As hard as I try… I can’t resist. Peeking up, I watch his naked broad shoulders, the lines of thick muscle and bone move as he picks up the heavy bag. The show is even better without the binoculars.
He’s got marks on his back, what appear to be shrapnel wounds. Some of the guys I worked with in the past, firemen and LEOs, served, and many came back covered in the same wounds.
He turns to make his way back and I forget to look back down, too taken by the sight of a few more scars on his chest, a more noticeable one on his side. He pauses briefly when he sees the look on my face and then continues into the feed room.
“Were you in the service?” comes out of me without thought.
“Sixteen years,” he says, standing in the doorway of the feed room. “Lieutenant Colonel Hughes at your service.”
A strange moment passes between us. I can’t explain it other than an understanding.
“Thank you for unloading the bags… and your service,” I say, dropping the attitude.
“It’s the least I can do.” He’s back to being serious again. Then he walks out.
“You answered!” my mother screams into the phone.
I pull it away from my ear. “You’ve been blowing it up for two weeks. Is this urgent? Because I’m very busy.”
Mona makes a face at me and silently mouths, “Be nice.”
She places a well-cooked rib-eye steak in front of Darby. He takes her hand and kisses the back of it. Other than that, he couldn’t care less about what’s going on around him. He really is the best boyfriend she’s ever had. Quiet, respectful, and acts like he’s in another world when Mona and I talk.
I stare out at the sinking sunset. Another great one to add to my list.
“I’m coming to L.A. in a few weeks, and I’d like to see my daughter. So yes, I guess it is urgent.”
She can’t come here. Under no circumstance is she allowed to be anywhere near the criminal in residence. “Um, I guess that could be arranged…”
“Great! Great news. That’s all I wanted to hear. I’ll call when we’re leaving Haiti and I have my flight booked. See you soon!”
“Uh-huh, yeah, great. See you soon.” Eye roll. I end the call.
“She’s really trying,” Mona says, passing me the steamed green beans.
“To be a pain in the ass? Yes, she is.”
“Maybe she’s changed.”
Dear, dear Mona. Always so hopeful.
“This is the same woman who guilted a twelve-year-old into sending her all the money I’d been given from my grandparents––who I never see because they’re living on social security in North Carolina––for birthdays and holidays. Because the kids in Guatemala were dying. I had nightmares for weeks thinking I didn’t get her the money in time to save them.”
Mona makes a cringe face. “She’s somethin’ special…”
“She’s special, alright.” Nobody knows how to self-promote better than my mother, and if she met Aidan, she would seize the opportunity faster than I could stop her. “I don’t think I can get out of seeing her, but she can’t come here. Don’t get tricked into giving her our location in case she hunts you down on social media.”
“Sweetie, you’d have to get up earlier than a gamecock to get one over on me.”
“I sincerely hope you mean a male chicken.”
She smiles at Darby who happily smiles back. “Up for interpretation.”
Chapter 8
Days go by without any sign that Aidan is ready to make an effort. I guess tomorrow means whenever in Hollywood talk. Fine with me. As a matter of fact, the peace of mind this brings has me hoping he keeps it up for the foreseeable future. I mean, why should I care if he gets shipped off to county lockup?
Then I think of the worried look on Shane’s face. Maybe I do care… a little. I don’t know what he told Jules. As long as I don’t get any more threatening phone calls, I’m good with it.
Mona and I brought Legend home this morning. It took the better part of a day to get him acclimated. Tom treated the anemia caused by an infestation of ticks he had on him and a minor infection. He had his feet trimmed by a good farrier while he was in the clinic. It’s on us to get him healthy again, though. The weight he’s gained, a few pounds, is mostly water weight. He was that severely dehydrated. The road to his real recovery is long and it starts at home with frequent small meals that his weak and fragile system can handle.
It’s midnight when I finally tuck into bed, much later than usual. The sheets are cool. The AC hums a sweet lullaby guaranteed to put me to sleep in no time. I literally say, “Ahhh,” out loud. I’m almost out, sleep ready to claim me, when… I hear a strange caterwauling coming from the paddock directly behind the farmhouse.
Huh.
Another broken high note tears the peace asunder. The left eye cracks open. Then the right. What the actual funk…
When it’s hot out, we usually place animals that need to be quarantined in that paddock so that either Mona or I can keep a close eye on them. At present, the donkeys and mini ponies are in there just in case we get a stray coyote passing through, which we sometimes do. That way the large horses in the paddocks surrounding this one provide another layer of safety.
Kicking off the covers, I jump out of bed in a huff and grab my trusty binoculars. I peel back the curtain to inspect the property and freeze. Oh, hell flipping no. That’s no coyote. It’s something much worse.
I charge out the door and rush down the steps without a spare thought to what I’m wearing. By the time I’m on the porch, however, shoving on my red cowboy boots, I realize all I have on is a navy tank top and my pajama shorts. No bra. Sigh. With my c-cup, going without a bra is really not decent.
Do I care? No, not tonight. Tonight, all bets are off.
This dilemma is debated for less than a second because anger and exhaustion kick modesty out of the way. I have exactly five hours to sleep before I have to get up and do it all over again and not a minute to spare.
As I march to the paddock, I catch the lights on in the guesthouse and make a sharp left turn in that direction. Pounding on the door happens, lots of it and with no hesitation whatsoever. I, the person who needs to be up at dawn, shouldn’t be the one dealing with this nonsense. I didn’t sign up for this and the loss of my sacred space, as well. And yet here I am.
When the door finally swings all the way open, Shane stands before me wearing a questioning expression, reading glasses, a ratty plaid robe, and sweatpants. That’s it. Two articles of clothing and one accessory. The rest of him is naked. The chest dusted with dark hair in my direct line of sight gets my immediate and total attention, another up-close and personal experience that will no doubt invade my dreams later. If I ever get to them.
I’m embarrassed to admit my body goes beyond the standard-issue hot and bothered. It gets a foreign feeling it hasn’t felt in ages. Credit where credit is due, though. His chest really is a work of art. Ancient Greek sculptors would weep in their graves if they could see this man. My fingers itch to skim over the hard ridges of his stomach, my short nails scraping through the dark dusting of hair on his chest.