Defeat the Darkness Read online

  As she cut up a carrot and some celery to add to her mother’s plate, the bell over the shop door rang again. She needed to hurry out and greet her customers before her mother could say anything to them.

  Too late. Worse yet, she recognized the rough voice immediately. Caught up in her mother’s unexpected arrival, she’d missed seeing that Hunter had returned. This was disaster in the making.

  Her mother had never met a man she didn’t like, even if her preference was for older, richer ones. Her concentrated efforts to hold off the changes time wrought had paid off for her. Despite Tate’s teasing Sandra a bit about her real age, the woman did look more like Tate’s older sister than her mother.

  Bracing herself to see yet another man enamored of her mother, Tate walked back into the shop. To her surprise, Hunter was sitting by himself, staring out the window with his back toward Tate’s mother. Sandra looked confused and not a little insulted by his obvious lack of interest.

  “Here’s your sandwich, Sandra.”

  Her mother’s eyes flared at Tate’s use of her given name, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she gave the back of Hunter’s head a pointed look. Rather than answer the unspoken question, Tate went behind the counter to fix Hunter a pot of tea.

  “Here you go, Mr. Fitzsimon.” She handed him the morning paper with his order.

  He looked up at her with a knowing gleam in his eye. “Thank you, Ms. Justice. I’d like a couple of those muffins when you have time.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She brought him the muffins and threw in a scone for good measure, telling herself it wasn’t a reward for him not being instantly enamored by her beautiful mother.

  Tate was at a loss as to what to do next. She really wasn’t in the mood to hear what had brought Sandra to Justice Point. As much as she still wanted to corner Hunter and find out what had really happened last night, she wouldn’t air his personal business in front of anyone, least of all her mother.

  She kept herself busy behind the counter dusting the shelf that she’d cleaned only the day before and rearranging the display of teacups and matching saucers in the glass counter. What next? Alphabetizing the teas? Finally, she settled in with her laptop and tried to concentrate on her story.

  Melinda, the heroine, was antsy, wanting to get back home to her patient. The handsome but boring sheriff wasn’t stupid; he knew something was up. He was convinced he’d make Melinda a damned good husband, but it was becoming obvious that she didn’t think so. To prove his point, he kisses her.

  Tate stopped to think. How would that kiss feel? Before Melinda had met Chance, she would’ve jumped at the chance to have the sheriff court her. Was she foolish enough to give up the security the lawman would offer her for the dark appeal of Chance? Tate realized she was staring across the room at Hunter and nodding.

  Oh, yeah, that’s exactly what Melinda would do.

  As if sensing her interest, Hunter slowly turned in her direction. Hating that he’d caught her staring, she blushed, trying her best to ignore the tingle of awareness, which had nothing to do with the embarrassment that flooded through her. It was as if his gaze had weight, caressing her skin with a palpable heat.

  The scrape of a chair across the wooden floor reminded them both that there was a third person in the room. Hunter turned his attention back to his crossword puzzle as Tate immediately closed her file and prepared to deal with her mother.

  “Tate, I need the key to the apartment over the garage.”

  Oh, God, this wasn’t going to be pretty on so many levels. Her mother wanting to move into the apartment was the subject of several of Tate’s nightmares. Her mother’s fortunes must have had a serious downturn for her to want to stay in Justice Point. She was not going to be happy to find out that Tate had rented the place out.

  “I’m sorry, but the apartment isn’t an option. You can have your usual room upstairs for a few days.” Hopefully that’s as long as Sandra was planning to stay.

  Obviously her mother had other plans. “I’d prefer some privacy, so I want the apartment. It shouldn’t take you much time to make it livable for me. You owe me that much, considering you didn’t see fit to share the proceeds of your uncle’s estate with me. I still think that lawyer misunderstood Jacob’s intentions. After all, I’m his brother’s widow.”

