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I looked around her room for a pencil but all I could find was a fucking tree. I pulled my cell from my pocket and pulled up the notes app.
“Okay, let’s make a list.”
Ten minutes later, I walked out to the car with two bags slung over my shoulder and a list a mile long in my phone.
The fire department had boarded the kitchen window and left. Mr. VanMeyer was nowhere to be seen.
Lindy locked the front door behind her and followed me to my car–we’d left hers at the grocery store in our rush to get here. After tossing her bags in the back, I held the passenger door open for her.
As she slid in, she looked up at me and said, “I can stay at a hotel.”
I took in the way her jean skirt rode up her thighs, which made my one word reply a little louder than it should have probably been. “No.”
“I need to go tell Bridget about this, then stay with them.”
I leaned on the open door so I could meet her gaze. “Call Bridget, but sleep in Mav’s guest room? Sugar, you really want to do that?”
I didn’t want to point out that her little sister was going to be busy having sex with my big brother.
She quirked her lips, coming to that conclusion too.
“You could stay at a hotel, but you’re not,” I told her. “You could stay with your sister, but you’re definitely not. You’ll stay with me where I know you’re safe.”
“Safe? I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can. Besides, your list is in my phone.”
“Why?”
I frowned, looking down at her in my car. “Why what?”
“Why are you being so nice?”
I squatted down in front of her. I didn’t say a word because her question pissed me off. Did she actually think I was an asshole? I was the nice brother. Mav was all growly and huge, scaring people off with his size alone. Silas was quiet, which made people uncomfortable. Theo was always serious and intense.
I was the chill one. Laid back.
Except when I wasn’t. When someone fucked with those who couldn’t defend themselves. Maybe it was my father who brought out the trait. No, it was definitely my father who’d done that. I hated the way he’d treated me. My mom. So I knew what it was like. I started a charity for kids to find safety in sports. A safe place to be, to grow, to become strong and confident. I protected people, even a woman who was being harassed at a bar by a drunk fucker and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I gave the guy a few punches so he finally understood.
Unfortunately, the incident had been recorded by a number of bar patrons and it went viral. Dex James beating up an innocent fan watching the playoffs since we’d lost that night. Yeah, we’d lost. That was true. But the rest of it? He wasn’t innocent and he hadn’t been watching the game. I doubted the fucker even knew hockey was played on skates.
It didn’t matter. Social media had crowned me the on- and off-ice enforcer. Dex the Destroyer or some stupid name like that.
That was why I’d originally come to Hunter Valley with Theo and Silas to check on Mav. To get the hell out of Denver and away from the limelight. To pretty much hide until things settled down.
Lindy didn’t even know I was a professional hockey player, let alone know anything about that mess. It was a relief because how I was portrayed versus who I really was weren’t the same. She was–hopefully–discovering the real me because if she heard the gossip, she might be afraid to stay with me.
So back to her question–why was I being so nice? It was because I was fucking nice. Honorable. Enough so to take care of those shitheads who weren’t.
No one messed with Lindy Beckett. Even a stupid fucking tree.
Without saying anything, I grabbed the seatbelt, reached across her and clicked it into place. Then I shut the door behind her, went around and climbed in beside her.
I realized she asked because she was used to guys being dicks. Or not helpful. Or… whatever. So I looked her way and told her the truth.
“I’m not being nice. I’m taking care of what’s mine.”
She stared at me. Blinked. Stared some more. I could see her brain working, like cogs on a gear. Finally, she asked, “What?”
