And she
was
his woman. Just as he was her man. It was just going to take more time for her to realize that. And possibly longer to feel okay with it.
Which he could live with.
After all, any guy willing to work hard could make it through the good times. But any farmer who wasn’t both optimistic and patient wouldn’t last a season when things got tough. As they always did.
He was on his way back into the house when Kara called.
“How’s Phoebe doing?” she asked.
“When I left, she was sleeping.”
“Good…I called this woman I know. She’s a former FBI agent married to one of Sax’s old teammates. Cait McKade worked with me on helping solve my father’s murder. Anyway, she’s done a lot of profiling work, so I ran our situation by her.”
“And?”
“And she thinks as long as someone’s always with Phoebe, she’ll be okay. Fletcher’s driven by power and gets off by control and seeing her fear. She doubts he’d do anything like get a rifle and take a shot from some hidden location. He’s undoubtedly after her, even more so since she got him arrested. But his intentions are the same as they were the last time he came to town. He wants things up close and personal.”
“If he makes the mistake of getting too close, it could well be the last mistake the bastard ever makes.”
“I understand your feelings but—”
Knowing she was about to repeat the warning she’d given him while they were in that pretty sunroom in Haven House, not wanting to waste time promising to remain reasonable when he felt anything but, Ethan cut off the call.
Apparently realizing the futility of arguing, she didn’t call back.
He took off his boots in the mudroom, and, figuring that after last night’s news Phoebe needed rest, he walked as quietly as a guy his size could to the kitchen.
Where he found her, already dressed, standing at the counter, taking eggs out of the refrigerator.
She looked up, and offered a tentative smile, revealing she was uncomfortable with their situation.
“Good morning.” Before he could go over to the Mr. Coffee, she’d poured him a mug and held it out to him. “I realized, since we’ve never eaten breakfast together, I didn’t know how you like your coffee. If you’d like cream, or sugar—”
“This is great. I usually drink it black.”
“Good.” When she seemed more relieved than pleased to have guessed right, alarm bells sounded.
“I also didn’t know what you usually eat, so I thought I’d make a western omelet. I found a ham in the fridge, though if you were saving it for something else, or if you don’t like omelets, and would rather have pancakes, or maybe waffles, or I could fry some eggs with hash browns—”
“Phoebe.” She was so wound up, he was afraid that if he touched her, she’d jump through the ceiling. But on the other hand, the way she was flying around the kitchen, from the counter, to the stove, to
the coffeepot, and back to the counter, once again had him thinking of a skittish bird. This time trapped in a room and trying desperately to escape.
Risking making things worse, he took hold of her upper arms. Not tightly, just enough to stop her frantic movements. “It’s okay.”
“I know.” Her smile, after that automatic wariness, was bright, strained, and totally fake. “I’m always up early, so I wanted to pay you back for inviting me to stay here.”
“You don’t have to pay me back for anything. And like I told you, I’m not him. I don’t need you to rush around waiting on me, and I’m damn sure not going to get angry if you decide that you’d rather make an omelet than waffles. Not that I need you to do anything,” he stressed. “You’re not here to be a housekeeper or cook.”
“But—”
He touched a finger to her lips, cutting her off in midsentence. “You’re here as a friend.” He shook his head and realized that if he stood half a chance getting past the barricades she was putting up between them again, he needed to be entirely honest. “More than a friend,” he admitted. “You’re a woman I’ve come to care for. Deeply. A woman I admire.”
“You admire me?” She seemed surprised by that. Christ, the guy really had done a number on her.
“Hell, yes. I can’t begin to imagine what your life was with that guy you were married to, but you not only had the guts to escape a dangerous situation—you’re starting a new career. I don’t just want you, when you’re ready, but I respect you for that. I’ve witnessed a lot of courage during my time in the military. But you, sweetheart”—he moved that finger
to her chin and lifted her wary gaze up to his—“are every bit as brave as any Marine I fought with.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t always feel brave.”
Her vulnerability, even after all she’d managed to achieve, pulled at him.
“Join the club.”