  She ignored the fact that Tate was Jacob’s only niece, and Sandra had never been anything but hateful to him anyway. Tate didn’t bother to state the obvious, since Sandra never saw past her own selfish needs.

  “The apartment is already livable, Sandra, and someone is living in it. I rented it out.”

  “Tell them to move out.” Sandra pursed her mouth so hard that there was a white line around her lips.

  Hunter carried his dishes over to the counter. “She can’t. I have an ironclad lease for the next six months, with an option for six more if I want them.”

  The look on Sandra’s face would’ve been funny if it hadn’t portended a major hissy fit.

  “And you would be?” she said with a great deal of snark in her voice.

  “I would be your daughter’s tenant,” Hunter said, his voice rough and low.

  He smiled at Tate, deliberately ignoring her mother. “I’ll be up at the Auntie Ms finishing the lawn if you need me for anything.”

  And didn’t that just fry her brain with possibilities?

  Both women stared after him until he’d sauntered out the door, leaving Tate alone to face her mother’s anger. Rather than wait for the explosion, Tate gathered up the dirty dishes and carried them into the kitchen. Sandra wasn’t far behind.

  “Why did you rent that man my apartment?”

  So they were back to that. “Mother, I’m sorry that you drove all the way up here only to be disappointed. That is hardly my fault, much less Mr. Fitzsimon’s. I advertised for a renter. He answered the ad. It’s that simple.”

  Most people would’ve called ahead, but Sandra wasn’t other people. The world revolved around her. Tate had learned that early on, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

  “Well, since you caused the problem, young lady, you can fix it. Make him leave.”

  That did it. “Mom, for the last time, I’m not going to ask him to move. He rented my apartment in good faith. He could sue me if I tried to break the lease now.”

  Sandra launched her next salvo with a strong undercurrent of triumph. “But where am I going to put all my furniture when it arrives?”

  Suddenly the sandwich Tate had eaten felt like a brick in her stomach. This wouldn’t be the first time that Sandra had imposed on Tate’s hospitality without asking, but she’d never dragged along all her worldly goods.

  “Well, either you’ll have to pay to store your furniture somewhere or else find an apartment in town. I’m sure you can find something nicer than living over my garage.” She added soap to the dishwasher and punched the button.

  “I can’t afford the prices in town.”

  “You can store your stuff in the garage for a short time,” Tate suggested, emphasizing the word short, “and stay with me until you find a job and get a few paychecks. Once you’ve got enough saved up to move out, I’ll help you find a place.”

  There. She’d set down the limits—not that she expected Sandra to abide by them. She never had before.

  “That garage is filthy!”

  “There are cleaning supplies in the utility room. Use what you need.” Tate busied herself washing the counter, not wanting to watch her mother play the martyr. Unfortunately she could still hear her. Sandra sighed and sniffed a little, as if fighting the urge to cry.

  “You sound like your Uncle Jacob.”

  Tate rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, praying for deliverance or at least patience. “Thank you for saying so. He was a good man.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment, my dear. He was a stubborn, unkind man. No wonder you’re not married. Men like their women sweet and to take a little more care with their appearance.”r />
  If that was the case, how could Sandra explain her success with men? While she did maintain her appearance, Sandra was anything but sweet, especially when she was thwarted. She’d only get worse if Tate pushed back.

  “I’m sure you’re right, Mother.”

  Sandra changed tactics. “What do you know about this Fitzsimon? Did you check his references before letting him move in?”

  “Mother, drop it. He’s here to stay.” Tate wiped her hands on a towel. “Now, if you want to spend the night, there are sheets in the linen closet. You’ve got plenty of time to get your bed made up, bring in your luggage, and get settled in before dinner. You can even squeeze in one of your naps if you hurry.”

  Sandra vibrated with anger. “Do you treat all your guests this way? If so, I’m surprised that you’ve stayed in business this long.”

  Tate reached for a mixing bowl. Baking always soothed her after one of these conversations.

