Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11) Page 4

  What with his exhaustion and pain, his ability to read her yesterday had been fucked up, and he’d been wise not to push matters. But he was home now and on the mend. Whatever was messing up their relationship would be straightened out.

  He’d see to it.

  * * * * *

  Grant McCormick eased the bedroom room door open far enough to hear what was happening in the house. He was really hungry and so was Connor. They hadn’t had much to eat yesterday after leaving the shelter. If it sounded…safe, they could go into the kitchen and get some breakfast. His stomach made a growling noise like it agreed.

  “…strike him out.” The noise of the television came from the living room. Baseball. His stomach got tight. Mama didn’t like sports, but Jermaine did, so he must be here. He didn’t like seeing Grant or Connor in the kitchen. He said they ate too much.

  Having Jermaine at home wasn’t safe.

  The sound of glasses clinking was another warning sign. Booze. They always drank booze if they were watching sports. Mama said alcohol made the stupid games easier to stand.

  A familiar, icky smell drifted down the hallway, like the scent of candles, only not, and he closed his eyes in despair. He knew what the smell meant.

  At the shelter, she’d cried and promised she wouldn’t do the drug stuff anymore. She’d promised. His stomach and chest felt funny, like he was gonna throw up…or cry. This morning when she’d pulled her glass pipe and lighter out of the cupboard, he’d wanted to throw the pipe across the room. To stomp on it and break it into pieces.

  No, Mama, no.

  But she didn’t listen to him. He couldn’t make her stop. Daddy could’ve. She wouldn’t do the drug stuff if he was home. But Daddy had gone off to be a soldier and died being a hero. He’d never come home. Angrily, Grant hit the doorframe with his fist. Daddy should have stayed. When Daddy was here, Mama had liked her kids. She’d hugged them and played with them and cooked. She’d laughed like she was having fun. Now her laugh was all screechy and crazy.

  Because when she smoked stuff, she turned different…like a monster in a cartoon. She got mad—scary mad. Like once, when Connor’d asked for supper, she’d screamed and thrown her cup at him, and it’d busted on the floor, sending glass everywhere.

  She’d promised she’d stop smoking the drugs.

  Grant shivered as she started laughing, the sound sharper than any broken glass. Jermaine was talking, too, his words crashing into each other all funny.

  Soundlessly, Grant closed the door.

  Half asleep, Connor huddled in the corner, waiting for Grant to decide what to do. “Did Mama leave?”

  “No,” Grant whispered. “And Jermaine is out there, too.”

  Connor’s forehead scrunched up. “They’re smoking the stuff?”

  “Yeah.” No breakfast for us. Could he sneak into her bedroom and get a dollar from her hiding place? She never noticed if they only took one bill. He and Connor could crawl out the window and buy food from the gas station down the street.

  But she or Jermaine might go to the bathroom and see them. Getting caught in Mama’s bedroom would be…bad.

  Silently, Grant pulled a pillow and a loose blanket off the bed.

  Connor’s face fell, but he pulled a suitcase out from under the bed. Pushing the blanket and pillow before him, he squirmed behind the jumble of suitcases and storage boxes to the narrow space beside the wall.

  As Grant followed, his shoulders caught painfully on the bedframe. What would happen if he kept growing? If he couldn’t hide under here any longer? He shivered as he curled up next to Connor and shared the pillow. His stomach growled again.

  “Grrr, grrr,” Connor whispered like a lion and giggled.

  So did Grant. But he was hungry. “Check the box. Is there anything to eat?”

  His brother opened the battered lunch box they’d found in a trashcan. Two crackers were left from last night.

  Grant grimaced. Before Mama had taken them to the shelter, Jermaine had realized Grant and Connor were sneaking food from the kitchen. He’d been really mad and tried to whip them with his belt.

  Last night, knowing they had to be careful, Grant had only grabbed a handful of crackers out of the box on the coffee table. Two were left. He handed both crackers to Connor. “You go ahead and eat them.”

  Connor shook his head and handed one back.

  Why couldn’t crackers be bigger? With a sigh, Grant took a small bite, hoping to make it last.

