“Beth,” Nolan growled.
God, Beth. Anne’s eyes prickled with tears as she reached across the table and took Beth’s trembling hand. Fucking men. “I swear, Nolan, I like you, and still, there are days I want to go out and geld every male in every town in all the world.”
Buried and suffocating in brutal memories, Beth heard Nolan, but it was Anne’s voice—icy cold, yet filled with rage—that sliced through her fears and ignited a fire to burn away the past.
Hauling in a deep breath, Beth leaned into her Master, who’d proven over and over that he could be trusted. Her gaze met Anne’s furious eyes, and she offered, “I have pruning shears. And branch loppers as well.”
Nolan snorted a laugh. “That’s my girl.” Relief as well as pride roughened his deep voice.
“I’m okay,” Beth said to both of them, heartened by their concern.
“You’re far more than that.” Anne squeezed Beth’s hand, a fierce look on her face. The Domme was fully as protective as Nolan. If anyone threatened a woman here, her friend would fight shoulder-to-shoulder with the Masters.
And Beth would darn well join them, even if she were shaking in her sneakers.
The opening of the door to the admissions building drew her attention, and she watched as a shelter advocate stepped out, followed by a woman in her thirties.
“This is the commons area,” the advocate said, waving at the grassy yard.
The new woman was limping, exhaustion and pain evident with every step. Her face was black and blue; her neck and arms displayed small, round scars.
Deliberate cigarette burns. Beth knew, all too well, how that felt.
Two boys, about six years and four years, followed the women.
As the advocate moved toward the center of the courtyard, the youngest boy stopped and sat down with his back against the wall.
Beth frowned. The mother—if that’s what she was—never looked around to check on her sons. The advocate was fairly new, so might be forgiven, but someone should watch the children. How could a mother not notice her littlest wasn’t right there?
The older boy saw his brother and abandoned the tour as well.
Poor babies. Beth shook her head. At least she hadn’t suffered abuse until she was an adult. How horrible to discover violence so, so young.
On the same wavelength, Anne started to rise.
“I’ll take care of them.” Beth grinned at her. “I’ve learned to carry bribes.” Using Nolan’s knee as leverage, she pushed to her feet. Slowly, she walked toward the children.
They were so little. Faded shorts and ripped shirts revealed toothpick-thin arms and legs. Their hair was dirty and tangled. And bruises marked cheeks and jaws, arms and legs.
With Beth’s approach, they hunched as if trying to disappear into the wall like mini-turtles.
“Hey.” Stopping at a non-threatening distance, Beth sat on the grass. Cross-legged. See, I can’t quickly chase after you if you need to escape. “I’m Beth. You guys look thirsty. Want some apple juice?”
Without waiting for an answer, she pulled two small bottles out of her bag. After tugging off the insulated sleeves, she opened the tops. The containers were still nice and cold, although the ice was gone. She offered one bottle.
After a long hesitation, the oldest took it. Watching her warily, he took a sip…and his face lit up.
“It’s good,” he whispered to his brother who carefully, like a terrified puppy, accepted the other bottle. They both drank thirstily. Every few seconds, their big brown eyes would turn to check on their mother.
“Should I try to guess your names?” Beth asked, smiling slightly. “Maybe John? Or Adam?”
“Uh-uh,” the youngest said.
“Oh dear. Um, Greg? Horace? David? William?” Each name got shakes of the head—and less tensed muscles.
“I’m bad at guessing names,” she admitted, scrunching her face up. “Peter Pan? Clark Kent? Ironman?”
Giggling, the littlest couldn’t hold back any longer. “He’s Grant. I’m Connor.”
“Oooh, those are nice names.” The boys were adorable. An ache tugged at her heart. Thanks to the damage she’d suffered during her marriage, she’d never carry a baby…and, oh God, she really wanted children. “Grant and Connor, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Sugar.” Nolan’s Texas-accented voice came from behind her—although she’d known he was approaching from the way the children had molded themselves to the wall. “We need to get going.”
She glanced at her watch and winced. “Right.” As the boys watched Nolan with ill-concealed terror, she leaned forward and whispered, “He’s my Ironman. He saved me from the bad guy, and now he keeps me safe, and he won’t let anyone hurt me. That’s what heroes do, you know?”