Remember Love: Saints Protection & Investigations (7 page)

Days later Blaise paced back and forth wearing the grass down near the picnic table they always ate at. Constantly looking at his watch, he wondered where she was.
Is she hurt? Sick? Did she take off again? Did I scare her off?

Thirty minutes passed and he grew more worried by the moment. Running his hand through his thick hair, he began to curse under his breath, drawing the censure of a few moms passing by.

Where can she be? Why, oh why didn’t I get her—

“Blaise!” her voice cried, the sound almost drowned out by the pounding of her feet on the pavement as she ran toward him.

Relief flooded him until he caught sight of her face as she came closer and his eyes dropped to her side.
Where’s Gypsy? Fuck!

She did not stop running until she collapsed almost at his feet. His arms reached out, gathering her, as he dropped to the ground with her.

Panting to the point of not being able to speak, she tried nonetheless. “Gyp…sy…some…thing…wrong.”

He brushed her hair, now loose from its braid, away from her flushed face. “Breathe, sweetheart. Slow it down, and breathe.”

Her breath hitched as she continued to speak, “You…got…ta…come…Gyp…sy.”

He stood, assisting her from the ground, and said, “Let’s go. I’ll drive and you can show me where she is.”

A nod was her only answer as he kept his arm around her waist offering her support. Thankful, because he parked his jeep close by, they were inside and pulling away from the park within a few minutes.

“Where are we going?”

Her head jerked around, looking out the windows. “I don’t know the street names. But turn around and I’ll take you the way I come.”

Following her directions, it took fifteen minutes to drive and Blaise realized how far she had been walking every day, just to meet him at the park.
Why didn’t I ever ask? I could have saved her all this walking!
His face, a mask of irritation, matched his tight grip on the steering wheel.

She looked over, seeing his anger. Hanging her head, she realized he was going out of his way to help her—again—and this time, it appeared that he was mad about it. She felt guilty, but pushed that emotion to the background, willing to face his ire to help Gypsy.

“Here, turn here,” she said, pointing down a long drive at the end of a cul-de-sac.

He followed her pointing finger, noting the weeds were tall, the grass not trimmed in what appeared to be years. His curiosity piqued, he wondered what dwelling he would find at the end of the drive. His answer appeared before him, but it was all he could do to not gawk.

A ramshackle shack stood amongst the weeds. The windows were broken out and it appeared uninhabitable…possibly for years.
She lives here? No fuckin’ way!

She jumped out of the vehicle, almost before it came to a stop, rushing toward the back of the house. Blaise followed closely as they rounded to the back door and watched in horror as she simply gave it a strong push to open it.
The lack of basic security almost drove him to his knees.

Inside, she rushed through what was originally the kitchen and into the front room. On a pallet of old blankets, laid Gypsy. She dropped down next to the dog, who whimpered its greeting.

“What happened?” Blaise asked, immediately squatting next to the dog as well.

“She was fine this morning and I let her run in the yard for just a bit. Then she came limping back, barely putting any weight on her front right leg. By the time this happened, it was almost time to leave to meet you. I kept trying to see what was wrong, but she snapped at me. Then it was so late to meet you, but I knew you could help her, so I ran all the way.”

Blaise glanced at the woman, seeing the tears form, stunned that she had run the several miles to get to the park. “It’s fine. She wasn’t upset with you. She was just protecting her injury,” he said, gently.

She sniffed, wiping her nose and nodded forlornly. “I don’t know what’s wrong. If something happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do…she’s my only friend.” This time, the battle to keep the tears at bay ended and a choked sob broke through.

“She’s not going to die, sweetheart,” he assured, capturing her chin with his fingers, lifting her face to his. “Promise.”

She held his gaze for a moment and then sucked in a ragged breath, nodding her affirmation.

“It appears she stepped on something in the yard and she’s injured her paw.” He noticed Gypsy’s understanding gaze, as he gently probed the injured area and ran his hand lovingly down her fur.

“We need to take her to my house. I have a clinic there. I do not have a private practice here, but I am licensed to treat animals, including the many strays that are given to me.” He expected her to hesitate, but her love for Gypsy was evident as she jumped up and immediately agreed.

