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

“I noticed. I just wasn’t finished.”

Sutton’s mouth dropped open. She reached out, smacking him on the back of his head.

Knox started chuckling when Tate tried to catch her flailing hands.

“I’ll leave you to deal with her. Keep an eye out and remember we haven’t caught that shooter. Wouldn’t want you to get shot in the back while you’re … finishing.” With that, the sheriff returned to his squad car.

“I can’t believe you.” Sutton quickly pulled on her dress before reaching down to snag her panties. Raising her hips, she put them on as she listened to Tate laugh his head off at her.

“You jerk, quit laughing. Daffy Duck has more sense than you!”

“Come on, Sutton; it was funny as shit. You should have seen your face when he was standing there. It was your idea to make out in my truck, so don’t blame me for giving in,” he snickered.

Sutton was about to let him have it again when a strange expression crossed his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He started the truck, turning it around and driving down the mountain with hair-raising speed.

“Tate, you’re scaring me.”

“You mind if we spend the night at my house?”

“No, why?”

“I heard the death bells earlier today, then again when we were in the bar. I want you safe at the house where I can protect you and the others better. Dustin’s at the house with Logan and Holly, but we know Greer’s in town.”

Sutton didn’t question the request. He had once told her he heard death bells when someone he knew died. It wasn’t folklore among mountain people, but a strong belief handed down through generations.

“I don’t mind,” she assured him as they drove toward his house.

He had her call and warn Greer, who answered the phone, obviously drunk, but when she conveyed Tate’s message to be careful, he sobered instantly.

“He want me to come home?”

“No, stay put. I don’t want you giving anyone an easy target! I’m headed home. I’ll stay until you get back tomorrow,” Tate answered. Sutton had put him on speaker phone so Tate could talk to him as he drove.

“Be careful, brother. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Greer’s affection for his brother almost made him seem normal. And then… he blew the kind thought. “I’d have to do all the work without you.”

“See you in the morning.” Tate nodded at her to disconnect the call.

“Your brother is an asshole.”

“He’s not so bad.”

“Yes, he is. He’s the most self-absorbed man I’ve ever met.”

Tate didn’t try to argue back. Even he had to admit she was right.

When they pulled up in front of Tate’s house, the yard flooded with lights from all direction.

“I bet your electricity bill would feed the homeless for a month.”

Tate grinned as he opened the truck door for her. Sutton slid across the bench seat into his waiting arms, and he gently lifted her to the ground.

“Wait until I go to the hardware store and buy some for your yard. I like to know if someone comes snooping around.”

“It has to go off if an animal triggers it.”

“They do all the time. It makes them a better target,” he said unrepentantly.

“We need to have a serious talk about your views on wildlife.”

“I don’t care if they have two or four legs. I’m going to blow anything away that comes near the house.”

Sutton shook her head. She was never going to change his attitude. She was either going to have to deal with it or circumvent. She decided to buy trash cans with lids that locked. If she didn’t, her poor possum was going to be stew meat with the way Tate threatened.

She nodded toward the house. “Dustin’s watching from the window.”

“I know.” Tate kissed her soundly before releasing her.

She walked toward the front porch on her unsteady heels, nearly falling, but Tate caught her, lifting her high into his arms and carrying her the rest of the way.

“I could get used to this,” she teased.

“I’ll always be there to carry you whenever you need me. Even when you don’t, I’ll be there.”

Dustin was still watching them with his shotgun in his hands, ready to protect them if needed.

“The Porters aren’t perfect. You’re mean, stubborn, and would rather shoot someone when you’re mad, but you’re the perfect man for me.” Even as she said it, she couldn’t understand her reasoning.

He arrogantly summed it up with six words. “I’m the only man for you.”

Even a priceless vase had a crack or two.

“Tate, believe me, no one is like you.”

* * *

Tate sat up straight in bed, stumbling from the bed he went to the living room so he wouldn’t wake Sutton. Jerking the curtain back he stared out the window, his shotgun in a tight grip, he had heard the bells for the third time. Death had found his victim.