  Then he pulled the suitcase back in place, closing them inside their small cave of safety.

  * * * * *

  Unable to sleep longer or eat breakfast, Beth had left home before dawn. As the sun rose into a clear blue sky, she’d weeded the flowerbeds for one of her bank clients and then a realtor. A few hours later, when her energy had faded, she’d swung by Starbucks for a caramel apple Frappuccino.

  Coffee for breakfast—actually, it was getting close to lunch. Her Sir wouldn’t approve. But, hey, it had apple in it. Very healthy.

  Sipping her drink, she detoured past some of her residential clients on the way to Hyde Park. Her yard crew was doing a good job of staying ahead of the summertime growing season. A block off North Hines, she slowed to study one of her first landscaping projects. The foundation plantings were excellent and the grounds immaculately groomed; however, the effect this month was…blah. A seasonal splash of color was needed. She pulled over and made a note in her planner before resuming her drive.

  After her appointment, she could go home. To Nolan. Her lips curved. The mere thought of him filled her heart. Honestly, she’d never known she could love someone so much.

  Thank you for being you, Master.

  Loving him made her world complete, although it was a bit worrisome how much she’d missed him. For heaven’s sake, before he’d entered her life, she’d managed quite nicely, thank you very much. She’d lived on her own during and after college until marrying Kyler. But, okay, admit it, after escaping Kyler, she hadn’t felt safe. Not until Nolan pushed into her life.

  This summer, all the time Sir had been in Africa, she’d felt so much on edge it was almost like being cold. Face it, Nolan was her sun, and she didn’t do well when his warmth disappeared.

  But he was home now, and she should feel better. Really, everything should be fine.

  She wrinkled her nose. Everything would be fine after they got past a couple of snags.

  The big problem—her Master was hurting. Seeing him so weary and in pain made her want to cry. Made her want to beat on Master Raoul for sending Sir to such an unsafe, uncivilized location. Her mouth firmed. She’d have to make sure he didn’t overdo. He’d be stubborn about wanting to return to work. Too bad for him. She’d get a chance to pamper him up a little.

  And the other glitch in their happiness…was her.

  She was a stupid, emotional mess.

  Yes, she sure was.

  Should she tell him about the final treatment she’d tried? And how the doctors had…had given up on her? She pulled in a pained breath. Normally, she’d never keep anything from Sir, but…this? The news would hurt him worse than his injured shoulder. Because of her. He knew how much she wanted to have his baby.

  She thumped her head on the headrest in annoyance. Why couldn’t she get past this…obsession…that her life wouldn’t be complete without children? It was stupid. Not everyone had children. Not everyone wanted children.

  However, both she and Nolan did, and she couldn’t give them to him because she was damaged. Broken.

  He needed to know, though. He’d want to know. And she would tell him.

  She would.

  As she drove through historic Hyde Park, she frowned as she considered scenarios. Perhaps it would be best to delay the disturbing discussions for a while. She was too emotional, and he was hurting. So today, she’d go home and be cheerful and let things get back on an even keel. In a few days, she’d sit him down and explain how she couldn’t ever give him beautiful dark-eyed babies.<
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  Stupid tears.

  Blinking hard, she checked the house numbers and pulled into a curving driveway. Her client’s home was a beautiful three-story, nineteenth century, Italianate house with asymmetrical lines and a square tower in the center—one of the older homes in the city. And absolutely beautiful.

  Time to be a professional. She wiped her eyes, pulled in a few restorative breaths, and grabbed her bag.

  From the street, she studied the cream-colored house with its dark red, tile roof. The tall windows were twice her height, which meant the inside would get plenty of light. Excellent bones.

  In contrast to the beautifully restored exterior of the house, the yard was simply pitiful, filled with dying shrubberies, patchy grass, and weed-filled beds. Dr. Drago had mentioned that the previous owners had completed the extensive remodeling, but the husband was transferred to New York before they’d started on the grounds. It appeared she could begin from scratch if she wanted. She walked up the white brick sidewalk and considered various landscaping styles. Would her British client prefer something formal?