  “No, I don’t ask actual customers to make their own beds. I assumed you weren’t planning on paying me, but let me know if I’m wrong about that.”

  “I don’t know how I raised such an ungrateful daughter.” This time the crack in Sandra’s voice sounded real.

  Tate set the flour back down. “Okay, Mother, what’s really going on? We both know you hate this place, so something must have happened to drive you to such desperate straits.”

  “Not that you care, but Edwin and I broke up.”

  Edwin? The last time she’d heard Sandra mention a man it was Louis something.

  “I’m sorry. Had you been seeing him long?”

  “Long enough that we were living together. But we had a fight, and I had to leave. He said some perfectly horrid things to me.”

  Sandra allowed a single tear to trickle down her cheek before taking a deep breath and putting on a brave expression. Probably to avoid ruining her mascara.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Tate pulled out her recipe box and looked for the card for pumpkin muffins. “I’d help you get settled, but I’ve got to get things ready for tomorrow.”

  “Fine. Let me know when you have dinner ready.”

  Tate listened to Sandra’s footsteps retreat. She did her best to ignore the sound of her mother’s multiple trips out to her car and up the steps to the room she always used. After dealing with Hunter last night and her mother today, it was no wonder Tate’s head was about to explode.

  It might take several batches of baked goods to restore her equilibrium. With Hunter’s sweet tooth, the extras wouldn’t go to waste. Besides, she owed him for making it clear to Sandra that he wasn’t going to give up his new home.

  Suddenly her head didn’t hurt so much.

  Hunter reached for his beer and took a long drink. God, it felt good to relax. Between spending most of the night perched on a pile of rocks waiting for the bad guys to show, hiking his ass back down to the beach with D.J., and mowing the Auntie Ms yard, he was ready to stretch out and not move for a week. Or maybe ever again.

  He cranked up the hot water another notch, hoping the near-scalding water would help ease the stiffness in his leg. The jets of water surrounded his body with a gentle massage that felt like heaven. He sank down lower, until only his head was above the waterline.

  He’d allow himself a solid half hour in the tub before seeking out his bed. Paladins knew how to grab sleep whenever they could, so catching a few z’s in the middle of the afternoon wouldn’t be a problem. He’d set his alarm, though, to make sure he had time to grab a bite before heading back down to the beach before nightfall.

  Maybe Tate’s clearly unexpected company would keep her distracted long enough for him to get past her eagle eyes for once. The woman took far too much interest in his business, although that was his fault, too.

  Odd that she hadn’t asked him any questions about last night. Either she was too freaked out and wanted to forget it even happened, or she was being sensitive and not wanting to upset him by bringing the subject up. He wasn’t sure which irritated him more.

  Speaking of Tate’s guest, that woman was a piece of work. He might not have immediately realized the woman was Tate’s mother when he’d entered the shop, but he’d known she was trouble at first glance. He’d never had much use for pit vipers. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what Mabel had been talking about the other day when she’d slipped up and mentioned her.

  He smiled. Mrs. Justice hadn’t much liked it when he’d refused to pay homage to her beauty when he’d walked into the tea shop. She’d liked it even less when she’d found out that he was occupying the apartment she’d staked out for her own. If Tate had asked him, he would’ve considered moving out, because family came first. But he’d heard the panic in her voice when her mother had announced that she was moving in.

  He didn’t know why he’d decided to lie about having a lease, but he didn’t feel the least bit bad about it. Not with that harpy sharpening her claws on her daughter.

  Time was up. He needed to get to bed. Bracing his hands on the side of the tub, he stood up and gingerly put weight on his right leg. The pain was far less than he expected. As long as he was careful, he should be able to get to sleep without taking a pain pill.

  After he toweled off, a jaw-cracking yawn had him hurrying to get horizontal. He slung the towel over his shoulder and strolled out into the living room buck naked. He’d thrown all of his clothes in the hamper and hadn’t brought any clean ones into the bathroom, planning to sleep in the nude and get dressed later.

