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

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Sutton pushed the broom under Pap’s bed, sweeping several huge dust bunnies out along with am old shoebox. She stared down at the box, recognizing it instantly. Bending over, she set it on the bed then returned to cleaning under the bed. She grabbed the dustpan, sweeping the huge pile up and tossing it into the trash can in the kitchen.

She went to the refrigerator, taking out a cold beer and popping the top. She took a long drink before going back into the bedroom and picking up the box, tucking it under her arm. Carrying the box and beer to the front porch, she sat down on the rocking chair, propping her feet onto the porch rail. She drank half the beer before she took the top off the box and stared at the myriad photos taken the summer she had been with Tate.

Taking another swallow of her beer, she picked up the first photo, gazing down into Tate’s roughly hewn features. He was wearing the straw hat she hated. Shirtless and covered in sweat, he had stood, braced against the same porch rail that her feet rested on now.

She still remembered that day. They had walked through the woods from his house. He had stopped halfway to her house, pulling her close for their first kiss. The unexpected passion he had raised in her had frightened her into breaking away from him. Then she had run the rest of the way back to Pap’s house. Tate had chased after her, his laughter following her.

He hadn’t changed much from his picture other than a few lines at the corners of his eyes, and his body had become more muscular. The biggest difference was his eyes. The man she had seen the other day showed no mercy.

Sutton dropped the picture back into the box, picking up another one. In this one, they were lying on a quilt under a huge oak tree. She was on her back, staring up into his face. Tate was lying next to her as they stared at each other. The truth of their relationship was caught in that moment by Rachel who had caught them off-guard, taking the picture.

Her face was filled with a mixture of love and need, baring her soul. Tate’s expression was just as telling. She had just been too innocent to recognize it for what it was—passion and want. His was missing the deeper emotions so easily read on hers.

Sutton crushed the photo in her hand before returning it to the old shoebox and putting the lid back on top. Then she lifted the beer bottle to her lips and was staring blindly into the dark woods, lost in the past, when a crack of gunfire filled the night.

Sutton’s feet dropped to the wooden porch as she jumped up, listening as another shot rang out. She then ran inside the house, picking up her cell phone and calling 911.

The emergency operator sounded tired when she came on the line. “911, what is your emergency?”

“This is Sutton Creech. I live at 540 South Benson Road. I was outside and heard gunshots.”

“Is there a victim?”

“I don’t know. All I heard was gunfire.”

“We’ll send a patrol car out and a deputy to take your statement.”

“Thank you.”

After the operator disconnected the call, Sutton went to her front door, which she had left open, closing it and slamming the lock in place. She hadn’t heard another shot, so to calm her taut nerves, she told herself it was probably Tate or one of his brothers out hunting.

She stood there, looking out her front window, until she saw a police car pull up outside her house with its blue lights flashing. Sutton watched a huge man get out of the sheriff’s car. His size alone was reassuring enough for her to unlock and open the door before he was able to reach the front porch.

“Ms. Creech?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Knox Bates. The dispatcher said you heard shots. Any idea which direction they came from?”

Sutton pointed to the woods that led down to the road into town. The sheriff pressed a button on the radio on his shoulder, sending a deputy to the direction she had pointed.

“Thanks for your help. Go inside and lock your doors.” Sheriff Bates turned to leave.

“That’s it?” Sutton questioned, thinking he would at least take down a statement.

“Pretty much. You told the dispatcher you didn’t see anything. Is that correct?”

“Yes, I only heard two shots.”

“Then there isn’t any more information you can give me. My time is better spent trying to find where the shots came from. Don’t you agree?” The huge man raised a questioning brow at her.

Sutton blew out an aggravated breath. “Yes.”

“Go inside and lock your door. Let me and my deputy do our jobs.”

She went inside her house, shutting the door behind her and locking it again. She stared out the window as the sheriff pulled out of her gravel driveway then dropped the curtain to hide the inky darkness that had her regretting her decision to stay alone at Pap’s house.