After skimming a fingertip against that soft bottom lip her teeth had worried, he coaxed her closer, until her cheek was against his chest. He looped his arms loosely around her, not caging her in, just letting her call the shots as he rested his own cheek on her hair. When her coconut-scented shampoo had him imagining making love to her on a hidden tropical beach, since she was already trembling like a new planting in a coastal wind, he viciously throttled back the sudden burst of hunger that was threatening to make him hard as a rock.
“I can’t believe you were ever afraid,” she murmured into his shirt as her arms crept around his waist and held on.
“If you’re not afraid during a battle, you’re not paying attention,” he said. “And after Mia and our son died, there were days I was afraid I was going to die from grief. And even more days I was afraid I wouldn’t.”
She lifted her eyes, which were bright with tears. “I hate that you had to go through such a terrible thing,” she said, with a flare of the strength that had first attracted him to her. Even when he’d known she was nervous around him, from somewhere deep inside, she’d kept pulling up the strength not to let her fear overwhelm her.
Because he could not look down into that lovely, sweet face without touching, he cradled the side of
her face in his palm. His dark, calloused hand looked the size of that ham she’d been about to take from the fridge against her pale, soft-as-silk skin, and made him feel huge and clumsy, like an oafish giant daring to touch a princess.
Or, he thought, like the Beast daring to fall in love with Beauty. Which, in that story, had worked out, but it was hardly a model being that it was only a fairy tale.
This wasn’t the first time he’d felt that way around her, but apparently she didn’t feel threatened because she reached up and put her hand on his.
“And I hate like hell that you had to go through what you’ve suffered.” Especially since he suspected he didn’t know the half of it. “And someday, maybe you’ll feel comfortable enough to tell me more, but for now, I promise that, together, we can work through this.”
Because he didn’t think he could fight back the damn erection that was threatening to rise against her belly in another minute, he carefully put a little distance between the two of them.
“But for now, what do you say we go out for breakfast?”
“Out?” She glanced around the kitchen at the eggs, and flour, sugar, bowls, and pans she’d gotten out. “Like a date?” A flush like a ripe persimmon rose in her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It just popped into my head. I mean, I know you didn’t mean that—”
“Actually, that’s exactly what I meant.” He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. The kiss was short, but from the way he felt her tremble, he knew it was potent. “One step at a time,” he promised her.
“But we’ll never know where we’re going if we don’t take that first step.”
“I’ve heard about the Grateful Bread’s waffles. I’ve been wanting to try them.”
This time her smile was warm and real. And still shy, which he considered could actually be the person she’d been before that coward prick had tried to his damnedest to break her.
“Terrific. Just let me shower up, and we’ll drive into town. Have some breakfast, then maybe hang around and watch the festival parade. And you don’t have to worry—I just finished talking with Kara, who consulted with some former FBI profiler she knows, and it’s both of their opinion that you’ll be safe as long as I’m with you.” He touched his hand to her cheek. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
It was only once he was alone, standing under the hot stream of water, that Ethan allowed the full heat of last night’s anger to return. He’d promised Kara that he wouldn’t turn vigilante on her, even though the urge to just get out his sniper rifle, wait at the outskirts of town, and double tap Fletcher right in the forehead was hugely tempting.
But, while getting rid of a problem, it would only make things worse for Phoebe, and since he’d sworn off violence when he’d taken off his uniform and taken up farming, he was going to try like hell to stick to his word.
But if Fletcher actually was stupid enough to dare to return to Shelter Bay, to get to his wife, he’d have to go through Ethan first.
And there was no way in hell that was going to happen.
Fortunately, the sun had broken through the early-morning clouds and the temperature had climbed into the mid-seventies, making it a perfect day for a parade.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re wearing red,” the mayor said, taking in Mary’s scarlet jacket with the satin lapels, her white blouse, the same black slacks she’d worn yesterday, and her short red boots. “You’ll match the fire truck.”
“Fire truck?”
“Oh, didn’t anyone tell you? Instead of a typical convertible, you’ll be riding atop one of our two Shelter Bay fire trucks.”
Which, Mary realized, explained the two firemen clad in navy blue SBFD T-shirts standing beside the mayor.
