Monroe, Melody S. - Chelsea's Pleasure [Pleasure, Montana 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  The short-order cook’s eyes were wide, his hand over his chest. “Both girls went that way.” The old man pointed toward the back. His hands were shaking so hard it was no wonder he hadn’t moved.

  The thought that Chelsea was included in the panicked scream brought his heart to his throat. Something banged against the hallway wall and footsteps pounded on the wooden floor, coming straight at him.

  “What’s going on?” Luke said as he nearly slammed into Preston’s back.

  Before he could answer, Ross Scanlon raced toward them with blood on his face and a knife in his hand. Preston’s gut nearly exploded. What the fuck was he doing here? Whatever it was, it was bad news.

  “Check on Chelsea,” he shouted as Ross reached the side exit before Preston could get to him. Without care to his own safety, Preston raced after him and flew down the three steps to the frozen outdoors. Regardless of the fact he had no weapon, there was no way he’d let his former partner get away. If he found out the man had harmed Chelsea or Lydia, he just might have to kill him.

  The moment Ross looked back over his shoulder, he tripped on a root sticking up from the dirt path, and his step faltered. Preston took advantage of the stumble and launched himself in the air. He landed on the asshole’s back, causing the two of them to crash to the ground. The impact nearly caused his ribs to break. Christ, but the man was as hard as a case of nails.

  Ross might be shorter by a good four inches, but he’d proven many times he was stronger than a horse. Having a knife meant he’d be extra dangerous. With a lift of his leg, Ross managed to roll them both over, tossing Preston to the side. Rocks jabbed him in the back, but he pushed aside the pain. Sunlight glinted off the knife.

  Preston would prefer to talk to his former partner into surrendering than get in a fight, but the man didn’t seem to be in the mood for a discussion. The two circled each other, Ross’s knife swiping the air.

  Preston held up his hands. “What are you doing here, Ross? I thought we agreed you’d stay away from the bar.” Shit. He failed to keep the venom from his voice.

  Ross advanced. “Just trying to be friendly with your new cook.”

  Friendly? His imagination ran wild. Preston’s gut burned and his heart rattled in his chest. Not only had he made a promise to himself to protect Chelsea at all costs, but he also told her two older brothers he would keep her safe while they were fighting in Iraq.

  And Preston’s word was his life. He’d never let some scumbag like Ross Scanlon hurt her. Partnering with him in the first place was the dumbest thing he’d ever done, but he’d needed Ross’s daddy’s start-up cash to open the bar.

  Ross lowered his head, looking like he might attack.

  If it were the last thing he did, Scanlon would be punished for his violent ways. “Why did Lydia scream?” His throat had turned dry.

  “She walked in on me and Chelsea. Your cook didn’t want to play, and I had to teach her a lesson.” Ross grabbed his jean-covered cock, and a lustful glint sparked in the man’s eye.

  When the implication registered, all rational thought flew out the window. Preston dove at Ross, elbowing the man’s knife arm to the side and slamming his head into Ross’s chest. His opponent pushed and shoved, nearly tumbling Preston on his ass. On the next go-around, he managed to punch Ross in the face, but before he got off his second jab, Ross swiped the knife across Preston’s arm.

  “Fuck.”

  It stung for a second until rage took over his body and blocked the pain. Preston pummeled Ross in the stomach, taking a few hits to the head in the process. The bastard was like a punching bag that refused to go down.

  Ross’s fist connected with Preston’s face again, sending him stumbling backward. Once he regained his focus, he charged headfirst again, knocking Ross down this time. His opponent gave one gruff Oof as he landed on a protruding rock. Knees got tangled and arms flayed like street fighters. The two rolled over and over, fighting with lethal intent. A chop to Ross’s arm must have caught him off guard for he dropped the knife.

  On top, Preston had the advantage. With a powerful uppercut, he smashed Ross’s jaw, and the man’s eyes rolled back in his head.

  Panting, Preston fell to the side and got up. He lightly kicked his opponent’s side to make sure he wasn’t faking being out.

  “Good Lord.”

