One Lucky Hero (16 page)

It wasn't right. It wasn't healthy.

So why didn't you just kick him out?

That was an excellent question.

D
EAN HADN
'
T EXPECTED
Violet to actually come outside fifteen minutes later dressed in jeans and a ratty T-shirt, a tool box in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. Daisy came out behind her with a bunch of mismatched mugs and set them on the porch railing.

“I'll be back,” Daisy said.

“Hurry up. You aren't getting out of this,” Violet called, earning a face from Daisy.

Dean tipped the brim of his hat back and took off his work gloves. “What's all this?”

“I figured everyone could use some coffee, and Daisy's gone to get donuts.”

Dean had a feeling she just didn't want to feel obligated to him for anything, and he could respect that. Climbing up to study the mugs, he picked up a Darth Vader mug and held it out. “You got any milk and sugar?”

“Yeah, on the counter in the kitchen. I'll get it.”

Dean followed behind her with his mug, figuring there was no sense in her carrying the milk and sugar outside for him. Kline took his coffee black, and as for most of the kids, he wasn't sure they needed the caffeine.

He hadn't gotten to check out her kitchen yet and was surprised to find most of the appliances had been updated, unlike the living room. There was even a standing mixer on the counter, similar to the one his mother had begged his dad for five Christmases ago. Since he'd been the one to pick it up for his dad, he knew it wasn't cheap.

“What do you use that for?” he asked.

She glanced at the mixer as she set the coffeepot back on its station. “My mother's old one broke a few years ago. Daisy got a job at this fancy kitchen store in Roseville and used her discount to buy it for me.” Violet gave him a rueful smile as she continued, “I was so mad at her for wasting her money, but she'd told me this bullshit story about how the owner had given her an additional thirty percent off, so it wasn't as much as I thought. I knew she was lying because I'd met her boss, and there wasn't a generous bone in her body. I was so glad when she took the job at Safeway. They love her, and the manager even helped her get a transfer to a store close to Oregon State.”

“That's awesome,” he said.

“It is. She gets benefits, too, so that works out well.”

As he doctored his coffee, he thought about his youngest sisters, who were twenty and twenty-two, and couldn't believe the difference in maturity. He imagined them in Violet's shoes and didn't think they could hold it together the way she did. With all the odds stacked against her, Violet was something else.

“I should go ask everyone else if they want some coffee,” she said suddenly.

“And I should get back to the porch before someone falls through and gets stuck.”

“Har har, my porch isn't that bad,” she said.

“It's no longer considered a porch, it's a termite's dinner,” he said.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes at him as she walked past with the pot, and his gaze traveled down to the sway of her hips. It was so subtle he knew it wasn't a conscious motion, but it hypnotized him, sending him into a state of arousal inappropriate for the crowd outside.

“Are you coming?” she asked from the open doorway.

“Yeah, one second.” Closing his eyes, he tried to conjure images of dead dogs and fish guts, but her ass was officially burned into his retinas.

And it only got worse as the morning wore on. Every time she bent over to pick something up or knelt down to hammer in a nail, it was like a lightning bolt to his crotch. Everything about the woman turned him on, even her eating a chocolate donut. He watched that little pink tongue lick the chocolate off her lips and had actually taken a step toward her. Pictured pressing her back against her ugly house and taking her mouth, sliding his tongue in to taste her.

Jesus, he was horned up.
Where's a bathtub full of ice when a guy needs it?

He had to put some distance between them or he was going to explode. He'd thought that trying to be friends would be easy, but the more time he spent around her, the more he remembered what she had going on under her clothes and the heat of her tight little—

“Hey, Blake, can you help me for a second?” Violet asked. “I can't seem to pull this nail out.”

Dean caught Kline's gaze as his friend started to stand up, but one firm shake of his head stopped him. A slow grin spread across Kline's face, but Dean ignored it.

“I got it.” Dean went to kneel next to her, distracted by the sweet scent of her. As his hand covered hers, she jumped, and he wondered if she'd experienced the same jolt he did when they touched.

