Triggered. Elle James
strong for her to fight off.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The voice was a deep rumble, the tone rich and warm, resonating from deep in his chest, wrapping her in a reassuring blanket.
“Bad guy?” she asked, without opening her eyes.
“He’s gone.” A hand brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “Are you okay?” The same hand trailed softly over her cheekbone where the masked man had punched her.
Kate winced, and she opened her eyes to stare into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Her breath caught in her throat, and not out of fear. “Who are you?”
“Ben Harding. Hank Derringer thought you could use my help.”
Thank God. The cavalry had arrived.
Chapter Two
Ben stared down at the woman, her long wavy strawberry-blond hair lying in damp ringlets against the wood floor. Wrapped only in a fluffy white towel, she looked like a fallen angel, her creamy smooth skin begging to be touched, the towel riding up her shapely thighs.
“You’re staring.” The woman blinked up at him, her fingers pulling the edges of the towel together over her chest. She tried to sit up, pressed a hand to the back of her head and sank back. “Must have hit harder than I thought.”
“I’ll call for an ambulance.”
She shook her head and winced. “No. I’ll be all right, just give me a minute.” One arm rose to cover her eyes. The top edge of the towel slipped lower over the swell of her breasts, capturing Ben’s attention.
He really needed to focus on the situation, not the female lying almost naked at his feet, which proved hard when the woman had a great figure and very touchable skin. A pang of guilt and sadness knotted his gut. He hadn’t felt like touching a woman in more than two years. Not since…“Any idea what the guy was after?”
“None,” she answered, the arm dropping to her side. “I’m just glad he’s gone and you’re here. I’m Kate Langsdon.” She held out a hand, a frown denting her pretty brow. “What took you so long?”
“I just got the assignment an hour ago.”
“Well, Mr. Harding, I’m glad you came when you did. Any later and…” She shrugged and tried to sit up again. “I have to get up.”
“You should stay put and let me call an ambulance.”
“No, I have to get upstairs.”
“Why the rush?”
“I just need to.” She sat up, swayed and started to fall back. “Damn it, I can’t be dizzy.”
“Pigheaded woman.” Ben caught her before her head hit the floor.
“Stubborn man,” she whispered.
He scooped her into his arms and lifted her off the floor.
She tensed, her arm automatically circling his shoulder. “You don’t have to carry me. I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet.”
“Not with a knot on your head and a crazy determination to get upstairs.”
“Give me a minute and I’ll argue this point.” Her uninjured cheek lying against his chest belied her ability to put up much of a resistance. Her free hand struggled to keep the towel in place.
Ben ignored her protest and carried her up the stairs. “Which room?”
She sighed. “Last one on the landing. And really, I can get there on my own.”
“No need. From what Hank told me, I’m the hired hand, here to help rebuild a ranch and protect its owner.”
“Hank’s words?”
“Right.” His lips twisted, a frown creasing his forehead. “Let me do my job.”
She chuckled, a smile curling her lips, making her face shine even with the nasty bruise turning her cheek purple. “Somehow, I don’t think carrying a woman to her bedroom is part of the job description.” The smile faded. “But thanks.”
For a brief moment the sun had shone in the woman’s face, tugging at a place Ben thought buried for good with his wife and daughter. He shook the thought from his head and turned left on the landing.
When they crossed the threshold into the room, the woman twisted in his arms, her gaze darting toward the closet.
The door was open, blankets spilled from inside, some half-dragged out on the floor. “Let me down.” She pushed against his arm, her nails digging into his skin.
“I will, but I’m not dropping you.”
“Let me down.” She shoved harder.
He lowered her feet to the floor, his arm remaining around her waist.
She stood for a moment, swaying, and then lunged for the closet, her eyes wide, her face tense. “Lily?” Her voice was strained, desperate.
“Who’s Lily?” he asked.
Kate didn’t answer as she dove into the back of the closet, rifling through blankets. When her face appeared at the edge of the closet door, it was pale and pinched. “Lily?” She leaped to her feet and nearly fell on her face.
Ben was there to catch her, his arms crushing her against his chest. “Who’s Lily?”
“Mommy?” A tiny voice called out from the bathroom. “Mommy?”
Kate’s head came up and she fought her way out of Ben’s arms, dropping to her knees in front of a little girl with a mass of golden-red curls very much like her mother’s drying wispy locks. She stood silhouetted against the light streaming from the bathroom, like an angel descended from heaven.
“Oh, Lily.” Kate hugged the child to her.
Sweet Jesus. Hank hadn’t said anything about a little girl. Ben stood like stone, his feet rooted to the floor, unable to move, forgetting how to breathe.
The little girl was about the age of Sarah before she’d been murdered. Though his Sarah was as different from Lily as night and day, they were about the same size and age.
Before Sarah had been killed. She’d been four years old. She would have been six now, if a man Ben had captured and had subsequently been released on a technicality hadn’t targeted Ben and his family.
Ben hadn’t been home when his wife and daughter had been brutally stabbed to death. Had he been, he’d have killed the murderer with his bare hands, just like he’d killed the man who’d murdered fifteen-year-old Angelica Garza.
Seeing Kate Langsdon on the floor holding the little girl in her arms brought back too many painful memories. Ben’s feet moved one at a time as he backed toward the door. With his heart lodged in his throat, he couldn’t breathe or think. His gut told him to run as far from Kate and Lily Langsdon as he could get.
Before he reached the door, the curly-haired angel noticed him for the first time. “Mommy, who’s that man?”
Kate eased her hold on her daughter and looked up at Ben, the fear of a few moments ago still evident in her pale face. “That’s Mr. Harding. He’s the man who came to help us on the ranch.”
“Are you going to help my mommy?” she asked, her gaze open, direct, piercing the wall wrapped tightly around Ben’s heart.
He yearned to run and keep running until the child’s trusting eyes were erased from his mind. But he knew he couldn’t leave this little girl and her mother when the intruder he’d chased off earlier might return.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m here to help your mommy.” He nearly choked on mommy. His daughter had called his wife Mommy. His daughter had looked at him with complete trust, as if he could never let her