His Rough Side

Chapter One

I rritated voices echoed within the confines of the old gymnasium. Aubrey Haydon clapped her hands to quiet the crowd, but no one heard her amid the dissatisfied complaints. One week after opening the West-Central Homeless Shelter in Spokane, she struggled to satisfy everyone.

"You need a megaphone," shouted Greg.

She shrugged, acknowledging that her employee was correct. Several factors discouraged people from wanting to listen to her.

She was a woman.

She was young.

They mistook her desire to help for pity.

She wanted to ask what to do, but it was her decision to jump in feet first into running a shelter. Even though she took business courses at the local community college, nothing prepared her for the challenges of managing a non-profit organization. No one prepared her to deal with rejection from those who were too proud to accept her help.

Not giving up, she stepped onto the bleachers and climbed several rows until she was above everyone else standing on the floor. She cupped her hands and raised them to her mouth.

"Can I have everyone's attention, please?" she shouted.

A woman clutching a plastic bag shook her head. "We were promised showers. Turn on the water."

"Water." An older man in sweatpants and a flannel coat with the elbows worn out held up his fist. "Water."

The others joined in the chant. She waved her arm in the air, trying to capture their attention. If they paid attention to her, she could explain what was happening.

On the floor, Greg tried to calm those around him as she scanned the crowd. The shelter could accommodate fifty people each night, and it was at capacity.

She inhaled deeply and shouted, "If you'll please be quiet, I'll explain what—"

A loud, ear-piercing alarm echoed through the room. Her shoulders lifted against the onslaught of noise. Gazing up at the high ceiling, she anticipated the fire sprinklers activating and drenching everyone, but nothing happened except for the constant ringing that drowned out any complaints.

She glanced across the room and noticed someone holding the fire exit door open. Squinting, she couldn't determine who it was. Judging by the size, it appeared to be a man in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. The shadows obscured all other details from her view.

Then, the man ducked out the door and shut it behind him, stopping the noise. In the silence, her heart raced. Thankful for the reprieve, she shifted her gaze to the people in front of her and took advantage of the quiet.

"We're having a problem with the pipes in the locker room. I've called a plumber. He should be here within the hour." She cleared her throat. "I promise that we'll have working water soon. In the meantime, if you could all stand or sit beside your cot, we'll hand out some food."

A low murmur rolled through the crowd. They shuffled away from her, complying with her request. Hope surged within her. She could make everyone happy as long as she maintained some control over the madness.

Greg rushed to her side. "Barker's Plumbing Service just pulled up to the back of the building. Shane is showing them to the locker room."

She climbed down the bleachers. "Great news. Have Vic hand out the bagged meals to each cot. Make sure he knows not to do more than one a cot."

The shelter was limited to adults. Only individuals over eighteen were permitted entry, according to the city permit. Food was a big motivator for getting them inside and somewhere safe for the night.

"What are we going to do for tomorrow night?" Greg lowered his voice. "We're already running on pennies."

"We'll figure that out after everyone has been fed and showered." She strode through the crowd, looking toward the fire exit.

Rules were in place for a reason. The fire door was for emergencies only, and despite the interruption that allowed her to gain control of the group, she had to ensure the man understood that if he broke the rules, he wouldn't be welcome at the shelter.

At the closed door, she looked around. He must've left and not come back inside. Was he one of the homeless or someone trying to cause trouble?

Making eye contact with an older woman, she pointed over her shoulder. "Did you see who opened the door?"

The woman offered her a blank stare. She looked for someone else to ask, but everyone turned their backs on her. Having volunteered her time to help the homeless find free resources to improve their lives for the past two years while attending college, she understood the unspoken honor code between those who lived on the street. She wasn't going to get any answers from them.

Making sure Vic was on task, she hurried into the locker room to find Greg standing behind two men, staring at the showers. She approached the group and tapped her coworker on the arm.

"The main pipe is broken." Greg curled his upper lip. "Apparently, the water is filling the basement."

She shuddered. The closest she'd gotten to entering the basement was standing at the top of the stairs. It was more of a crawl space than a usable area. The floor was dirt and served as a place to run piping.

"How long will it take to get it fixed?" she asked.

