Conrad Doyle. Protector and childhood
friend.
The one man she’d wronged.
She touched the top of her tender
cheekbone—and winced, not needing to see her bruises to imagine how bad she
looked. But at least there were no dislocations this time, nothing broken. As
her fingertips drifted carefully over her swollen, half-shut eye, the knock
thumped again, louder and more urgent.
She swallowed hard before dredging up the
tattered remains of her dignity. She didn’t want Conrad to see her like this,
didn’t want pity to shadow his knowing gaze.
Bloody
hell. His sympathy was the last thing she wanted. Ever.
She pushed to her feet, aware her legs were
almost too weak to support her. Shock did that to a person.
“I’m
coming,” she croaked. Conrad wasn’t going anywhere. She might as well get this
over and done with.
She glanced at the bed, where the heavyset
body of her ‘loving’ husband, Jack Treymore, lay almost comatose except for his
rhythmic, loud snoring. She curled her lips at the vile bourbon fumes on his
breath, at his overhanging paunch fed by too much liquor.
Her bag was packed, money stashed, but
until she knew her step-daughter, Melanie, was safe and not returning, she
couldn’t leave this hell that had become her life. Melanie, the step-daughter
she loved like her own flesh and blood. The child she could never have.
She’d done all she could for the withdrawn
teen, but in the end Melanie had run away from the erratic love-hate
relationship with her father. The violence. Kristen hoped and prayed she’d stay
away.
She staggered to the front door, throwing a
bathrobe over her torn silk chemise and untying her hair to help hide at least
a little of her condition.
Why
bother?
Just about everyone in the tiny, inland
Australian town of Mudgebulla had a pretty good idea of what went on behind her
closed doors. She shut her eyes, swiping a hand over her face and feeling weary
beyond her years. There was a time that everyone knowing about her abuse would have
destroyed her.
But it wasn’t just about her anymore. She
had Melanie to consider.
She opened her eyes about the same time she
flipped on the front exterior light, then pulled open the door—and drank in Conrad
as though he was a drug to dull all her pain. He was so tall, so broad
shouldered and seemingly indestructible. God, she wanted only to collapse
against his strength, his kindness.
She dropped her stare, snapping out of her
momentary madness. But not before absently noting his rumpled and sun-streaked hair
was long overdue for a cut. Somehow it suited him. “The neighbourhood grapevine is alive and well?”
she asked dully.
Conrad clasped her chin with a gentle hand,
bringing her stare back to his. “Yes.” His eyes narrowed as he studied the
warzone that was her face. “Why do you stay?” His voice cracked, his calmness a
facade. “Only a scumbag lowlife would do this to a woman—to you.”
Tears pricked her vision even as her chin
lifted, “I have it under control—”
Conrad let out an aggrieved breath. “You
know that’s not true. He chooses to drink in just the same way he chooses to
hurt you.”
His hand dropped, taking hold of hers and
making her yearn for the very thing she’d turned her back on too long ago. With
a gentle tug, he pulled her outside and shut the door on Jack’s loud snores
that resonated down the hallway.
The deep-sea green of his eyes glittered
beneath the glare of a naked bulb, his emotions running strong. “Jack has
nothing to hold you here anymore. Melanie is safe now, she won’t be coming
back. Believe me.”
Her pulse jumped. “You know where she is?”
she breathed.
He nodded. His thumb stroked her palm, a
calming touch. “Yes. She’s safe.”
She slumped against him in utter relief. “Thank
god,” she said hoarsely. She didn’t doubt Conrad’s word. But she didn’t want to
hear where the teenager had gone. Jack had a way of making her talk even when
she had no words left. She wouldn’t risk Melanie’s safety for anything.
Now, with her step-daughter safe, Kristen
was at last free to leave. Maybe they could start a new life, just the two of
them?
As Conrad’s arms clamped around her and
tucked her in close, she refused to think on the pain deep within at never
seeing him again, refused to think of the ache in her chest knowing his hold was
one that would protect and love whoever was lucky enough to get him.
She couldn’t think of him with another
woman, full stop.
