Page 12 of Cowboy’s Last Stand (His to Protect #1)

N atalie awoke to Marcus gently shaking her.

“Mom? Mom?”

“Yeahwhat,” she mumbled.

“Can I let Jason in? He said I had to ask you first.”

She opened one eye to check the clock by her bedside. It was almost eight. “You can let him in.”

“Great! We’re going to make pancakes.”

A pronouncement like this would normally jolt Natalie into motion.

She pictured a mess in her kitchen, with spilled syrup on the table and broken eggs on the floor.

Then she remembered Jason washing the dishes with Marcus last night.

She decided they didn’t need her to supervise.

Yawning, she rolled over and dozed for another half hour.

When she finally rose from the cozy tangle of blankets, she put on her robe and padded toward the kitchen.

Coffee was percolating, and Marcus had a stack of pancakes in front of him.

Jason stood at the stove in a pair of sweatpants and a ribbed undershirt.

His feet were bare. Though he looked nothing like Mike, her husband had worn similar pajamas.

They were both dark-haired and well-built.

Jason’s biceps flexed as he flipped a pancake.

Her chest tightened with a mixture of grief and longing.

She suddenly wished Jason wasn’t here, making her feel these things. He had no right to be in her house, looking so goddamned domestic and being friendly with her son, who was starved for male attention.

“I put a load of laundry to wash,” Jason said. “Is that all right?”

“Yes,” she said, filling her favorite coffee cup. She took it out to the porch because she needed space. The air was fresh from last night’s rain and heavy with the promise of more precipitation to come. Her hair would be impossible to tame.

Jason didn’t follow her outside. He sat at the kitchen table and ate breakfast with Marcus.

She saw that he’d already fixed her mailbox.

It was sitting on a brand-new wooden post, the aluminum hammered back into shape.

His industriousness annoyed her the same way his hot body did.

She sipped her bitter coffee, unable to dispel the mental picture of his hard-muscled arms, tattooed with a tender tribute to his mother.

There had to be something wrong with him other than his indoor sleeping phobia. Maybe he was married. What kind of single, unattached man did the dishes without being asked to, interacted with kids easily, and fixed whatever needed fixing?

She speculated on his mysterious vibe for a moment, trying to pinpoint the problem.

He seemed like he wanted to atone for something.

He’d acknowledged the attraction between them, but he hadn’t acted on it.

What was he hiding? He’d avoided talking about his past. He claimed to be broken.

She assumed he had PTSD or a similar issue because she didn’t see any physical shortcomings.

The accident had left him with a fear of enclosed spaces.

He emerged from the kitchen after breakfast with his own coffee cup. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt now, like he’d sensed her discomfort with his attire and attempted to cover up. “You’re not a morning person.”

She noted that he leaned against the porch railing instead of sitting with her. “How did you guess?”

He smiled but said nothing.

“You’ve been a busy bee.”

“I tried not to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Do you have to work today?”

“No. The library’s closed.”

“You work at the library?”

“That’s my main job. The bar is only on weekends.” They were part-time gigs, and she needed both to pay the bills.

She studied his feet as she finished her coffee.

They were strong feet, as well-made as the rest of him, and they gave proof to the claim that he’d walked a thousand miles.

She saw the evidence of blisters that had healed into faded red marks.

Her gaze rose to his hand, with its scraped knuckles, and then to his bruised eye.

She wondered if there was a darker reason behind his willingness to come to her defense at the bar.

He’d risked serious danger on her behalf. Maybe he got off on physical pain.

“Are you sure you want to take me out in public?” he asked wryly.

“Do you feel up to it?”

“I feel fine. I look like I just got out of jail.”

She chuckled at the apt description.

“When is this dinner?”

“Six o’clock.”

“I don’t have any nice clothes.”

“That’s fine. It’s casual.”

He arched his bandaged brow. “People will think we’re a couple.”

“So?”

“Will your friend Wade be there?”

“He might be, but Billy won’t.”

“Hmm.”

She could tell that he suspected her of ulterior motives.

She didn’t have any. She’d invited him because it was Veterans Day, and he was a veteran.