  Unfortunately, there was one small thing he hadn’t planned on: Tate standing at the door looking in his window.

  Chapter 8

  Son of a bitch! Short of hitting the floor facedown and risk bruising something precious, there wasn’t much he could do to rectify the situation. Damn the woman! How many times had he told her to stay away?

  He had to give her credit, though, for toughing it out. He would’ve expected her to go stumbling ass over end down the steps in full retreat. Instead Tate stood her ground, her eyes pinned on his ceiling as if it had suddenly become the Sistine Chapel. Judging by the bright pink flush on her face, she’d already seen about all there was to see. His perverse sense of humor had him considering doing a three-sixty in case she’d missed anything important.

  Instead, he snatched the towel off his shoulder and wrapped it around his waist before jerking the door open.

  “You can look now.” Although the towel didn’t cover much.

  She peeked at him with one eye, as if to make sure. He half expected her to rip into him, but instead she used the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips. It was probably due to nerves rather than lust, but his cock didn’t care.

  When she still didn’t speak, he tried again, giving the basket in her hand a pointed look. “Tate? Why are you here?”

  She blinked twice, as if trying to clear her head. “I wanted to apologize for my mother’s behavior, so I brought you these.”

  He accepted the basket and set it down on the coffee table so he could check the contents. He couldn’t unwrap it one-handed, and he was holding the towel together to prevent any mishaps. The rich scent of cinnamon and cloves wafted up.

  “These smell great, but apologies weren’t necessary.”

  Her eyes twinkled as she held out her hand. “Okay, I’ll take them back home then.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t! I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.” He picked the basket back up and carried it across to the kitchen counter. As he turned back toward Tate, the towel came undone and dropped almost to the floor before he caught it. He was about to apologize for flashing her, even if it was an accident, when he realized that this time, Tate had made no pretense of looking away.

  “See something you want?”

  His voice, always rough these days, came out little better than a growl. With even the slightest encouragement, he was going to be all over her.

  She actually nodded.

  He started toward her, ready to throw in the towe
l, so to speak, on his resolve to keep her at arm’s length. Her eyes stared into his briefly, then started a long, slow trip downward, taking their time. He let her look her fill, liking it when her breath shuddered when she got as far as his cock, fully erect and jutting straight out at her. After lingering there briefly, they continued downward. That’s when everything went to hell.

  “Oh, God, Hunter! Your leg!”

  His ego wasn’t the only thing deflated by the dismay in her voice and what he suspected was pity in her gaze. Fury, dark and hot, burned through him, aimed directly at himself. For a few minutes he’d actually forgotten that he was no longer the guy who liked to flirt and enjoyed the company of a pretty woman.

  No, he was the guy who’d died and should’ve had the good sense to stay that way.

  He jerked the towel up to hide the jagged scar that cut across his thigh at an angle from his groin almost to his knee. Eventually it would fade to a faint silver streak under his skin, courtesy of his Paladin DNA, but right now it was still vivid and raw.

  When she started toward him, he backed away, shaking his head. “Go home, Tate. Now.”

  “But why? I’m sorry if I offended you, Hunter. I knew you had a problem with your leg, but I didn’t realize it would be that bad,” she faltered, obviously trying to dig herself out of the hole she found herself in. “Please, give me another chance.”

  “To what, Tate? To pity me? I don’t need that, not from you, not from anyone.” He threw the towel aside in disgust. He hated the way his leg looked, but damned if he was going to run and hide either.

  Once again Tate surprised him. Women—and most men—had the good sense to back away from a man like Hunter when he was riled up. But she came straight for him, looking determined and spoiling for a fight.

  “I don’t remember saying anything about pity. You’re sensitive about how your leg looks. Fine, I get that, but don’t go putting words in my mouth.”

  By now, she stood close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body and breathe in the faint scent of cloves and cinnamon on her skin.