  He looked up. Lydia stood in the entranceway, blocking most of Chelsea’s body, but what he could see of her face made him sick. Preston leaped over Ross and raced up the steps. Lydia stepped back to let him through, but in the process of trying to reach Chelsea, he bumped into his barmaid. She stumbled backward, slamming against the wall and nearly falling. He helped stabilize her. “I’m so sorry, Lydia. I never meant—”

  “I’m good.” She nodded toward Chelsea, who was wrapped in the comforter off his bed.

  His heart stopped when he got a good look at her cut lip. His first thought was that the bastard had raped her. He turned to Lydia. “Call Dr. Trumble and get the sheriff over here pronto.”

  Lydia stared at him for a moment before reacting. “Right away.”

  Luke came running down the hallway and Preston gathered Chelsea in his arms.

  His brother’s eyes seemed glazed over. “I tried to make her stay upstairs, but she wouldn’t listen. She kept insisting she had to see if you were okay.”

  He didn’t know whether to be happy or pissed. He leaned back to look at her swollen face. “Where did he hurt you?” He held his breath. Clearly, Ross had hit her, but if he’d touched her intimately, he’d make sure Ross suffered more than a beating.

  “Just on my face.” She shook her head. “His knife got a little too close to my stomach and sliced me. He would have raped me if Lydia hadn’t come in.” Her voice shook as hard as her body. “She saved me.”

  The word rape rattled in his head. He wanted to seek revenge on Ross but knew they’d all be better off if he waited for the sheriff to arrive.

  Chelsea’s face suddenly lost color. He swooped her up in his arms and held her tight. “Luke, put the Closed sign up.” He didn’t care how pissed his customers got. Chelsea needed their care.

  “On it.” Despite the intense worry in his eyes, Luke rushed out.

  Chelsea wiggled in his arms. “I can walk. Only my face hurts. And my finger and my stomach.”

  He cocked a brow. Physically, she might be okay, but what did the attack do to her mental state? “You’re hurt. Luke and I are going to take care of you.”

  “Preston, your arm is bleeding.”

  He looked down. “It’s a scratch.”

  “And mine isn’t?”

  He tugged her closer. When she snuggled against his chest, waves of affection slammed through him. When he and Luke had babysat the ten-year-old many years ago, she was tiny, charming, and delightful. Now, she’d grown up in more ways than one, but to him, she’d always need protecting. Didn’t matter that her hips were fuller and her breasts were made for licking. Chelsea needed him and Luke.

  Taking the back stairs two at a time, he pushed open the door and rushed Chelsea into his bedroom. Carefully, he lowered her onto the bed. Her eyes were closed, and he thought she might have even fallen asleep. His heart warmed at the delicate beauty.

  A knock sounded on the door. It was too quick to be the doc. Trumble was too old to move fast.

  “I’ll be right back, Seach,” he whispered.

  Another knock sounded, and he hurried to answer it. At the door, Lydia stood wringing her hands. “How is she?”

  “I’m not sure. You get a hold of Doc Trumble?”

  “He’s with someone who’s about to have her baby, and he said he can’t leave her.”

  Damn it. “Did you tell him Chelsea was hurt?”

  “Yes, he’ll be here as soon as he can, but the baby’s breech.”

  A fully staffed hospital was an hour away, and the new mom probably needed the doc more than Chelsea. “What about Sheriff Bradford? He coming?”

  “He’s downstair
s. He wants to talk to you about what happened.”

  Good thing Mountain View sat next to the sheriff’s office. From inside his room, Chelsea emitted a soft mewling sound. Preston looked at the bedroom door. “Tell him I’ll be right down.”

  Lydia nodded and left. Preston raced into the room. Chelsea was thrashing about, but she seemed to be in that state halfway between sleep and consciousness.

  More footsteps sounded up the stairs and Luke rushed in. “She okay?”

  “I haven’t checked her out, but she’s resting. Doc’s tied up, and I have to tell Justin what went down.” Sheriff Bradford wasn’t a man who liked to wait.

  “If you need to speak with him, I’ll stay and watch over Chelsea.”

  “Thanks. Bradford will want to process her, so we can’t clean her up yet.” He hated to leave her, but he also needed the sheriff to arrest Ross. “Be back shortly.”

