Page 9 of Cowboy’s Last Stand (His to Protect #1)
“He might have been,” she said ruefully, “if my mother had known his last name. He was a soldier she had a fling with. She wasn’t sure how to locate him. I tracked him down on my own when I was a teenager.”
“How did he react to the news?”
“Pretty well, under the circumstances. He was happy to meet me.”
“Where does he live?”
“Chicago. We visit him every Christmas.”
“You haven’t thought about moving there?”
“No. I like it here.”
“Is your husband’s family here?”
Natalie nodded. “His aunt and uncle, and some cousins. His parents are in Mexico.”
Jason watched as Marcus found a friend on the slide.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“What’s the story with your family?”
“I’m an only child,” he said after a pause. “My dad still lives in Missoula with my stepmother.”
“Where is your mother?”
He touched the tattoo on his triceps. Now she could see the lettering: In Loving Memory. “She died ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say anything more, so she didn’t press. She knew from experience how difficult it was to speak about the death of a loved one, especially if the loss was sudden or untimely. His mother had died young.
“Is your stepmother nice?” she asked.
“She is.”
“But?”
“It’s awkward,” he said, shrugging. “Going home isn’t the same. I feel like a stranger or an outsider.”
“Why?”
His brow furrowed as he attempted to put his thoughts into words. “I think it’s because my dad moved on so quickly. He got rid of all of my mom’s stuff a week after she died. It was almost as if he erased her existence. And mine, by association.”
Natalie’s heart panged with sympathy. She could relate to his feelings of loss, even though her mother wasn’t dead. The pain of that abandonment wasn’t as fresh as the pain from Mike’s death, but it was still there.
They left the park a few minutes later. As soon as they arrived at home, Jason got started on her car.
He worked like a machine for several hours, tireless and methodical.
She was reluctant to interrupt him for lunch.
Marcus wanted tater tots and apple slices, so she made that.
She was bringing Jason a glass of iced tea when she noticed a familiar vehicle.
Billy.
He was driving down her street in his signature black truck.
He slowed in front of her house, eyes narrowed on the domestic scene: Natalie, holding two iced teas.
Jason with his head under the hood. When Jason glanced up, Billy put his foot on the gas.
He left the neighborhood in a squeal of tires.
Natalie didn’t watch the truck disappear down the street.
She kept her gaze on Jason, who accepted a glass of iced tea and drained it in about ten seconds.
His suntanned throat worked as he swallowed.
Jason gave her the empty glass and wiped his mouth. “He live around here?”
“No.”
“Do you have to work tonight?”
She shook her head. “Sunday is my day off.”
He gestured to the engine. “Fire it up.”
“You’re finished?”
“We’ll see.”
She retrieved her keys and climbed behind the wheel. The engine chugged to life without a choke or a sputter. She grinned in delight. He told her to let it idle for a few minutes. She put it in neutral and hopped out. “You’re a miracle worker.”
“Nah. It was an easy fix.”
She wanted to hug him, but she restrained herself. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’ll make fried chicken.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
He seemed pleased by the offer. “All right.”
She was standing close enough to see the dark grains of stubble on his jaw and the fine sheen of perspiration on his skin.
He’d removed his cowboy hat, and she felt a strong urge to run her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.
He was dangerously handsome. He also smelled pretty good for a nomad who slept outdoors.
She realized she was staring—and he was staring back at her.
Retreating a step, she pulled her gaze from his.
Heat rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to encourage him.
Inviting him to dinner wasn’t the best way to convince him she wasn’t available, but it couldn’t be helped.
She had to go to the grocery store first, so she packed up Marcus and went shopping.
She bought all of the necessary ingredients, plus a frozen pie crust and ice cream for dessert.
When she returned from the store, grocery bags in tow, Jason was stretched out on the glider with his eyes closed.
His right hand was splayed over his flat belly.
His knuckles were scraped, his fingers grease-stained.
She couldn’t stop herself from admiring him again.
There was something so sexy about his state of repose, his relaxed face, even his dirty hand.
This was a tall, good-looking, hardworking man.
She stared at him for several seconds, transfixed. Marcus caught up with her, carrying a bag of groceries. They tiptoed across the porch as quietly as Marcus was able to. Jason roused anyway, jerking upright with a start.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be,” he mumbled. “I was just resting my eyes.”
“We bought ice cream,” Marcus announced. “Two flavors.”
She set her groceries down to open the door.
“Do you need help?” Jason asked.
“We’ve got it.”
She ushered Marcus inside and sent him off to play.
She hoped Jason would return to his well-deserved slumber.
An hour later, she had dinner ready and an apple pie in the oven.
The meal was fancier than usual, and they had company, so she told Marcus to set the table in the dining room. They hadn’t used it since Mike died.
“Smells good,” Jason said from the glider.
“Come on in. It’s ready.”
His brows rose in surprise, as if he’d expected to stay outside.
Maybe he preferred that, but he didn’t argue.
She removed her apron as he entered through the front door.
She felt self-conscious, almost breathless in his presence.
The fact that he’d known Mike should have been a deterrent, a tragic reminder of lost love.
For some reason, it wasn’t. He was taller than Mike had been, with a rangier frame.
The entryway seemed to shrink around them.
“Do you mind if I wash up?” he asked.
“Go ahead.”
Marcus showed him to the bathroom while Natalie brought the food and drinks to the table.
She gave Marcus a scoop of mashed potatoes, along with peas and fried chicken.
When Jason returned, he took the chair next to Marcus.
She sat down and gestured for Jason to serve himself.
He doled out generous portions of everything.
As soon as she lifted her fork, he proceeded to eat with a swiftness she found endearing. He cleaned his plate in record time.
“Have some more,” she said gently. “There’s plenty.”
He shook his head with chagrin, aware that he’d wolfed down his food. “I’m sorry. I’ve been out in the wild too long.”
“In Montaina?” Marcus asked.
Jason smiled at his mispronunciation. “Among other places.”
Natalie was more flattered than offended. He probably hadn’t enjoyed a home-cooked meal in months. He went ahead with a second helping, and she told Marcus to eat his peas. Her son smashed them underneath his fork instead.
From the kitchen, a reminder beeped. She rose from her seat to take the pie out of the oven.
Marcus launched into a discussion of his favorite desserts.
He liked cake better than pie and ice cream better than cake.
Natalie couldn’t hear Jason’s response, only the deep timbre of his voice.
He was a man of few words, quietly spoken.
Mike had been the opposite. He’d been like Marcus: gregarious, sometimes garrulous.
He’d written her beautiful letters during his deployment.
They’d started off as hastily scrawled notes because Mike had preferred talking on the phone to writing.
After she’d requested longer letters, he’d delivered with a passion and eloquence that had surprised her.
She’d kept all of these letters in a box in her closet.
They were her most cherished possessions.
She turned off the oven and grabbed her mitt. As she removed the pie, there was a squeal of brakes in the street outside, followed by a smash in her front yard and a cacophony of loud popping sounds.
Gunfire.