When they made it up to the second floor landing, Boone escorted her into what looked like a master bedroom. “This is your room,” he said.
“But I don’t want to put you out of your own bedroom,” Charly said.
“You aren’t,” said Boone. “All of the rooms look like this. Mine is right down the hall that way.”
“Oh, okay,” said Charly. She felt a little embarrassed to think that he was giving up his own bedroom, but she felt she played it off well enough.
He sat her suitcase on the bed. “Just holler if you need anything at all,” he said.
She nodded. “I will.” But then she just stood there.
Boone watched her as she stood there. He could see the tightness of her body. He could see the anguish in her great big eyes. He could see the pain all over her pretty face. And his heart went out to her. He went to her.
As soon as Boone walked up to her and placed his arms around her, Charly broke down. She cried in his arms. “When will it end?” she asked him. “Every time I think I have a new beginning, all I have are new problems. Or old problems coming back. When will it ever end?”
Boone held her tightly. She might have been saddened by the events of that early Sunday morning, but he was pissed. He was the bastard. He was the one who deserved problems like the kind she had to deal with. But she was the one getting the blowback. Over and over again. He could feel her pain.
He felt it so much so that he decided to share it, too. He lifted her into his big arms, carried her out of the guest bedroom and into his master bedroom down the hall. She was so busy sobbing that she didn’t realize what he was doing. Not even when he pulled back the covers on his bed and laid her onto it. Not even when he walked around and got in the bed too.
It wasn’t until he pulled her into his arms, into a big bearhug lying beside her, did she realize what he had done. But instead of being afraid or uncomfortable or even uneasy, she was pleased. She didn’t think she could have been alone. She knew she didn’t want to.
And Boone didn’t want her to. He held her for hours. He held her until she fell asleep in his arms. He held her all night long.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The next morning, Charly woke up alone. After adjusting her still-sleepy eyes, she realized she was still in Boone’s bedroom, in Boone’s bed, but he was nowhere to be found. She still was fully clothed, which meant he behaved like a gentleman in her hour of distress, thank God, but she missed his nearness. It was the dawn of a new day, but that old baggage was still weighing her down.
She got out of bed and left his bedroom. When she made it back to the guest room he had earmarked for her, she locked the door, took a quick shower in the adjacent bathroom, brushed and gargled with what she had packed in her suitcase, and dressed. It was Sunday and she had every intention of going to church, so she wore a well-fitted bright blue dress with stitching across the shoulders. The faculty at Saint Christopher’s were required to attend Saint Christopher Church, and sit as a united front upfront in the church, and she aimed to do as her contract required. She was not Episcopalian. She was actually a Baptist girl who’d always attended Baptist churches. But she was also a rule abider. Despite the turmoil in her life, and what happened to her at the complex, she wasn’t about to lose her job.
The problem was: how was she going to get there? Chief Ryan had done enough for her already. He rescued her from a would-be assassin. He invited her into his home. He held her in a way that allowed her to get one of the best night’s sleep she’d had in a long time, the first time ever a man had gotten her in his bed without wanting more than just to cuddle. What more did she want from the man?
A ride to church, that was what, she thought, as she made her way downstairs. And also his protection, too, because whoever attempted to take her out was still out there himself. He’d already saved her life. She needed a man like Boone.
And when she made it downstairs, and saw that the man was in his kitchen cooking breakfast, she felt as if she was in a dream. A man cooking breakfast for her? Maybe that was taking it too far, she knew. He was probably cooking it for himself. But it was still a sight to behold.
“Good morning,” he said as she entered his gourmet kitchen.
“Good morning.”
“You look pretty,” he found himself saying as his eyes roamed down the length of her sexy dress. But then he immediately felt odd. He’d never been an affectionate man in his life. But around her, he was behaving as if that was the only way he could be.
Charly didn’t find it odd at all. “Thank you,” she said, and quickly moved on. “Smells good.”
“That’s good to know,” he said, happy to move on too. “I’m glad you approve.”
“I haven’t tasted it yet,” Charly said with a smile and Boone, as he was prone to do at the least of her jokes, laughed out loud.
“What is it?” she asked him as she sat at his center island.
“Ever hear of Burgoo?”
“Bur who?” Charly asked and Boone laughed again.
“It’s a stew,” he said.
Charly smiled. “A stew for breakfast? Are you serious?”
“Oh, very serious,” Boone said as he spooned out a bowl full for her, a bowl full for him, and sat both bowls on the island beside each other. He sat beside her.
“I must admit I’ve never had stew for breakfast.”
“It’s a staple of the Ryans of Kentucky. My mother fed six boys on this stew.”
Charly smiled, they said grace, and then ate up. She immediately began to fan her mouth.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her, smiling as he did.
“Stew with a kick,” she said. “What is that?”
“Just some chili peppers,” he said as if it was no big deal.
But Charly was floored. “Boone!” she yelled and pushed him. “For breakfast?!”
Boone was laughing. “Just keep eating it. You’ll get used to it.”
Charly took another smaller spoonful, and then another one, and then soon, she was actually enjoying the spicy kick. She smiled. “You’re right,” she said.
“Told you so. It’s really good.”
“You cook all the time?” she asked him.
“Cook? Me? Never!”
That surprised Charly. “Never? Then why did you all of a sudden decide to cook this kind of elaborate breakfast this morning?”
Boone was a little sheepish, but he told her the truth. “I figured you’d like it,” he said.
Charly didn’t know what to say to that. And soon neither one of them seemed to know what to say. And the burden of what happened, and why she was at his home to begin with, took root again. They ate in silence.
Until Boone’s phone rang. He pulled it out and answered quickly. “Yeah?”
It was Morley. “We got a name, Chief.”
“From Porch?”
“Yes, sir. A few hours in the brig does wonders for one’s memory.”
“Who?” Boone asked.
“Dalbert Lee.”
Boone was floored. “He said Dalbert was the friend who told him about Tabloski?”
Charly looked at him.
“Yes, sir,” Morley said. “And he knows where Dalbert’s been holing up too.”