  * * * *

  Luke walked softly into his brother’s room. He didn’t want anyone touching Chelsea, but he understood she was a victim of a crime. To get justice, the sheriff would need to take pictures and gather evidence. That invasive plan stuck in his craw, but he knew it had to be done.

  Chelsea opened her eyes and tried to smile, but only half of her face seemed to be working because of the cheek swelling. She pushed up with her hands to a sitting position and winced. His body tensed. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure how. She wrapped the blanket tightly around her chest and rested her head against the wall.

  He moved closer. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  A tear leaked out of her right eye. “Did Preston kill Ross?”

  “Not quite, but he’ll be in jail for quite a while.” If he had anything to say about it.

  “Darn. I hate that man.”

  “So do a lot of people. The sheriff will be up in a minute. He’ll need to take pictures and get some samples.”

  She skewered up her face, and his heart ached. “Can’t you do it?”

  “No, Seach. Even if a bunch of people saw Ross run out of the back room, Bradford will still need to process you.”

  She cast her gaze downward, and before he could comfort her, voices sounded from the stairs. The sheriff came into the room carrying a silver case. Preston followed right behind.

  “Hello, Chelsea.”

  Justin Bradford might have been a ruggedly handsome man who was only a year older than him, but he trusted the man to be professional. Another knock sounded, and before Preston could get to the door, Doc Trumble poked his head in the room. “Sorry I’m late. I had to deliver a baby.”

  Luke was thrilled Chelsea would get the needed care. “Everything good?”

  “Yes. Mother and baby are doing well. Now if you all would shoo for a moment, I need a look at Chelsea here. Then we’ll let the sheriff have a go at her.”

  Luke looked to his brother who nodded they give Chelsea some privacy.

  Luke stood. “We’ll be outside.”

  He hated to leave her, but protocol had to be followed. As they waited in the living room, Preston’s face remained red, and the tension rolling off him filled the room. Sheriff Bradford paced.

  Preston slammed his hand against the wall. “I wish I’d killed the SOB.”

  Luke stepped behind him. “He’s not worth it.”

  “It’s all my fault.”

  Preston always was the martyr in the family. If they didn’t look like their dad, Luke would have wondered if one of them hadn’t been adopted. Preston was serious, hard working, and took the blame for every wrongdoing. Luke was just the opposite. He saw the glass half-full.

  Bradford stopped moving and leaned a hip on the sofa. “You thinking the attack had something to do with you buying Ross out?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “He was your partner. You’d know better than anyone. I know the split wasn’t on the best of terms. Did he ever threaten to harm someone you cared about?”

  “No. Never.” Preston fisted his hands. “I thought he’d changed, but I was wrong. He’s still a scumbag.” Preston shook his head. “He sure fooled me good into thinking he wanted to be a businessman.”

  Luke wanted to place a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Preston would have interpreted Luke’s action as a belief that Preston had been at fault somehow. They’d argued about taking on Ross in the first place, but if he hadn’t, Preston never would have been able to afford the place. At the time, his finances weren’t healthy enough to help.

  “Maybe Ross just wanted Chelsea, and it had nothing to do with you. Hell, I want Chelsea, only I want to earn her respect, not take something she isn’t willing to give.” The moment she’d come back to Pleasure, he’d had a hard time keeping his gaze off her. Hell, she’d left a tomboy and returned a sensual woman. Pleasure might only have one thousand residents, but he was sure every male in town had noticed her. And since Pleasure was mostly made up of males, that meant a lot of noticing was going on.

  Preston glared at him. “I don’t need you sniffing around her. I gave my word to her brothers that I would make sure she stayed safe. And that means you need to stay away from her, too.”

  Luke held up his hands in surrender. “Easy. I’m just saying I understand why Ross lusted after her.”

  “Which is why we have to be extra careful with her.”

  “I’m not disagreeing.” Though if he could convince her that his intentions were honorable, she might invite him to her bed. He and Preston had shared women before and liked it, but this time he might be on his own.

  The door to Chelsea’s room opened and the doc came out. “I’ve fixed her up the best I could. She needs rest. In a week, she’ll be good as new.”

