Page 5 of My Cowboy Salvation
“What about Dylan?” I asked him.
“I think she’s in trouble. Like in a bad way. I don’t have the details, but she hooked up with a guy who’s bad news.” My son paused, his voice a little shakier. “I think he hurts her. She’s been trying to get him out of her life, but… I don’t think she’s had any success. Anyway, she called me, and I told her you would help. Maybe give her a place to stay for a few nights while she figures out her next step. Do you mind?”
I didn’t, of course, and after telling him to send me the details of when she might arrive, I did a little searching for who Dylan Harper is myself. Something fairly easy for me, seeing as how I have access to the usual databases available to law enforcement.
Most I knew. She attended the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, performing in various concerts over the years and recognized as a new and upcoming talent before she graduated last spring. Her mom and dad died in a car accident when she was nine, and she went to live with her grandma until the old woman died a couple of years ago. Since graduating, I gather she’s continued to play, and from what Parker told me, she was admitted to the graduate program until she seemed to have gone off the grid a few weeks ago.
She didn’t have a criminal record, which was a relief, but there was a record of her petitioning for a restraining order nearly two months ago—a petition that was denied. I didn’t look beyond that because Ann, my assistant, interrupted with some business or other. But now I wish I’d dug further, just so I could put a face to the guy who hurt her.
Getting up from the kitchen table, I pour myself another cup of coffee and set a mug out for her before returning to my seat, just before I hear her footsteps coming down the stairs. A moment later, she walks into the kitchen.
Immediately, my heart races in my chest, and I work to stifle the most primal reaction I’ve ever felt toward any woman, just as I did yesterday when I first saw her. A reaction that has me wanting to go to her to comfort and protect her while also slipping the clothes off that lithe, graceful body so I can worship her sufficiently.
Yesterday, I expected to see someone who looked like that young sixteen-year-old girl Parker was in love with, with beautiful long red hair and a soft smile. Instead, I saw a young woman with a haunted expression in those slate-colored eyes that seemed older than her twenty-two years. I fought back a fierce need to pull her to me and let her know she would be safe. Dark shadows bruised her eyes, telling me she hadn’t slept much in days, if not weeks. And that long red hair I remembered was chopped short and tinted a dark brown, a sharp contrast to her natural pale coloring and a sure giveaway to someone in my line of work.
This morning she’s wearing a bluish-gray top that matches her eyes, and the shadows that showed her obvious exhaustion last night seem to have vanished thanks to more than twelve hours of sleep. I’m sure she’s wearing the same pair of jeans she wore yesterday—the pair that brought my attention then, just like now, to her slim hips and the soft curve of her ass, and that has a tear in the right knee.
She’s biting down on her bottom lip, and I stifle a groan, wondering what it would feel like sucked between my own lips as her mouth opens to me.
Holy fuck.
What am I talking about? This is Dylan Harper. My son’s girlfriend. Well, former girlfriend. A woman seeking sanctuary from someone who might try to harm her—not get leered at by a pervy guy old enough to be her dad.
Dylan Harper is not a woman I can think about in that way.
“Morning. There’s some fresh coffee ready,” I say and nod to the pot.
“Thanks,” she says softly.
I watch her add a spoon of sugar and some half and half to her coffee before carrying it over to join me. “Sorry for falling asleep on you last night. I shut my eyes for just a minute, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up with the full morning sun coming through the window.”
“No apologies necessary. You needed the rest.”
She pulls her fingers through the ends of her damp hair, as if she’s still getting used to the short style. I consider making small talk, maybe ask her if she’s still at the conservatory, but that would only be a distraction from what really needs to be discussed. Not to mention my background search already told me the answers. So I jump right in, catching her as she’s sipping her coffee. “Parker mentioned you’re in trouble. That you have an ex-boyfriend who’s giving you a hard time?”
Her eyes widen, and she swallows, her tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip. She sets the cup down and sighs. “That sums it up. The guy’s kind of relentless.”
“Did he do that to your neck?”
Instantly her hand goes to the area, touching it tentatively. “Yeah.”
“That’s a recent injury. When did you say you left him?”
She glances down at her coffee and runs a finger along the rim, not meeting my gaze. “I left San Francisco forty-one days ago. I thought if I got out of town, found some place where he couldn’t find me, that maybe he would give up on me—on us—and move on. But—”
“He found you.”
Her hand shakes, and she drops it to her lap, her breaths coming faster. “Yeah. He found me. Just like he promised.”
She doesn’t say anything more, and I’m not going to push her. I know enough. He found her. He hurt her, and somehow, she escaped. Again. “What are your plans now?”
“I thought I would take a couple of days to search for a small town or a city where I might disappear again, and this time come up with a backup plan when he finds me.”
In my ten years spent in law enforcement, and the fourteen years in the Army before that, I’ve seen too many grisly domestic disputes with too tragic of outcomes to doubt that the next time this guy comes gunning for Dylan, she might not have a chance to escape. Even if the judge had granted her that restraining order, depending on this guy’s mental stability or overall frame of mind, he might still have come for her. Consequences be damned.
I don’t need to tell her any of this, as I can see the truth of this has weighed on her for far too long. Short of catching the guy in the act, a woman has only so many choices. Running is definitely one of them. So is finding a big fucking badass who isn’t afraid to take on the goddamn son of a bitch directly.
A badass like myself.