As they stood, his eyes now roamed around the room. Completely bare except for the pile of blankets, which he realized was her bed as well.
Fuckin’ hell!
An old broom stood in the corner, obviously used recently because, while the house itself was a barely-standing dump, it was swept clean. The windows, while dirty, would do nothing to keep someone from seeing her. He was sure there was no running water—no shower, no toilet, no drinking water.

His eyes pierced hers and he ordered, “Grab whatever you want to take with us. She’ll need to stay overnight and I’m not letting you come back here.”

She had no idea where she would stay but, if he allowed, she would bed down with Gypsy at his clinic.
And his voice did not seem as though he was giving her a choice.
Strangely, that was okay. Nodding, she said, “Let’s go. I want her taken care of. And anyway…” her voice grew soft. “I’ve got nothing to take, other than a change of clothes.” She bent and grabbed a small backpack, hoisted it over her shoulder and then bent toward Gypsy.

Blaise gently pushed her out of the way, handing her his keys. “Go open the door and I’ll carry her.”

Within a few minutes, they were back on the road. Blaise glanced in the rear-view mirror at Miss sitting with Gypsy’s head in her lap and smiled. As crazy as it seemed…this felt right.

S
he looked through
the window as they pulled onto a gravel driveway through the woods, suddenly realizing her situation.
I’m in a vehicle, with a stranger, who’s taking me to his home. Oh, Jesus, don’t let this be a mistake!

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I know you’re scared. Please, Miss. I swear I only want to help you and Gypsy.”

Holding his gaze in the mirror, the tight band around her throat eased and she breathed deeply. “Okay,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

She jerked her head around as they parked, seeing a neat, older house at the end of the drive. The sound of dogs barking their greeting filled the air, causing Gypsy to lift her head, ears perked in alarm.

Blaise hopped out of the driver’s seat and opened the back door. Leaning in, he handed his keys to her before lifting the dog into his strong arms.

Following the pair, she noted how effortlessly he carried the large burden, as though it was nothing. Stepping around him, she unlocked the door, opening it for them. Blaise moved through the house with a purpose, straight past the living room, kitchen, stairs, and into a back room. At a quick glance, she could see it did resemble a veterinarian’s office.

He placed the dog on the examining table and murmured comforting words. Gypsy laid quietly, her eyes full of trust. Taking the dog’s cue, she stayed by her side, petting her and feeling at ease in his home.

She watched in fascination as Blaise immediately began to examine Gypsy. After he worked his way from her nose to her tail, soothing the animal constantly, he moved to her injured paw. Gypsy stayed still, comfortable with his examination. “You’re good at that,” she said. “It’s like she completely trusts you.”

“I like animals,” he admitted. “Sometimes more than people.”

Grinning, she nodded her understanding, running her hand over the thick fur.

“Be careful,” he warned. “She might snap as I probe her paw.”

“She won’t.”

“You have a lot of trust in your dog. How long have the two of you been together?”

No answer was forthcoming, causing Blaise to look up at the woman’s face. Her expression was indiscernible—part sadness, part fear, part longing. Before he could question her further, she whispered.

“As long as I can remember.”

He wanted to ask her what that meant. The dog was only a couple of years old…
certainly not old enough for her to not be able to remember when she got her.
Turning his confused mind back to the task at hand, he probed the paw with a pair of forceps.

“Looks like she’s got a small piece of glass embedded.” He continued to gently extract the offensive material, speaking softly to Gypsy throughout the procedure. Turning, he grabbed swabs and chlorhexidine. Treating the entire paw, he wrapped it up in gauze.

“Will she be all right? Will she need stitches?” she asked, concern in her voice.

As he answered, Blaise lifted his gaze and was struck dumb by the large, warm eyes staring right at him. Trusting. Mesmerized, he stumbled over his words, saying, “Uh…uh…no…um, no stitches.” Giving himself a mental headshake, he brought his mind back to the task. “But she needs to stay off of the outside ground for a few days. She needs to stay indoors, where she won’t get a chance to re-injure herself or step in something that can bring on infection.”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Okay…” she agreed hesitantly. “But, I don’t know where we’ll—”

“You’ll stay here,” Blaise stated as though the matter was decided, then saw the error of his ways when he observed the narrowed eyes of his guest. “I mean,” he hastened to say, “that Gypsy needs to stay here and there’s no way I can allow you to go back to that tumble-down shack. It’s a miracle you haven’t been attacked.”