She pulled her hand out from under his and let him have the hammer. He focused on wiggling it, loosening the nail from the board until it finally slipped out. He held it out to her, and their fingers brushed as she took it, the air crackling with tension as she let out a soft breath. He noticed the flush of her neck and cheeks, the rosy hue making her plump lips appear darker.

Someone kicked his ass from behind, and he almost fell on his face. Catching himself on his forearms, he glared over his shoulder at Daisy.

“Stop hitting on my sister and get back to work.”

One glance at Violet's scarlet face told him that she had been just as caught up as he was, but as he stood up, he noticed a couple of the kids had realized there was something going on.

“You want to spend the afternoon doing up-downs?” he asked.

They scattered like rabbits, and he grunted at Daisy as he passed.

“Where are you going?” Kline asked. Dean could hear the laughter in his voice.

“Going to take over weed-whacking for Jorge.”

“Need to work out some frustration?” Daisy called after him.

Dean sent her a scowl at the same time Violet told her to shut up.

A
FEW HOURS
later, Violet was loading a bunch of water bottles into plastic bags to send with Dean and the rest of the guys and trying to ignore the bite of shame and humiliation. Dean probably thought she had money stashed away that she used on fancy mixers and stupid slippers instead of the upkeep of her home, but she had been telling the truth. For the longest time, she'd tried to keep the yard under control, but then she just didn't have time for it all.

Besides, it technically wasn't even hers. It was her father's house—and if he ever came back, at some point he would realize that he could get a lot of meth from its sale.

But as she walked outside and stood back to admire their work, she couldn't believe the difference. The dark, gloomy brown had been repainted a pretty blue-gray. The trim had been painted white, giving it a fresh, clean look.

Dean came up alongside her, the brush of his arm against hers raising gooseflesh over her skin. She wished she could forget about this reaction to him, but it had been a battle all day. Every time he came near her, it was like a magnetic pull drew her closer. He smelled of spicy cologne, cedar, and sweat—a heady combination that made her want to invite him in for a shower.

A long, hot shower where she ran soap over every inch of his body with her hands, watching droplets of water leave rivulets down his chest and abs.

God, what was happening to her? One freshly painted house and she was ready to rub her body against him like a cat in heat.

“I'll come back tomorrow and paint the porch, but I think it looks good.” Dean's voice was laced with amusement as he added, “Of course, it's easier to see when you have your eyes open.”

Oh, God.
She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes, and as they flew open, his deep rumble of laughter washed over her, drawing a blush into her cheeks.

“Sorry, I was resting my eyes. I think I might need a nap.”

“I promise tomorrow I'll wait until nine,” he said.

Blake was loading up the boys into the van and gave them a little wave as he closed the door. “I'll see you back at the program. Violet, it was very nice to meet you.”

“You, too.” Violet started to call for Daisy but noticed the Honda was gone. She must have snuck away when Violet was in the house.

Dean waved to Blake as he drove away. When his dark gaze focused on hers once more, she became aware that they were alone on the street, a hundred feet from her bedroom.

“Well, I better get back,” he said.

“Dean . . . ” She placed her hand on his arm to stop him from walking away. “Thank you for what you did. I appreciate it, I really do.”

“But?”

But I'm starting to think I might like you.

Actually, it was more than a notion. She had spent most of the day catching herself watching him. The muscles in his arms straining against his T-shirt as he carried wood. Tiny beads of sweat giving his tan skin a sheen that was nearly as hypnotizing as his smile—when someone coaxed one from him.

It wasn't just her attraction to him, though. It was the way he had taken the time with the kids to show them how to use a tool or when he'd called Tyler to check on his dog. That he'd carried in all the coffee mugs and started washing them without being asked, and even when she'd told him to leave them, he'd just finished up and set them in the drying rack. That he held the door for her and Daisy, and at one point, when she'd hammered her thumb, he'd cradled her hand in his so gently, examining the bruised digit. For a split second, she'd thought he would try to kiss it and make it better, and when he hadn't, she'd been disappointed.

Which was proof enough that she was in big trouble.

“But you've done enough. You don't need to come back tomorrow; I can finish the porch.”

“I like to finish something once I start,” he said curtly.