  Preston stepped in front of the doc. “Should we take her to the hospital?”

  “No need. Her wounds are superficial, but I gave her some antibiotics just in case. Make sure she takes them. She’ll need your emotional support more than anything.” He held up a finger. “In case she has nightmares, here’s a prescription for some anxiety medication.”

  Luke pocketed the paper. “I’ll get it filled just in case. Don’t worry about us. We’ll take good care of her.”

  The sheriff picked up his case. “I need to get those photos.”

  Luke’s stomach refused to settle. He wanted to be there for her, hold her hand, and tell her no one would harm her again if he could help it.

  The sheriff stepped into Chelsea’s room, and the silence between him and Preston was as loud as the worst winter storm. Nothing he said would convince Preston that he wasn’t at fault.

  Preston’s fixation on keeping Chelsea on a short leash bothered him. Chelsea was a free spirit and wouldn’t take to being told who she could and couldn’t see.

  If he had to fight Preston for her, he would.

  The sheriff eventually came out, his shoulders stiff. “I have her statement and took the photos. It’s pretty clear she’d been assaulted. As soon as Ross wakes up, I’ll take him into custody.”

  “I’ll walk you out, Justin.” Preston glanced back at Luke and left.

  The moment the door clicked close, he rushed back into the bedroom. Chelsea’s eyes were closed.

  She opened them, and a hint of a smile surfaced. “Luke.” She lifted the blanket, exposing blood smeared on her stomach. “Can you help me clean up?”

  “Sure.” Her injuries still had his stomach churning. “Let me get a washcloth.” He figured the doc would have left the blood for the sheriff to document.

  “Thanks.”

  He ducked into the bathroom to get the cloth. When he came out, Chelsea had the blanket lowered and was touching the bite mark on her breast. She had a bandage over her stomach, one on her finger, and a patch on the top part of her breast. His heart ached.

  He forced himself to remember this was Seach, the little girl he took care of junior and senior year. It didn’t work. The woman in the bed was all curves.

  Luke cleared his throat. “Maybe you should cover up.” He ave
rted his gaze.

  She tapped her breast. “Most of it is just bruised. There are only one or two places where he broke the skin.”

  He looked back, but she hadn’t seemed to hear him. “Chelsea?” She finally looked up. “Can you please?” He nodded to her naked body.

  “Oh, sure.”

  He knew how dangerous animal bites were. He’d read human ones were far worse.

  “Did the doc tell you to take the antibiotics?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here’s a cloth to clean up.”

  She held out her right hand. Blood had caked on her index finger, too. What had Ross done to her? His head pounded with rage.

  “Can you do it? I cut my finger slicing potatoes, and it hurts to use it.”

  He let out a held breath. “Me?”

  “Please?”

  Jesus. He couldn’t touch her and not think inappropriate thoughts, but he couldn’t have her sleep in dried blood either. “I’ll give it a try.”

  He sat on the bed and patted the cloth around her wound. The whole breast pressed to the side like a mound of Jell-O. “I need to hold everything still so I can clean you. If you feel uncomfortable with me—”

  “No. You’re just trying to help.”

  Yes, he was. With as much care as he could, he inhaled and held her perky breast steady as he cleaned underneath the bite mark. With each swipe, anger welled up inside him. He hoped for Ross’s sake that he never ran into him again.

  She lifted her arm and smelled her pits. “I think I’d like to take a shower. I don’t want his stench on me.”

  Good. Then he wouldn’t have to touch her body anymore. He never was good with temptation. “I bet you’ll feel better if you do. I’ll get you a clean towel.” Though why she hadn’t decided to take a shower before he cleaned her up, he didn’t know. “You need a brush?” Her long, blonde hair looked tangled.

  She reached up to touch the strands. “That would be great for after I shower.” Her lips pressed together. “I’m not sure I can reach high enough to wash it though. My shoulder is sore from when he slammed me against the metal shelves. Can you help?” Her plea tore at his insides, but he held in a groan. She was injured and he couldn’t turn her down. “I’ll change and be right back.” She might need help putting the bandages back on, too.