Page 56 of Protecting Peyton

She scooped pancakes from the pan onto a plate. “He said he couldn’t court me anymore. You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because he’d made up his mind to join the police force, and he couldn’t put me through that—the worrying every day whether he would come back from work all in one piece.” She pointed at the table. “Big glasses of OJ for everybody—vitamin C, ya know.”

Nodding, I opened the fridge, looking for the orange juice I’d seen last night.

“That’s when I knew he was the one,” she said, her voice breaking. “He cared more about my welfare than anything else. So I married him. Every night, I worried about him coming home, but it was still worth it. Ruppie is a lot like his old man, putting himself in danger to save others. It’s the same.”

I brought the OJ over and poured us each a glass. It was a nice story. Until she’d showed up last night, I hadn’t heard a single tidbit about March’s family. “Where is his father now?”

She froze for a second. “The cancer got him. They tell you there’s a ninety-five-percent survival rate. What they don’t prepare you for is being in the other five-percent.” She sniffled.

“I’m so sorry.” The wife without a husband, and the boy without a father, it had to hurt terribly.

“Shit happens.” She lifted another three pancakes from the pan to her pile. “You need to make the most of today, because none of us is guaranteed tomorrow.”

Was I sacrificing my todays for a tomorrow that might not come? That was too heavy a concept for me to deal with.

After locating and setting out the silverware and napkins, I asked, “What do you think? Should I get your son up?”

“He’s already been up and gone out, dear. Ruppie went out for some work thing.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “He should be back soon.”

Suddenly, the room seemed colder than a minute ago. My eyes darted around.

He’d said I should feel safe here because he was around, and now he wasn’t.

I wrapped my arms around myself. “I thought he was staying.”

Karla flipped what I hoped was the last of the pancakes onto her pile, which was huge. “Who are you running from? An ex-boyfriend?”

I didn’t answer.

“Don’t be worried, dear.” She pointed out the window. “He wanted meto tell you he arranged for someone else to watch over you while he was gone, prince something or other.

“Duke?” I asked.

“That sounds right.” She pointed out the window. “He’s in that black car out there. Do you think he wants pancakes?”

“We could offer.” When I looked out again, I noticed March’s car drive up. “It looks like your son is home.”

She put a hand on her hip and studied me. “That’s the second time you’ve called him my son instead of using his name.”

Busted.

“I’ve been around the block a few million times, young lady, and I can see when a girl like yourself is trying to keep a young man at a distance. I just don’t understand why. My Ruppert is quite the catch, a decorated hero, smart as a whip, and considerate?—”

“He’s all that and more,” I agreed. “He is tempting, and perfect for the right woman. It’s just that I’m not in the market right now.”

“I see.” The words said I had satisfied Karla, but her expression said something else. She turned at the sound of the door opening.

“Zane tells me you’re offering pancakes,” Duke said loudly as he followed March into the kitchen.

“You bet,” Karla said. “Best gluten-free pancakes this side of the Mississippi. You must be Prince.”

“Duke,” he corrected.

“I knew it was something like that.” Karla’s lip tipped up.