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CHAPTER 15

Houston smelled the whiskey first. And he understood. While he and Brooke had been working their asses off to keep the station going during one of the worst events in Finley Creek history, this sonofabitch had been slipping whiskey every chance he could.

Probably sitting there, watching Brooke sleep through the window, and boiling over with rage that he hadn’t gotten what he wanted. Resenting Houston because he thought the younger man would get exactly what Hoby wanted.

Hoby wanted Brooke. Whether it was because of the guy’s beef with her father, or because she was a hot, gorgeous, beautiful, intriguing woman, or because Hoby got off on the control and the thrill of having a defenseless woman afraid of him, Houston didn’t know. He didn’t care.

Hoby wasn’t going to touch her ever again.

She wasn’t defenseless now.

She had him. And if it came to it, he’d bring down the fury of seven Evers brothers on the bastard’s head. Hoby wasn’t going to hurt her or scare her ever again.

Houston was going to make sure of it.

Houston reached his arm up in time to stop the piece of wood coming at his head. Sickening pain shot straight up his arm.

Brooke screamed, yelled his name.

He ignored the pain, bellowing. He grabbed the wood and yanked it out of the asshole’s hand. It was just a 2x2 piece of trim, around four feet long. Not the best choice for a weapon. Hoby had gotten lucky it had connected with Houston at all.

Hoby’s luck had just run out.

Houston cracked it in two over one knee and threw it aside.

Hoby charged.

Houston stopped him with one punch—from his non-dominant hand. The man was fall-down drunk, smaller than Houston, and damned stupid.

It wouldn’t even be sporting for Houston to hit him a second time.

People came running—people he recognized. Keith, and Keeli, and Hailey—interns from the college dorms nearby who’d worked for the station for a semester or so each.

“What happened?” Keith stepped in between him and Hoby. Houston would have smiled—Keith was five inches and seventy-five pounds smaller than Houston himself. Keith’s eyes widened, and he waved a hand in front of his own face, as Angel joined them. Angel was a good-sized kid—he and Keith could handle Hoby now. “Whoa, Hoby is wasted. Guy reeks. Why did he go after you?”

No real explanation was needed. The asshole was still cursing—cursing Brooke and her father and Houston. And the things he was saying about Brooke… Houston just grunted, fighting the urge to slug the jerk again. His damned hand was probably broken, but…it was worth it. Hoby had deserved it. “He has been harassing Brooke.”

“He’s such a creeper,” Hailey, all of nineteen, said with disgust. “Every girl who steps foot in the station knows not to be alone with him by the end of day one. You ok, Brooke?”

Keeli confirmed it. Houston didn’t understand. “Why didn’t anyone say anything about him? Report him?”

“We did . To the station manager before. And the owner, well, the owner before Mr. Jacobs. No one would do anything about him,” Keeli, a few years older than Brooke, and a returning student to FCU, said, a bite in her tone. “Sexual harassment still happens, Houston. Even here; it was just a matter of time before he got bad with somebody. Usually we make sure no woman is alone with him. I’ve been worried about Brooke all night. We got here as soon as we could.”

She had a hand on Brooke’s shoulder. Brooke was just shaking and pale. Afraid. Houston wanted to scoop her close and promise her it was over.

Keith and Angel stood over Hoby, but the guy was too busy vomiting from Houston’s punch to the gut to notice. Keith looked at Houston’s hand. “Dude, you’d probably better get that taken care of. Rumor has it the hospitals are backed up by hours. Better go now.”

“What are we going to do about Hoby?” Angel asked. He was the quieter of the interns. But…he had more skills than Hoby, hands down. “The roads are opening up again.”

“He can’t drive; he’s too damned drunk. And the TSP can’t deal with him now,” Houston said. “I’ll file a report with the TSP as soon as I can. But this will be a low priority for them right now, considering the storm. Call the bastard’s wife. Can you two give him a ride home? We’ll let her deal with him.”

“He’s not to come back here, either.” Brooke looked right at Hoby. “I’m speaking for my father when I say, ‘You’re fired.’ Don’t come back here again.”

Houston was ready in case Hoby went after her again.

Hoby didn’t. He just stayed right where he was. Down on the wet pavement, everyone around him looking at him with disgust.

Completely worthless.

Houston turned to who really mattered. “You ready? I’ll walk you…somewhere. Wherever you need to go.”

He’d stand between her and whatever storm came her way. As long as she’d let him.

Maybe even if that was forever.