Page 8 of His Road Dog

Quickly putting grounds in the coffee maker, he poured a pot of water into the back of the machine. While it worked its magic, he went back into the hallway and opened the linen closet, grabbing a blanket.

He returned to the living room and sat in front of her on the coffee table. She gave him a sad smile.

He slipped off her shoes and covered her legs with the blanket, tucking the material underneath her feet. Her skin was cold to the touch.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I've got some coffee going. It'll be done in a few minutes." He rubbed her calves through the blanket. "That'll warm your insides."

"I wasn't planning on riding a motorcycle tonight, or I would've dressed differently." A soft hiccup escaped her lips, and her chin trembled.

She was exhausted and probably frightened to death.

At fifty-six years old with no woman or kids of his own, he had no idea what to do for a female experiencing in shock. Though, he'd seen many hardened men deal with the aftermath of taking a life.

He'd sat outside on the deck with Curley, not saying a word until dawn broke, and his vice president could grasp reality and find the strength to go on. He'd followed Paco as he stormed off on his motorcycle, trying to outrun his demons. He'd held Roddy as he lost control and sobbed in his arms like a baby.

He'd lost track of how many men he'd supported.

A woman couldn't be that much different.

That was one reason why he'd brought her to his house. He wanted to be the one to help her. The thought of anyone else comforting her bothered him for reasons he hadn't had time to figure out.

"Do you need to call anyone and let them know where you are?" he asked.

She shook her head.

Okay. Good. He went into the kitchen and poured them each a cup of coffee, splashing a good deal of whiskey in the mugs.

Returning to her, he placed one of the drinks in her hand. He sat down in front of her again as she lifted the coffee to her lips.

Her eyelids fluttered before she met his gaze. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Not tonight." He stood and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared off into the dark, knowing in the morning he'd be able to see clear across the land with the Clark Fork River running in the valley.

Taking a drink, he had questions that needed asked. But he wasn't ready to push her for answers. Not tonight.

"Were you one of the bikers who rode past the motel this afternoon?" she asked.

He turned, staying on the other side of the room. "Yeah."

She nodded, tilting her head. "How did you know I'd be at the police department?"

"Someone I know informed me that you were there, being questioned by the police."

Her brows lowered. "You don't know me, though."

It was the first time he'd seen a look of displeasure on her face. It should've surprised him that she would question his motives, but she wasn't like other women.

She took another drink. "You never picked a name for me."

"Nicole." He stepped over and sat in the swivel chair next to the window. "Bennett."

If she was shocked that he knew her name, she pretended to be more interested in her next drink of coffee.

Her hands cradled the mug tenderly as if the cup would break with too much pressure. "It's only fair that I know your name."

"You already know my name. It's Priest."

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