I have my own elixir I drink every day. It keeps me strong and healthy as a horse.”

“What’s in it?”

“A cup of moonshine, a shake of red pepper flakes, half a lemon, and a clove of garlic. I haven’t been sick in ten years.”

“You eat a clove of garlic every day?” Sutton made a mental note not to stand too close to him.

“Yep. The moonshine kills the smell of the garlic.”

“That’s not all it kills. How long has it been since you had a date?”

Greer leaned back contentedly in his chair, patting his stomach. “Been too busy trying to find Lyle’s murderer to go out lately.”

“When you find him, give him that concoction of yours, and he’ll beg to go to prison.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny. That’s the last time I share any of my recipes with you.”

“You have others?” Sutton tried to hold back her laughter.

“Don’t ask,” Tate groaned. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Come on. Share.”

“I can get rid of a skin tag in a second.”

“How?”

Greer reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, flicking it until a flame came up. “I burn the son of a bitch off.”

Sutton cringed. “I don’t have any.”

“When you do, I’ll take of it for you,” he offered.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She gazed at Tate to see if Greer was trying to pull her leg.

He shrugged. “I warned you.”

“Yes, you did.”

She decided she would take his advice. After all, Greer’s approach to holistic medicine was frightening.

“I better go. I don’t want to leave Logan and Holly alone for too long.”

“Where’s Dustin?” Tate asked sharply.

“He’s keeping an ear out for gossip at Rosie’s.”

“Good idea.”

Sutton watched as Greer took another piece of cornbread before climbing out the window again.

“Your brother needs help.”

“He was just putting on a show for you.”

“Why?”

“Because you were staring at him like a side of beef.”

“I was not,” she denied.

“You were.”

Sutton remembered what Cheryl had told her about the brothers. “He was acting like a hillbilly because he thought I was attracted to him?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yep.”

Sutton laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach. “I couldn’t … ever … even if the world came to an end and he was the last man … be attracted to Greer.”

“Why?”

“He’s a mean jackass. He’s obnoxiously rude, and—”

“He’s a hillbilly?”

Sutton didn’t miss the anger brewing in his eyes, and her laughter died. “I was going to say he probably sleeps with his gun in the bed. I’m a hillbilly, too, so why would you think I would say that?”

Tate snorted. “Technically, you’re not a hillbilly. You lived in the fanciest house in town.”

“I stayed every summer with Pap. I’m just as much a hillbilly as you and any other family living in these mountains.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sutton snapped. Standing up, she angrily gathered the dishes, carrying them to the sink.

“Why are you getting so mad?” Tate came up behind her, putting his arms around her waist, his hands flattening against her stomach.

She stood rigidly against him. “Because these mountains are my heritage as much as they’re yours. Pap and Granny lived on this mountain their whole lives, and their parents before them, for generations. My great, great, great-grandfather stole a chicken in Ireland so he would be shipped out with the other prisoners to come to America. He settled on this land, and every generation since then has lived and died on it. My father moved into town to live with my mother because Pap was still living, and he wanted his own home, but he would’ve moved back here after Pap died if he had left the house to him.”

“Your pap knew you belonged here, and your father doesn’t anymore. If this land means so much to your family, then why sell it?”

Sutton didn’t answer his question.

Ignoring his grip around her waist, she started doing the dishes.

“Because I live nearby?”

She still didn’t reply.

“Sassy pants, I’m going to get my answer.”

“I haven’t made my mind up yet,” she finally admitted. “I was going to fix it up then decide.”

“Then why did you go see Drake Hall?”

“I wanted to find out if he thought anyone would be interested in the property.”