“I think having a guard dog probably kept me safe,” she mumbled.

“Well, since your source of protection needs to be taken care of, I’m the next best solution.”

Her eyes shifted around the room as she asked, “Where would I sleep? Can I get some blankets to sleep in here?” Her gaze suddenly jumped to his as she stammered, “Or I can sleep outside. I didn’t mean to imply that I’d—”

“Shhh,” Blaise admonished. “I don’t know what all’s gone on in your life, but I promise, you’re safe now. I’ve got a spare bedroom that has its own bathroom.”

Looking askance, she shook her head. “Oh, no. I couldn’t impose. You’ve got a small barn out back. Gypsy and I’ll be fine in there.”

“I know you’re scared and that makes you smart, and I’m racking my brain trying to figure out a way to let you know you’re safe with me.” Placing his hand on his hip, he blurted in frustration, “But there’s no way I’m letting a woman sleep in a shed when I’ve got a place for her here. Please. I just want to help.”

She continued to hesitate and Blaise knew it was a risk to offer a defenseless woman his spare bedroom. The silence stretched between them as he let her ponder her choices. Her eyes glanced back down to a resting Gypsy and her expression softened as she slowly nodded. “Okay. Gypsy trusts you, so…I’ll stay.” Lifting her gaze back to his, she said, “And thank you…for everything.”

Letting out his breath, he grinned. “Let’s get you situated. I’ll fix something to eat since we didn’t have lunch and you can take a shower if you’d like.”

Her warm eyes sparkled as she tried to hide her pleasure, but she nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please! I haven’t had a full shower since…well, in a long time.” Ducking her head as she stumbled over her comment, she was grateful when he left it alone.

She followed him dutifully as he led her back through the house, noting that even with an older dog following them and several cats around, the space was neat and clean. The kitchen was not large, but sufficient. The living room was much bigger since it appeared to be combined with what would have been a dining room as well. He led her up the stairs and she accepted the towels he handed her.

“My room and bathroom are here on the left,” he said, “and the second bedroom is on the right, with the bathroom here.” He opened the door at the end of the short hall, exposing a small, but clean, bathroom.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked at the facilities.
I’ve sponged bathed in public bathrooms for…how long now? Weeks?
The white tiled room, gleaming in cleanliness, overwhelmed her. She looked up, realizing he had been speaking and she completely missed what he had said.

“I’m sorry,” she gushed, tucking a strand of dirty hair behind her ear. “What did you say?”

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything.”

“No, no, this is more than enough.”

He stood for a moment, her words striking deep inside of him.
A small bathroom is more than enough. Where have you been? What happened to you?
Sucking in a deep breath, he said, “Well, I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.” He glanced down to the small backpack she carried. “Hang on,” he said, as he turned and headed into his bedroom. Returning, he handed her one of his old DEA t-shirts. “I know it’ll be big, but it’s clean. We’ll wash clothes tonight.”

As the worn-soft material slid through her fingers, she clutched it tightly, bringing it to her chest, catching the clean scent of detergent. “Thank you, again,” she whispered, not trusting her voice.

“Um, there’s some shower gel, shampoo, and some…um…products under the sink in there. My sister comes for a visit occasionally and she leaves things here so she doesn’t have to bring them with her. She’d be happy for you to use anything.”

Sucking in her lips, knowing if she spoke now she would burst into tears, she simply nodded.

With a grin, he turned and headed back down the stairs. She watched him until he disappeared, his large body moving gracefully. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she hoped she was not making a mistake staying at his house.
I’m not afraid of him…I’m afraid of feeling something for him.

Taking a deep breath, she hurried into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. A few minutes later, stepping into the shower, letting the water sluice over her body, she luxuriated in the simple act of washing every part of her body. She found a razor and sweet smelling shaving cream, coconut body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. After scrubbing her hair, she stepped out of the tub, into the steaming room, not minding that the mirror was foggy. She allowed the steam to slowly dissipate as she took her time using coconut lotion over her entire body. By the time she finished and towel dried her hair, she could see her reflection in the mirror.