Bringing a date did have its perks, however.

This year, the other women wouldn’t come around to pat her hand, express their sympathies, and ask her when she was going to start living again.

As if she’d stopped breathing when Mike died and needed a new man to revive her.

Instead of exploring this subject, she turned the conversation back to him. “Long-distance hiking must be hard on the body.”

“It is.”

“Why do you do it? Are you some kind of masochist?”

“I don’t know. I can’t say I enjoy pain, but…”

“What?”

“Sometimes pain is better than nothing.”

She didn’t agree. For her, comfortably numb was better.

He took another slug of coffee. “I’m trying to slow down.”

“You are?”

“I need to rest more. Stay still.”

It occurred to her that his inability to sit idle was a problem, not a perk. What drove a man to walk across the country, to endure constant discomfort? “You sat and rested yesterday,” she said. She’d enjoyed the quiet moments with him, sitting and listening to the rain.

“I did,” he said. “You’re good for me.”

“Maybe you can chill out an entire day.”

“Let’s not aim too high.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “What do you have planned?”

“I thought we could check out that upper apartment. See what it needs.”

She should have expected this suggestion.

They’d discussed it last night, and he was into fixing things.

He wanted to stick around. Maybe he was tired of traveling and didn’t have anywhere else to go until January.

She wondered if he’d been joking about walking to California.

She studied the lines of his face. He could use a shave, but he was handsome as sin despite his rough appearance.

She felt her cheeks heat as she admired him.

Marcus wasn’t the only one starving for male attention.

“OK,” she agreed. “But not before my second cup of coffee.”

“Deal.”

She went inside to check on Marcus. He’d found a mini-toolbox in the toy bin with a plastic hammer and screwdriver. He was pretending to repair the TV. She ruffled his hair. “How’s it going, Mr. Fixit?”

“I’m almost done.”

Natalie smiled a bit sadly. She realized that letting Jason hang around for several days would have an effect on her son.

The emotional toll wasn’t hers alone; Marcus would pay with her.

He was already imitating Jason. Marcus was so impressionable, so eager to interact.

Should she try to prevent them from spending time together in case Marcus got attached?

She didn’t know how to calculate the risks of a casual relationship.

The issue hadn’t come up before. Even if she protected herself from heartbreak, Marcus wouldn’t.

She started clearing away the breakfast dishes, wishing things weren’t so complicated.

Jason came inside after she finished. He stood in the doorway, tall and quiet.

“Do you mind if I use your shower?”

She drained her coffee cup. “Go for it.”

He gathered his belongings from the dryer and ducked into her bathroom.

As she retreated to her bedroom to get dressed, she considered lending him some of Mike’s clothes.

She still had a box of his things in the back of her closet.

She stared into the dark space, her stomach tight.

Jason wasn’t the same size as Mike, and she couldn’t bear to sort through the items right now.

The letters Mike had written her were in another box, tied with a yellow ribbon that hadn’t brought him home.

She left both of the boxes undisturbed.

When Jason emerged from the bathroom, with his black hair wet and his face clean-shaven, her heart skipped a beat.

He wore his gray T-shirt and jeans. Clearing his throat, he went outside to put his boots on.

She retrieved the key to the upper floor.

She was resigned to letting him view it, even though she couldn’t afford an expensive remodel.

Marcus accompanied them around the side of the house to the separate entrance by the driveway. A wooden staircase led up to the door. Jason went first, testing the integrity of the stairs with heavy steps.

“The railing needs to be replaced,” he said. “Be careful.”

Her constant mantra. She was glad to hear someone else say it.

They followed Jason to the landing, where she used her key to open the door.

Again, Jason preceded them. He did another safety inspection by stomping around the one-bedroom apartment.

She didn’t think the floor needed repairs, but she hadn’t been up here for a long time.

When he gave the clear, she stepped forward with Marcus.

He’d been begging to explore this space, so he went nuts.

There were dusty boxes everywhere and pieces of old furniture.

It smelled stale. She opened the window to let in fresh air.

“You have some water damage,” Jason commented.

“Is that what stinks?”

“That, and mice.”