“You’ve just made my day.” The fire truck in question, parked not far away, had been washed to a brilliance that had the sun glinting off the hood. She shook hands with the men.
“The feeling’s mutual, ma’am,” the older firefighter said, his ruddy cheeks above his mustache
turning a bit darker when she gave him her warmest smile.
“Oh, please, call me Mary. Will we get to sound the siren?”
“You want a siren, you’ll get one,” the younger and more outgoing one said with a bold wink. Then backed up a step, which had Mary casting a glance up at J.T., whose steely eyes could’ve blistered the paint off the truck. Intrigued, she studied him more carefully. Surely he couldn’t consider the friendly fireman dangerous. Could he actually be jealous?
“Are you going to sit up there with me?” she asked him.
He looked as if he’d rather be back in a war zone at that idea, but shrugged. “I’m supposed to watch out for you. Kinda hard to do that inside the cab.” He moved his shoulders in that gesture she was getting used to. At first she’d thought it was a sign of nonchalance. Now she realized it revealed a discomfort with the situation.
“Don’t worry, Marine,” she murmured, as he gave her a boost up onto the ladder. “From what I could tell by Googling the map of the town, the route’s not that long. And I’ll do my movie-star best to keep the attention off you.”
“It’s that obvious?” he asked as she settled down on the wooden platform.
“That you’d rather be anywhere than here, with me?” The platform wasn’t as large as it looked. They were thigh to thigh. Which she wasn’t finding any hardship. “Yes, but I’m trying not to take it personally.”
“It’s not you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Yes, he was clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just that, to
hear my family tell it, I’ve sort of freaked people out since I got back.”
“Oh?” Although he’d denied it, once again Mary wondered about PTSD.
“It’s not what you’re thinking. I didn’t go around armed or screaming like a girl at loud noises.”
“While I’m willing, for now, to overlook that sexist description, what
did
you do that freaked people out?”
“I ran.”
“Ran?” She glanced over at him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. Well, maybe I ran a lot.”
“Define
a lot
.”
“Is this really germane to our situation? I’m not running now, okay?”
“Okay.” Although she could have pointed out that she hadn’t been with him 24-7, Mary decided, as the firemen climbed into the cab, that since this was neither the time nor the place, she’d table the discussion for now.
Behind them came a group of older cars, among which was Sax, sitting behind the wheel of a tough-looking white car with orange hood stripes. A small, freckle-faced boy sat in the passenger seat, while a huge dog seemed to take up the entire backseat. Mary noticed that everyone who passed by seemed obligated to pat the huge head stuck out the rear window.
“I like your brother’s car.”
Although more modern, it reminded her of the movie
American Graffiti
. She’d been thirteen when she’d first seen it on television and even as she’d identified with the small-town setting, she’d envied
the American teenagers’ freedom, which was very different from Castlelough’s stricter social mores.
“It’s a ’ninety-seven anniversary Camaro that used to be a Mustang killer in drag races. Dad kept it in shape for Sax the entire time he was in the Navy. He said he didn’t want to see a classic car rust, but we all knew the reason was that he believed that as long as the car was waiting for my brother to come home, he’d make it home.”
“That’s so sweet of your father.” She wondered if he’d realized he’d offered her another glimpse into his life.
“I wouldn’t mention that at the wedding,” he suggested. “Being that Marines don’t usually consider
sweet
a compliment.”
“I won’t. But it is.” Someone in a clown car shouted out to her. She smiled and waved. “I’m also wondering if perhaps you ought to make me a crib sheet.”
“For what?”
“For all the things I’m not supposed to bring up when I’m around your family.”
She turned and waved in the other direction when a person dressed as a tortoise carrying an oversized clock without hands and wearing a sign reading
SLOW DOWN! YOU’RE NOW ON SHELTER BAY TIME!
shouted out that he loved her movies.
“Point taken.”
The engine started up. As it began to move along the waterfront, behind the color guard of veterans carrying the American flag and various flags of their services, the truck lurched, throwing her a bit off-balance. Which, in turn, had J.T. putting his arm
around Mary’s waist to steady her. He kept it there as the truck lumbered down the first block, and when he finally removed it, she felt a twinge of loss.