Personal Protector

Lee winced as Tristan laid the icepack against her swelled lower lip.

“Just spend the night here.”

She laid her hand over the icepack to hold it in place. “I can’t, T.T. You know he’ll go ballistic.”

“I’d like to put him in the hospital.”

“If you lay a finger on him, he’ll kill my mother.”

Tristan shook his head. “It’s a shame what money does to people.”

Lee tried to grin, but the pain in her mouth stopped her. “But not you.”

He gave an ironic little smile. “No, not me.”

Tristan owned a series of oil wells he inherited from his great-grandfather, but the man lived in the Canadian wilderness like a monk.

Except on his once a month excursions to Missoula, Montana, the city miles south of her hometown.

She’d met him when she was sixteen. Her stepfather had beaten the shit out of her and left her for dead in the mountains. Tristan was out looking for a good spot to fish when he found her.

He’d taken her back to his apartment and cleaned her up, even let her stay with him for a while.

Whenever he was in town, she always ran to him.

“Go relax, kid, and I’ll make something to eat.”

She gave him a look. “I’m nineteen, T.T., not twelve.”

“Yeah, well, I’m thirty, so to me you’re a kid.”

She pouted playfully before going into the living room and making herself comfortable in front of the computer monitor.

She surfed the net and did some reading, and after a while, delicious smells drifted to her nose and she went back into his kitchen, sitting on the counter beside the stove.

“Are you comfortable?”

She nodded. “Starving, too.”

He grinned, showing even pearly-whites. “I get the hint. It’s almost done.”

She stuck her face over the simmering pot and sniffed. “What is it?”

He put his hand on her forehead and moved her away. “Never you mind. Get off my counter and go sit. I’ll bring it in a minute.”

She jumped down and sat at the table.

He scooped some into two bowls with a big silver ladle and sat down across from her. “Lee, why don’t you come home with me?”

She frowned, her lip throbbing as she took a bite of the hot liquid. “You know what he’d do if he found out I’d ran off.”

Tristan sat there for a moment, his spoon suspended in midair. “What if I kidnapped you?”

She looked at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He set his spoon back in the bowl. “We could write the ransom note and mail it to him and then get on a plane.”

“Theoretically speaking, it would work, but if he even thought for a minute…” She left the obvious unsaid.

He nodded his blonde head. “So we’ll convince him, make it look real.”

She gave him a long look. “Tris, this is something high-school kids would dream up.”

Tristan stood and rinsed his bowl in the sink, placing it in the dishwasher. “It’s not healthy for you to live there. This way he won’t blame you and he’ll be none the wiser.”

“I don’t know…”

He placed his hands on the table and leaned over her. “I worry about you, Lee. You don’t know how relieved I am when you show up on my doorstep. I sit at home, praying he hasn’t done something terrible to you.”

She smiled, despite her sore mouth. “Really?”

He rolled his eyes and ruffled the top of her head with his hand. “That’s not a good thing, kid.”

She searched his cerulean eyes. “Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

He nodded, a wry grin curving his mouth. “Yes, unfortunately, but it would work.”

She stood from her chair and went to the living room, with him following close behind. “You’re insane,” she said with a shake of her head as she sat in front of his television.

-

Tristan shut the door behind Lee after she left.

He’d grown quite fond of the little brat in the past three years and it had recently dawned on him that the beatings dealt to her were getting more severe.

She was strong, stronger than him, to live with such harsh treatment.

He worried for her safety, especially after last month’s trip to town.

She left his apartment late and her stepdad was waiting up. She still had the nasty bruises on her ribs and along her back to prove that savage whipping. And to his amazement, she showed up the next morning and asked if she could hang out with him. She tried to hide them and he’d been murderous when he’d caught sight of them.

It would give him great pleasure to return every hit to her stepdad, seven times over.

Tristan went back to the living room and watched some TV, then shut it off, going to his room.

He lay in bed, his mind running wild with worry. He should’ve sent her home earlier. What if that bastard found out.

He rolled over and tried to get comfortable, but it was impossible.

He had to get her out of that house. She wasn’t safe anywhere near that man. He would if it was the last thing he did.

She deserved far better than what she had.

He gave a sigh and threw the sheet off his body. He pulled his jeans on, but didn’t bother to button them, and went to the kitchen.

He got the orange juice out of the fridge and took a big gulp.

He had just set the container back in the fridge, when he heard a noise.

It was a scratching sound, like a dog or cat, but he didn’t have any animals here. He moved through the apartment as the sound got louder, hearing the distinct sound of metal against metal.

He listened.

It was coming from the door.

He strode over, expecting to find someone trying to jimmy his door lock. Instead he looked into Lee’s spring green eyes.

She stood poised at the door, key in hand.

She blinked up at him and smiled, blood running down the side of her face from a cut over her eye. “When do we leave?”