If she’d gotten the right house. Part of her hoped she hadn’t.
“That’s a handsome bodyguard you’ve got there. I’d give him a scratch, but I’m afraid he’ll take my hand off.” The inked giant winked.
His easygoing smile and apparent charm disarmed her but not Ray. He wasn’t yet convinced there were friendlies in the house. And that’s why she’d taken him along. Sure, Curly hadn’t done anything to make her feel uncomfortable, but he had a sketchy past.
Compared to the passive and meek woman she’d been during her marriage, she was damn strong and able to handle whatever life threw at her. Still, walking alone into the home of a man she didn’t really know, a man with violence in his history, without caution, would be stupid. And she wasn’t a stupid woman. She still had the potential to freeze up or be overpowered. Making the trip to Prick’s farm alone had reminded her of that frustrating fact, but she’d been too worried Prick could have aggressive fighting dogs on premises to take Ray.
“You’ve come to the right place, sweetheart. Come on in. I’m Tracker, and your man’s in the kitchen. Straight down the hall.” He took a step back and held the door wide.
“Oh, no, he’s not my man,” she said, but Tracker had already turned his attention from her. “Okay,” she whispered. As she and Ray made the short trip to the kitchen, she couldn’t help but take in the place. The house was small but relatively neat and clean though sparsely decorated. It seemed the perfect size for one single man.
Curly was single, right?
Most of the furniture was outdated, as was the general style of the place. Paint peeled from a few walls while others appeared to have received a fresh coat. She couldn’t find any feminine touches, suggesting he didn’t live with a woman. Had the house sat abandoned the entire time he’d been in prison?
“Right through here,” Tracker said, sweeping his arm in a dramatic gesture as she passed by.
“Thanks.” She entered the dimly lit kitchen only to halt at the sight of a bunch of large, gruff men crammed around a tiny round table. Ray growled with intent this time, and she didn’t shush him.
Curly immediately stood and made his way to her despite the snarling shepherd at her side. By the time he’d taken two steps in her direction, Ray recognized him and eased off the vicious dog routine. Tension on the leash disappeared, and his fluffy tail wagged as though she’d just offered him his favorite treat.
She tended to trust Ray’s instincts, but this instalove was a bit ridiculous. If she wasn’t careful, he’d be humping Curly’s leg and slobbering all over the man she’d thought about way too much in the past few days.
“Hey,” she peeped, then cringed at the weakness in her voice. Her husband’s abuse had been of the psychological and emotional variety, not physical. Well, except one time at the end, where he’d snapped and attacked her. He’d slapped her so hard her head spun like that kid in The Exorcist. She hated that all it took was a few bigger and slightly menacing men to have her squeaking like a mouse. She rarely spent time with groups of men and was sorely out of practice in terms of socializing. For all she claimed to be tough and independent, part of her couldn’t escape the instant discomfort.
“Hey, Brooke, sorry about the kids,” he said as he crouched down to give Ray the attention he demanded. “Their mothers were supposed to pick them up by now, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Hi, Ray. Such a good boy, looking out for your mama.”
The other guys booed and heckled him as he winked at her while he still loved on Ray.
Brooke could have kissed Curly at that moment. Not only because he looked so yummy in a snug olive-green T-shirt with jeans riding low on his slim hips, but he seemed to sense she needed some levity to set her at ease.
“Hey, guys,” she said, lifting a hand in an awkward wave.
“Hi, Brooke!” They chorused in a dramatized greeting, all wearing big cheesy grins.
She laughed and blew out a breath. Okay, whoever these men were, they didn’t come off as a threat to her or Ray.
“Bunch of jackasses,” Curly grumbled, earning him a smile from her. “Want a beer?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please.” A few.
He straightened to his full height, then placed his hand on her lower back and gave her a gentle nudge toward the table. She wanted to wiggle around and get that hand to rub all over her and maybe slip under her tank top to find her bare skin. Instead, she forced herself to step away from his touch. Her body reacted to him in ways it had never responded to a man before, and she had no plans to encourage it or him, no matter how wild her thoughts ran. She wouldn’t be fooled into a man’s trap by hormones and muscles.