Heather's Gift (Men of August 3)

“Or heal him,” she offered quietly. “Why don’t you want Sam upset, Brock? Aren’t you upset? Are you taking this stalker thing without a worry or a shred of anger?”

His lips thinned, the muscle at the side of his cheek throbbing as he obviously fought his own sense of helpless frustration.

“Listen to me, Heather. There are things you don’t understand here. Things you don’t want to understand and you sure as hell don’t want Sam thinking about.”

“And I’m supposed to stop him, how?” She shook her head, spreading her hands out before him as she watched him with angry frustration. “Am I supposed to fuck him to keep him from thinking?”

“If you have to,” he growled, then more softly. “If you love him, Heather, like I think you do, then whatever it takes should be all that matters.”

The welling sense of fear rising inside her couldn’t be ignored.

“What are you not telling me, Brock?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, watching him impatiently, angrily.

He looked away, and Heather could have sworn she caught a flash of guilt in his gaze.

“Nothing that would help you,” he finally sighed.

“Right now, anything would help. Sam doesn’t want me…”

“That’s bullshit.” His hand sliced through the air impatiently. “Sam wants you until he can’t walk for the hard-on he’s packin’. This has nothing to do with lust, Heather, and everything to do with his feelings toward you.”

“I can’t make him come to my bed, Brock,” she sighed wearily. “And I’ll be damned if I’ll try.”

“Heather…”

“Brock, enough.” The lengthening shadow of Sam’s broad form entered the stable entrance.

Heather’s head whipped to the side, her eyes widening at the hard, cold edge to Sam’s voice. Brock whipped around, his body suddenly defensive, prepared.

“Sam.” Brock shook his head again.

“I don’t need your protection any more than I need Cade’s.” Sam’s voice was low, thick, with a white-hot throb of rage. “Nor do I need you pimping for me.”

Heather winced. “Takes a whore for a pimp to work, Sam. You’re not just insulting your brother here.”

His gaze speared toward her, and though she couldn’t see his eyes for the piercing sunlight behind him, she could feel the intensity in them. For a moment she regretted drawing his attention to her.

“Get serious,” he growled, though the restraint in his voice caused her to wince.

“We’re worried, Sam…” Brock began.

“Brock, let it rest…” Heather interrupted him, knowing he would try to smooth the event over, to ease Sam’s anger.

“Goddammit, I’m not a fucking bone for you two to fight over,” he snarled, moving into the barn. “What do you want, Brock? A nice little

joke, how about another prank? Let’s pretend the world is fine when we fucking know better.”

Throttled rage, agony, need. They all reflected in his voice. Heather’s heart broke as she watched him and as she glanced at Brock, she knew his was as well. Sam’s expression was dark, his face lined with both his fury and his pain. And Heather had a terrible, wrenching feeling that when it all spewed to the surface, none of them would be left unscathed.

Brock raked his fingers through his hair as he glanced at her. Heather could only shake her head. She wasn’t about to help him. Sooner or later they would have to realize that Sam no longer needed their protection, all he needed was their support.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” She headed for the entrance.

“Fuck that. Who do you think I came back for?” Sam caught her arm as she made to move past him. “You, Heather, not my interfering brother.”

“Sam.” Brock stepped forward as though in protection.

Heather watched as Sam’s head whipped around, his expression harsh, defined by the years of pain they had all suffered.