But maybe she didn’t need a job from West...maybe she just needed him.

What kind of women did he prefer?

If the answer was sometimes mousy, sometimes feisty homeless girls, she had this in the bag. If not, well, she would just have to earn his interest another way.

Which shouldn’t be a problem. Thanks to Beck, she was now equipped with an instruction manual.

For the first time in months, she was hopeful as she drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately, it wasn’t West’s face she saw in her dreams...

* * *

WEST AND JASE tried to speak with Beck as he stalked through the house.

“Sorry, guys, but I can’t,” he said. “Not now.”

They asked no questions, and for that he was grateful. He locked himself in his bedroom and plopped onto the end of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his upraised hands, just trying to breathe, align his thoughts, maybe shake off the worst of his emotions. What he’d just witnessed...

He’d followed Harlow, hoping to unearth a few of her secrets. Maybe he shouldn’t have invaded her privacy like that, but he’d wanted answers and she’d been unwilling to give them, and though he’d tried, he’d realized he wasn’t going to get them any other way.

He’d done what was necessary.

Of course, he’d almost veered off track when a brute of a guy purposely bumped into her. In some of the foster homes Beck had stayed in, he’d seen girls and women abused mentally, emotionally and even physically, and it had always infuriated him.

Not on my watch.

Only the thought of going after the guy at a later date allowed him to continue following Harlow.

She lived on his land in abject poverty. People treated her like trash, and she took it, every bit of it, as if she had to do penance. And yet, tired and hungry, she still found the strength to help those who now hurt her.

He wondered how she cleaned her clothes, how she showered, because he knew she somehow managed to do both.

He wondered what she ate, when she ate. He’d spent hours trailing her, and she hadn’t consumed a single bite of food. The only water she’d had was what she’d boiled. He wondered what she planned to do during the upcoming winter months, if she would allow herself to freeze to death before she came to him for aid.

He wondered—and he got pissed. The little girl from the pictures shouldn’t be living that way. The woman she’d become shouldn’t be living that way. He had a home with plenty of rooms. He had a refrigerator filled with food. He had unlimited access to fresh water. He had stacks of blankets, a closet full of coats. Hell, he had everything the girl could ever need or want. And yet she suffered out there?

Her stupid pride, he thought, jaw aching as his molars gnashed together. If he went to her now, she would spurn him. No doubt about it. Time to plan.

He’d hated leaving her out there, almost hadn’t managed it, but he’d consoled himself with the thought that this would be her last night in that tent, her last night exposed to the elements and wild animals. Coyotes, snakes and scorpions lived out there, and the fool woman would make a mighty tasty meal.

So what that she’d survived this long. Tomorrow her life was going to change drastically. And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

CHAPTER SIX

BRIGHT MORNING SUNLIGHT streaked through the tears in Harlow’s tent, waking her before she was ready to rise. She pried open tired, gritty eyes, caught sight of puffy white clouds and a flock of blackbirds twirling overhead. A cheery sight mixed with an ominous one. Yay.

She struggled to sit up, her body as sore as she’d predicted. Actually more so.

Plan for the day: read about gardening for an hour, apply what she learned to Beck’s roses, find and flirt with West.

Foolproof.

She gathered her basket of meager supplies—toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush and a dwindling roll of toilet paper—and crawled from the tent.

A high-pitched scream split her lips. Intruder!

Beck, only Beck, she realized a moment later, flattening a hand over her racing heart. He sat on the boulder she’d managed to roll next to the fire pit when she’d first moved out here, staring at her through narrowed eyes. The blaze she’d started last night had long since died, and there was no hint of smoke in the air to shield her view. She saw every inch of the man who had tormented her dreams, from his harsh, intractable expression to his big, strong body. Gone was the charming facade he usually displayed so readily. Now, iron-hard determination pulled his skin taut around his eyes and his mouth.

The change was startling and beautiful. He was a work of art, and he made her yearn for the impossible—or a few hours in his bed, no matter the cost. His hair stuck out in spikes, the strands seemingly a thousand different shades of gold and brown, from the palest flax to the darkest sable. His eyes were sensuously tilted, his cheekbones sharp and his jaw squared with resolve. His wide shoulders looked as if they could carry any burden, and she wished he were the kind of man who would hold her with one arm while protecting her with the other.

But he’s not, so he’s not for me.

“I’m not sure I like how you’re looking at me,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. Get out here and talk to me.”

Gulping, she scrambled the rest of the way out of the tent. “How did you find me?”

“How else? I followed you,” he replied, his tone hard and inflexible. “You should have asked me for help long ago.”

Humiliation burned her all over. “I just woke up. I need a moment of privacy. If you’ll excuse me...” I will take off like a bullet, hide out and regroup.

Tags: Gena Showalter The Original Heartbreakers Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net