Wearing a blue shirt with the name of the plumbing company on the back, the man on her right turned and held out his hand. "Name's Stan. Do you know where the main shut-off valve is located?"

"I..." She looked around and then remembered. "It's in the boiler room. I'll show you."

"Once we get the water stopped, we can assess the damage." He followed her out of the locker room.

"Is this something that can be fixed tonight?" She led him down the back hallway and opened the boiler room. "I have fifty people who are here for food and showers."

"I understand." He grimaced outside the door. "But a building this size can make things more difficult. We could run into a problem getting the correct pipe size. It might have to wait until tomorrow." Seeing the disappointment on her face, he continued. "We'll try."

"Thank you." She stepped backward. "If you need anything, let me know."

"Will do." Stan walked down the stairs, turning on his flashlight.

She rubbed her arms, imagining the spiders and mice that lived below. The building had remained vacant for four years until she expressed interest in buying it. Once she came forward, Curt Harrington, one of Spokane's most powerful men, went head-to-head with her in a bidding war.

Harrington played dirty. She received threats leading up to the closing, and he even sent men to intimidate her into abandoning the purchase—which terrified her. No one had ever treated her that way. Yet, she was proud of herself for not giving up.

In the end, the owner hadn't gone with the highest bidder. They accepted her contract because they approved of her idea of turning it into a non-profit homeless shelter. In contrast, Harrington wanted to own another block in the city with no definite plans for improvement.

In the office, she stopped at the sight of a man leaning over, looking in the fridge.

"I'm sorry, but this area is off limits. You'll need to go back to the gym. They're handing out food," she said.

He slowly turned around, straightening to his full height—at least six feet two inches, if not more. His dark gaze landed on her. She stepped back, recognizing him as the man who had opened the emergency door, setting off the alarm and allowing her to gain control of those in the shelter.

"Maybe it's you who needs to leave." He twisted the top off a bottle of water. "Going by what I saw tonight, you can't handle the people you're trying to help."

"Of course I can." She crossed her arms, used to defending her choices. "You need to leave before I call—"

"Who are you going to call?" He stepped forward, backing her up against the wall before he stopped. "Who is going to come save you, hm?"

He tilted his head, causing the hood to slip off and revealing the perfect blend of black hair sprinkled with premature gray that brushed his shoulders. Her heart raced. There were others in the gym. Greg and Vic were nearby. But if she yelled, no one would hear her over the noise echoing in the gym.

He tipped the bottle back. She watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he drank. He exuded an air of arrogance.

He wasn't as old as she initially thought. Perhaps thirty-five or forty. The salt-and-pepper hair gave him a distinguished appearance—stern yet sexy.

He stood out from those in the gym in black jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie. He made her feel insignificant and unable to handle the situation— a feeling that only irritated her after struggling to bring everyone under control in the other room while the plumbing was fixed.

"Please, leave," she said.

"Next time, I won't be around to make sure the others listen to you. Things can get out of hand fast." He planted his hand on the wall behind her, trapping her in the room.

Staring into eyes the color of dark coffee, her legs shook. A scar marred his cheek. She reached out, searching for a weapon, but there was nothing within reach for protection.

"They'll walk all over a little girl like you."

"I'm not a little—"

"Right." He pushed away from the wall, pulled his hood over his head, and tossed the bottle in the garbage. "By the end of the week, you'll get tired of helping them and give up. They'll find themselves back out on the street."

She gasped. "I would never."

"You will. Everyone does."

She pointed behind her. "There are people who need my—"

"They don't need you." He walked to the door. "They've survived on their own before you opened the building. They'll continue to survive because they have no other option."

He left the office as abruptly as he arrived. She hurried to follow him, and the entrance door slammed shut. The air trapped inside her lungs came out in a whoosh. She needed better security. The open-door policy would have to end.

From now on, she would ensure that either Vic or Greg manned the door. Those seeking shelter had to arrive after six o'clock and before eight o'clock, when the door was locked for the night. She only wanted those ready to seek help and shelter to come through her doors. Anyone who wanted to start trouble would find themselves unwelcome.

Frustrated, she stomped her foot. She wouldn't put it past Harrington to send someone over to scare her into quitting. But no one was going to stop her from fulfilling her dream.