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“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“And you shouldn’t be here alone,” he countered. “Do you have any idea how many women have been hurt or killed by men with restraining orders against them? I’m staying here tonight. And tomorrow I’m giving you a shooting lesson.”
She shook her head. “You’re a target, too. If Slade comes snooping around and sees us together, it could push him over the edge. Go home. I’ll be fine.”
His jaw tightened. “The only way I’m going home is if you come with me. Otherwise I’m staying. Your choice.”
“You don’t own me, Beau. You have no right to just step in and take over my life.”
His hands tightened on her shoulders, almost hurting.
“Damn it, woman, can’t you get this through your stubborn little head? I’m not trying to take over your life! I’m trying to save it!”
He stood like a hickory tree, rooted to the ground.
Natalie had seen this side of him in the past. Beau had made up his mind. He wasn’t going to budge.
She sighed in defeat. “All right. There’s a spare bed in the guest room. Where’s your vehicle?”
“Locked in the garage with yours.” He released her and stepped away. Only then did she notice the heavy revolver holstered at his hip. “But I’ll pass on the guest room,” he said. “It’s too far out of the way. The living room sofa will work better. And I’ll most likely stay awake. If Slade comes snooping around, I’ll want him to know that I’m here and that I have a gun. Believe me, I’d rather scare him away than have him break in and be forced to shoot him.”
Natalie shivered at his words. Slade had done some awful things, but she didn’t want him shot. She didn’t want anybody shot, especially Beau. Why hadn’t Beau stayed out of this mess? Why couldn’t he have just walked away and left her to face her problems on her own?
Sighing in resignation, she turned back toward the hallway. “As long as you’re staying, we might as well have some dinner,” she said. “I’ll warm up Tori’s lasagna and make a salad. There might even be a bottle of Pinot Noir in the cupboard. How does that sound to you?”
Beau sat on the sofa, leafing through the newspaper and listening to Natalie rummaging in the kitchen. He’d offered to help her, but she’d shooed him into the living room. She probably needed some time to herself.
He could get used to this—the sharing of intimate space with a beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman who dazzled him every time he looked at her. Even with the bruises shadowing the side of her face, she took his breath away, triggering the kind of domestic fantasies he’d never had with any other woman. If this were an ordinary evening, they might enjoy a pleasant dinner, clear away the meal, and maybe curl up on the sofa to snuggle and watch the news. When it was time, he would scoop her into his arms, carry her into the bedroom, and make tender, passionate love to her until they drifted off in each other’s arms.
But this was no ordinary evening. Natalie had been brutalized, and she was still in danger. He was here to keep her safe. The last thing on her mind tonight would be romance.
Was there any chance of a future for them?
At the very least, she would need time to heal. And he would need a wellspring of patience. Rushing her into the kind of intense relationship he wanted could worsen the damage she’d already suffered.
Natalie raised her head to see the digital clock on the nightstand. Two-nineteen, and she’d been tossing most of the night. Maybe she’d gotten too much rest in the hospital. Or maybe she was just too tired to fall asleep.
Beau had insisted she go to bed early. At the last minute she’d decided to sleep in the guest room. The king-sized bed she’d sh
ared with Slade held too many ghosts. Tomorrow she’d call some local charity to have the monstrosity picked up and hauled away.
So many changes. So many plans to make. Rolling onto her back, she stared at the darkened ceiling. It wasn’t the idea of being on her own that troubled her. It was the ugliness of it all that gnawed at the pit of her stomach. And that ugliness was far from over.
The dark fog of sleep began to close around her. Her limbs grew heavy. Like an exhausted swimmer, Natalie sank into slumber.
What had she heard? The crunch of gravel? The shifting of a window screen? Instantly alert, she raised her head, catching a faint movement through the blinds. A hand sliding over the sill. A too-familiar face . . .
She screamed.
“Natalie! What is it?” Beau was there in an instant, his pistol drawn. Natalie blinked herself fully awake. Had it been real?
“The window. Someone was coming in. I saw his hand . . .” She was beginning to feel foolish.
Beau checked the window. “It’s locked tight,” he said. “No one could’ve opened it without breaking the glass. I’ll go outside and look around, just to be sure.”
“Please don’t.” The last thing she wanted was for him to go out and expose himself to an ambush. “I’m sorry. I must’ve had a bad dream. Did I wake you?”
“No way. I learned to stay awake on watch and on drug stakeouts.” Turning on the bedside lamp, he scowled at her. “You’re as pale as a ghost. Are you all right?”