  She stopped dead, realizing Dr. Alastair Drago was sitting on the lovely, white-pillared porch. Darn it. Had he seen her imitation of a waterfall in the car? Were her eyes all red?

  He rose and, cup in hand, strolled around to the portico to meet her.

  Long and lean and muscular. She’d seen him in passing in the darkly lit Shadowlands. Now, in the full light of day, she’d say the man was a perfect match for his gorgeous house.

  In tailored khaki slacks and green button-up shirt, he was perhaps an inch or so taller than Master Nolan. His black hair was as short as the perfect beard outlining his strong jaw. His sharp, greenish-hazel eyes were eerily beautiful against his flawless brown skin. Yes, the man was jaw dropping in a classically handsome way—and he was Doctor Drago, as well. She’d bet the physician attracted women by the droves.

  Not her. She’d be perfectly happy to avoid any and all doctors for a good decade. “Good morning, Dr. Drago.”

  “It’s Alastair.” His resonant voice held a crisp English accent. “What’s wrong, love?”

  Oh, honestly. Visiting a Shadowlands Dom when upset was a major mistake on her part. Of course, he’d noticed her tears and red eyes. “Nothing.” When his eyes narrowed, she revised. “I’m having a crummy morning, but it has nothing to do with work. Shall we—”

  “We shall go inside and have a cup of tea—or coffee—and chat.” He invited her to precede him with a smooth motion.

  With a silent sigh, Beth straightened her shoulders, walked through the front doorway, and stopped to admire. His home was lovely. High ceilings with traditional crown molding, gleaming hardwood floors and Oriental carpets, pastel walls, sparkling chandeliers, antiques. Despite the formal decor, the living room’s white sofa and chairs were comfortably sturdy, and the statuary, art, and brightly patterned woven goods from all over the world provided quirkiness.

  On the way through the small breakfast nook beside the kitchen, she noted boxes stacked against the walls. Spare chairs, tables, and shelves were bunched into corners. “Didn’t you move in a couple of months ago?”

  “I did.” He set his cup on the table and seated her with an easy graciousness. “Tea or coffee?”

  His cup held tea. “Tea will be fine.”

  After getting another cup, he poured from an antique china pot, placed the drink in front of her, and slid over the silver-serving tray with cubed sugar, tongs, and sliced lemon. “I have milk in the refrigerator if you like.”

  “This is fine, thank you.” As he took a seat across from her, she sipped the tea, enjoying the subtle flavor. “You have a beautiful home, and I have a few ideas already as to landscape styles that might suit you. We could—”

  In the kitchen light, his unwavering eyes were more brown than green. “Perhaps we could first discuss your unhappiness.”

  “What?” Her tea almost spilled, and she set the cup down carefully. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t believe you.” His perceptive gaze swept over her, and the concern in his expression deepened. “I know your Master returned yesterday. Perhaps, you should take the day to be with him. And talk. We can reschedule this appointment.”

  “That’s nice of you, but he’s sleeping late this morning. And he’s exhausted. He doesn’t need to know I had a…moment.”

  Alastair leaned back in his chair, stretching long legs out in front of him. “May I call you Beth?”

  She blinked and nodded.

  “Beth, I have heard your Master speak of you, his wife who is also his submissive. There is no doubt in my mind he is extremely protective of you. Am I in error?”

  “No.”

  “Wouldn’t he want to know of your…moment?”

  Stubborn, stubborn Doms. As the landscaper for the Shadowlands’ Capture Gardens and Master Z’s private gardens, she’d picked up many clients from the club. She’d quickly learned that even outside the club, Doms could be awfully persistent—and they didn’t sidetrack worth a darn.

  And this was a very experienced Dominant. The minute he’d told Master Z he was settling permanently in Tampa, Alastair had been nominated for “Master,” the honorific awarded to the most powerful, skilled, and ethical Dominants in the Shadowlands. And he was a doctor, too. Of course, he’d be both caring and observant. Dammit.

  Unfortunately, he was correct. She breathed a sigh of capitulation. “Yes. He would want to know. I’ll tell him today.”

  “There’s a good girl. Thank you.”