“And I appreciate that, but I'm sure you have better things to do than to waste your day off coming over here and working. Really, I—”

Before she knew what he was doing, his hand shot out and caught the back of her neck gently, bringing her closer. “I am trying to be your friend.”

Violet was stunned and a little defensive at his dark tone. “So you've said, but I'm sorry that I have trust issues. Most men don't paint your house unless they want something.”

His gaze glittered at her in the afternoon sunlight like stars flashing in the night sky, and it was so arresting, she couldn't move.

“I'm trying here, Violet, but you're making it as hard as possible to be a good guy.”

“Why, because I don't just take you at your word?” She could hardly hear her own throaty question over the pounding of her heart.

“No, because you push my buttons so hard I want to haul you over my shoulder, take you inside, and strip away every defense in your arsenal with my hands and mouth.”

Violet held her breath, her body tight as a bowstring as she waited for him to make a move.

Instead, he released her and walked around the back of the truck. “Instead, I'm going to get in my truck and go back to work.”

Violet bit back the urge to tell him no, to ask him to stay. But it wasn't a good idea.

Except her heart just wouldn't let him leave. She knocked on his passenger-side window, and when he rolled it down, she said, “If you insist on coming over to paint, then I'm cooking you breakfast tomorrow.”

Dean's dark eyebrows shot up, surprise written all over his face. But the twinkle in his eyes and the slow, sweet grin beat down all her doubts with a hammer. “What are we having?”

“You like sausage? Biscuits and gravy? Bacon and eggs?”

“Yes, yes, and who doesn't?”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, then.”

“I can't wait.”

D
EAN WAS SITTING
on his couch later that evening, scrolling through his DVR. He'd popped a couple of Tylenol when he got home, hoping the sheer exhaustion from working his ass off today would lull him into a dreamless sleep, but as he'd closed his eyes, they had come anyway, like a bad horror movie playing in his head. He'd gone back out to the living room to find something to hold the memories at bay.

Nothing looked good, and his mind started drifting, searching for any kind of happy thought, like his mother used to tell him to do as a child when he'd get a shot.

It wasn't that surprising that his current happy thought had a pair of chocolate brown eyes and fiery red hair.

There was a knock at the door, which drove Violet's face away as Dean jumped. Glancing down at Dilbert, who was lying with his head in Dean's lap, he asked, “You expecting somebody?”

Dilbert's ears twitched, but otherwise he didn't move. Dean slid out from under his chin, and the dog groaned, then rolled onto his back, letting out a loud snore.

“It's okay, you lay there while I get it. If it's an ax murderer, I'll let you know.”

Dilbert opened one eye for half a second and then closed it.

Dean opened the door to find Sergeant Oliver Martinez and his dog, Beast, on his doorstep.

“Hey, man, what's going on?” Dean asked.

“Nothing, just coming by to see what you were up to. I tried calling, but you didn't answer.” Martinez stepped into the house with Beast, not even waiting for an invitation. “Figured I'd take a chance.”

“Something wrong?” Dean asked.

“Nah, Eve is out with her friends, and I just didn't want to sit at home alone.”

“Aw, were you lonely?” Dean teased.

“Eh heh, shut up.”

Dean chuckled as he went to the fridge. “Want a beer?”

“Sure, thanks.” Martinez sat down on the couch, disturbing Dilbert, who woke up, saw Beast, and started barking excitedly. The two dogs were good friends and both wiggled as they turned in circles, sniffing each other's butts.

Dean handed Martinez the beer as he sat down. “You know, the only time Dilbert moves at a pace faster than snail is when you bring that behemoth over.”

“Yeah, he's a leader, like his master. He starts to howl when he hears a fire engine and gets all the other dogs in the neighborhood going. I've been getting the stink eye when I leave my house.”

The dogs chased each other around the couch and down the hall. Dean finally hollered at them to chill when the picture frames on the walls started to rattle.

“Your moose is going to bring the roof down on us,” Dean said.

Beast had earned his name, being a huge mutt with a flat face and powerful body. Best thought he probably had some mastiff in him, which would account for the drool and flatulence Martinez was always complaining about. Despite all of Beast's quirks, Martinez had fought for the dog when it was discovered he suffered from severe separation anxiety and would no longer be eligible for military dog training. Like Dilbert, Beast was used to demonstrate obedience for the kids, but other than that, he was just a spoiled pet.

