Charlie didn’t look convinced.
Wes sighed with resignation and wished he’d kept the dog-puke shirt on earlier. “Look, man, I don’t want any trouble. Tara only helped out ‘cuz of your dog. She’s nice and all, but not really my type.”
Not anymore.
Charlie eyed him for a long moment before he backed off. “Just so we’re clear.”
“We’re clear,” Wes assured him. Crystal.
Wes picked up his pace. A few more houses down, he noticed a couple guys in lawn chairs, surrounded by a dozen or more beer cans, with rap music blaring from inside the garage. Glancing back toward Tara’s house, he realized she’d walk right past before turning toward the fairgrounds. He paused. This was her neighborhood, she probably knew the guys…hell, for all he knew, she might even join them.
Still, his conscience wouldn’t let him leave without knowing she’d called her brother as she’d agreed. His instincts proved spot-on when about five minutes later when she walked past her parents’ house without pause. The overprotective Charlie didn’t come out to meet her, either.
Away from the air conditioning of her home, he saw she’d unzipped the red sweater, revealing a white tank underneath. Wes waited across the road, thinking he’d follow until she reached the fair, to make sure she remained safe while avoiding temptation and maintaining a clear head at a safe distance.
Across the road, one of the guys by the garage looked over his shoulder, then nudged the other to turn around.
“Hey, baby doll,” the blond one called out. “Bring that blanket on over here.”
He got to his feet while grinning at his buddy. Tara simply clutched her blanket closer and walked faster while keeping her gaze focused straight ahead. Wes scoffed under his breath. Nice moves, independent idiot.
Blondie started toward her, and Wes straightened from where he’d been leaning against the tree. Son of a bitch little punks. He didn’t care if she was tough enough to handle herself, he wasn’t taking any chances.
“What’s the rush, babe?”
Wes crossed the street and beat the guy to Tara’s side by about five feet. She jumped a foot when he put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her against his side. “Sorry I’m late.”
He planted a kiss on her surprised mouth, ignored the urge to align his body to her curves and dive in for more, and turned his full attention to the creep on the lawn. “We’re on our way to the fireworks, that’s the rush.”
Blondie backed off, holding his hands up in front of him. Smart punk. Wes kept hold of Tara and urged her forward. After a few yards, she tried to shake his arm off. “What was that?”
Wes held on. “It’s called saving your butt, Sugar,” he said in her ear. “You’re welcome.”
“My butt didn’t need saving, Sugar.”
“They’re half drunk,” he said with exasperation. “And you were supposed to call your brother.”
“He didn’t answer.”
Because he’d been outside, protecting her from the danger of Wes. There was irony for you.
“Besides,” she added, “they’re all talk. I ignore them, and they eventually leave me alone.”
Wes’s step faltered. He swung her around as renewed anger pulsed through him. “This happens often?”
She barely met his gaze before looking past his shoulder. “They’ve never done more than shoot their mouths off. It’s no big deal.”
He forced his grip to remain light on her arms. “You ever tell your brother?”
She shook her head, and Wes wanted to shake her.
“Some day they’re gonna step over the line,” he predicted.
He’d seen it often when he was younger. Left unchecked, guys like that got a little braver each time, went a little farther until the next step came naturally to them. But the thought of one of them putting a hand on her brought the darkness deep inside Wes boiling to the surface. He released her to spin around in the direction they’d come from.
When he crossed onto the lawn, Tara caught his arm from behind. “What are you doing?”
He jerked free. “Making sure that day never comes.”