  Something inside her relaxed as she realized her decision had been made for her. No more worrying about when.

  He took a sip of his tea, watching her closely.

  When she picked up her own cup, he smiled. “Very good.”

  She gave him a wry look. “Are you going to be this obstinate about your landscaping?”

  His grin was a brilliant white in his dark face. “Not unless the flowers start moping.”

  The laugh that escaped her was heartening.

  “You were wondering about the boxes and furniture,” he said in a tactful change of subject. “My cousin Max moved in last month, but his furniture only arrived last week. We haven’t had a day off at the same time to decide what to keep and what will be stored or sold.”

  “I bet pediatricians have horrible hours.” Hmm. How hard would it be to talk him into volunteering time at the shelter? “What does your cousin do?”

  “He’s a detective with the Tampa Police Department.” Alastair set his cup down. “You’ll meet him one of these days. If not here, then at the Shadowlands.”

  Was Max a Dom like Alastair, or would he be a submissive? “Is he a—” Sheesh, Beth. Have some manners. “Ah, how nice. I look forward to meeting him.”

  Alastair huffed a laugh. “He’s a Dominant, and we play together much as Vance and Galen do. Or we used to before our paths parted.”

  Beth barely concealed her surprise. Like Galen and Vance? The two did co-top together—and had also married her friend Sally, which was unusual. Although two Doms might occasionally share a scene, two heterosexual men sharing a submissive in a full-time relationship was pretty rare.

  Alastair rose with a grace that belied his height. “Since you’re back on your game, let us assess the yard.”

  * * * * *

  Two hours later, Beth shook hands with Alastair. To help her plan a smooth transition from inside to outside, her camera held shots of the house interior as well as the grounds. “I’ll have a detailed conceptual drawing along with a project description for you in a few days. Before the final drawing and proposal are created, we’ll revise depending on what you like and don’t like about it.” She hesitated. “Since your cousin lives here, it might be good if he was present, too.”

  “That was the plan. He’d hoped to meet you today, but got called into the station unexpectedly.” Alastair frowned at the barren front yard. “You have your work cut out for you, I fear.”

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nbsp; “It’ll be fun. And you’ll enjoy how quickly plants grow in this climate.”

  She couldn’t stop smiling as she hopped into her truck. At one time, she’d planned to follow in her father’s footsteps and own a nursery business, but a couple of years ago, she’d realized she loved landscape design. With Jessica’s accounting help and Nolan’s management expertise, she’d expanded her yard service business and hired a small crew, giving her time to take on design work.

  Each new project felt like a child’s unopened box of crayons—a gift filled with the potential for creating beauty. And utility. And fun.

  As she headed back, she felt…normal again, and her anticipation rose. Nolan was home.

  Maybe she should start by cooking a good Sunday dinner and feeding both of them up; she wasn’t the only one who’d lost weight. Afterward, she’d tell him about the treatment and the results. They could talk—something else she’d missed.

  Two months apart was too long, especially when the phone service didn’t allow long, chatty conversations. Then again, chatty and Nolan was a contradiction in terms.

  She grinned. Her Master was comfortable with people, but talkative? Hardly. In his opinion, anything more than the bare facts was overkill. But he listened like no one she’d ever met. When they talked, she had all of his attention, and his focus was as sexy as it was amazing.

  Oh, she was glad he was home and that he was all hers today.

  As she walked into the coolness of the house, she stopped and sniffed. Rather than cinnamon, the air smelled of a rich and musky perfume. Someone had visited.

  Nolan wasn’t in his office, the kitchen, or the great room. She found him outside, sleeping on the patio, wearing swim trunks. Two glasses sat on a nearby table.

  The physical therapist. Alyssa had said she’d come by today.

  Nolan’s tanned skin gleamed with oil. That lush, big-breasted submissive had touched him. Rubbed oil into his muscular back. Pain stabbed Beth’s heart, as unexpected as when a thorny rose would pierce her leather gloves.

  Stop, Beth. Jealousy is beneath you. Alyssa had seemed nice. Beth bit her lip as she watched her husband sleep. Maybe a little too nice. And too beautiful. And uncomfortably needy.