“Naw, we'll be fine. So, what's new with you? Any progress on getting that psychiatrist of yours to give you the green light?” Martinez asked.

Dean shook his head. He'd gone for his weekly session, and like every time before, she was insistent they talk. She wanted to know how he was sleeping, if he was suffering from any anxiety or depression. If there was anyone special in his life. His answer was no to all; the last thing he wanted to do was give her anything she could use to keep him permanently riding a desk.

Although, giving her nothing wasn't helping either. In nine months, any time he'd asked when she was going to clear him to return, she'd say,
“That all depends on you.”

Which was bullshit, because if it were up to him, he'd have been gone already.

“No, she's just dicking me around. About ready to request a new evaluation.”

“That sucks, man, I'm sorry,” Martinez said.

If anyone would understand where Dean was coming from, it was Martinez. Several months ago, Martinez was at Mick's and stepped in when some drunk asshole was getting a little too aggressive with a couple of girls at the bar. When he subdued the guy and had him arrested, he'd had no idea he was messing with General Reynolds's son. As a result, the general had taken him off active military police rotation and stuck him at Alpha Dog to help plan a fund-raiser. Martinez had been pissed off and bitter about being reassigned, until he'd fallen for the general's daughter, Eve, and realized he loved working with the kids and dogs more than he liked dealing with the assholes in his squad.

“You've been there, too,” Dean said.

“Yeah, but my situation was a little different. I was benched because of the general's personal issue with me, not because they were worried that I might be suffering from PTSD.”

Those four letters ran down his spine like an ice cube on chilled skin. He didn't have PTSD. It was normal to have nightmares and be haunted by something tragic, but that didn't mean he had a problem. He didn't drop to the ground when he heard a car backfire or drink until he blacked out. He was dealing. Why did no one understand that?

“I don't have it. I'm fine, but thanks for the support.”

“I'm just speaking the truth, bro. They are covering their asses, and it's a bunch of red-tape bullshit, but you've just got to play along until you're cleared. There's no way around it, sorry to say.”

“Yeah, I know.” Dean couldn't be mad at his friend; that was just the way Martinez was. Speaking the truth, no matter how brutal it may be.

“Besides, I thought you liked being the director and working with the kids at Alpha Dog. Why would you want to go back there?”

Because you want to prove that you won't choke again in a crisis.

“I'm just not ready to be out, you know,” he said.

“I didn't think I was either, but I gotta say, I don't miss the stress,” Martinez said.

“I also don't have a beautiful woman to come home to every night.” Violet's face flashed through Dean's mind, but that was so complicated. She was hot and cold with him, swearing she wanted nothing to do with him, then looking at him like it was only the two of them in the room.

“What about Casey Douglas's sister? You two seemed pretty together when you barred the door to the visiting room,” Martinez asked.

Even though it was Martinez and not Best, Dean was still defensive of Violet. Her one worry was being discovered, and he wasn't going to let it happen. “We did not bar the door.”

“Maybe
she
didn't, but I've seen you when you want something. Besides, Best told me about you two hooking up before her brother even got there,” Martinez said.

“Best has a big mouth,” Dean said.

“That doesn't change the fact that something is going on with you two. You took a group of kids out to her house to clean it up and wrote it off as community service. So, if you aren't hooking up, what are you doing with her?”

Dean leaned forward and ran his hands over his face with a groan. “I have no idea, man. I don't want anything serious, you know that, but with Violet . . . I mean, the girl has got drama up to her eyeballs and trust issues that would make most psychiatrists want to put her in a lab and study her. But I just can't get her out of my head.”

“You know, once Eve and I let go of all the reasons why we shouldn't be together, everything just seemed to make sense for us,” Martinez said.

“She says she doesn't have room for me in her life,” he said.

“So prove her wrong.”

To what end?
Even if he could convince her that they could have something more, there were no guarantees he wouldn't be gone next week, and then what was he supposed to do? Just leave her high and dry like everyone else in her life?

“I don't even know what I want from her, so why make it complicated?” Dean asked.