“‘Mama’?” Ana shrieked.
“What are you doing here?” He blocked Ana with his body, giving her a chance to discreetly adjust her clothes.
His mom placed the Winchester down on the counter, barrel pointing away from him and Ana. After fixing the strap of her tank top, she folded her lean arms across her chest and gave A.J. the once-over with her sharp green gaze. A rainbow of dried paint splatters adorned the denim overalls she wore when doing her projects, claiming they gave her “good mojo.” His mom may have been sixty-nine years old, but even after raising a bunch of hellions, she hardly looked a day over fifty—her hair, currently in a messy ponytail, was still more blonde than gray, and the lines on her face were laugh lines. “I came over because I forgot my favorite hammer, and when I walked in, I heard a noise. I went out to my truck to grab my gun. I’m not about to have some fool running amuck in Grant’s house and stealing his stuff.”
A.J. bowed his head toward the ground for a brief second. “Mama,” he dragged out. “You should’ve called your sheriff son to come over if you thought there was danger. You could’ve gotten yourself killed if I had been a bad guy.” Hands secured to his hips, he stared at his mom from across the kitchen island, not sure how he was going to explain what he was doing at Grant’s place.
“But it was you,” his mom protested.
“But what if it wasn’t?”
“But it was.” Her gaze lingered on Ana, and A.J. quickly peered across his shoulder, catching Ana’s eyes to assess how she was holding up given the awkward situation. “And what are you doing here, Son? Rory and your father drove you drunken boys to the airport Saturday night, so why are you back, and why didn’t you let us know?”
“I, um.” What lie would his mom believe?
His mom circled the kitchen island to stand closer to him and Ana. “Are you my son’s girlfriend?” she directed Ana’s way. “I reckon you are since he was groping you.”
A.J.’s worst nightmare might’ve been this moment right here and now. Forget Iraq. “Mama,” he tossed out, a plea in his tone to back down.
“I’m Ana.” She stepped forward and offered her hand, and his mom accepted her palm.
“Deborah Hawkins, but you can call me Deb, everyone does.”
“We’re working together,” Ana explained before pulling her hand back.
“Oh?” His mom brought a fist beneath her chin and scrutinized them both. “You always make out with people you work with?”
“That, um, no,” Ana sputtered. “We weren’t, you know, doing anything.” It appeared that Ana’s tradecraft was failing her in the presence of his mom.
Welcome to Alabama and Southern moms. “I’m her bodyguard, and I can’t tell you more than that.” That was the story his family and friends believed. Bodyguard, sure. “Grant knows we’re staying here for a few days.”
“Is Ana in danger?” Her arms fell to her sides at the idea A.J. had brought “danger” to their little town.
“I’m sorry we startled you,” Ana apologized, hopefully relieving him of having to answer his mom’s question. “Your hammer is in the guest room upstairs. Red handle?” Ana’s cheeks were about five seconds away from matching the color of her hair.
“You have, like, fifty hammers, and you came over because you left one here?” This hadn’t been in his “What Could Go Wrong” plans. And now I’m making lists? Ana was rubbing off on him, and hell, he didn’t mind.
“It’s my favorite. McKenna got it for me for my birthday in March, not that you made it home to know that.” And there it was, he was going to get an earful from his mom. She’d held back last weekend, too focused on Ella and Brian’s upcoming wedding, but she was going to take the time to jab now.
“I sent you a gift.” He stepped forward, eyes sweeping to the gun on the counter his mom had pointed at them. In fact, the Winchester, with the mossy oak finish he’d chosen to appeal to his mom’s decorator sensibilities, had been his gift, and this was not how he envisioned she’d be using it.
His mom tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ears. “One of my favorite movies is The Bodyguard. Such a shame what happened to Whitney Houston. Absolutely loved that woman.” She waved an accusatory finger in front of him and Ana. “Is that what’s going on here? You falling for your bodyguard?” she yammered on. Typical. Embarrassing. “I mean, I don’t blame you. My boy is the best of the best, but isn’t there a rule about sleeping with the woman you’re protecting, Son?”
“Mama, you should go. And don’t tell anyone I’m here, okay?”
His mom’s green eyes shot to Ana. “I’m fixin’ to make lunch. You’ll join us.” A.J. didn’t fail to notice it wasn’t a question.
“Oh, thank you, but I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” Ana rushed out, but she didn’t know his mom. When Deb Hawkins set her mind to something, there would be no arguing.
They couldn’t possibly go there, but, shit.
“Lunch”—she pointed her finger at A.J.—“and I’ll forgive you for missing my birthday.” And now you’re just playing dirty. “I’ll go grab my hammer and be right back. Be ready.” She marched out of the kitchen without another word. A.J. faced the kitchen island, placing his palms down in front of the gun.
“I don’t even know what to say,” he grumbled, and Ana set her hand on the center of his back. “She’s not going to back down. You just don’t know my mom.”
“You’re lucky you have a mom, especially one like her,” she answered softly, her wistful tone a reminder her parents were not only gone, but they’d betrayed the country that Ana put herself in harm’s way for every day to defend and protect.
“That mean you want to go to my house for lunch?” he asked in surprise and turned around. But could they? Would they be putting his family in danger? No one followed us to Alabama. We’re safe, he reasoned with himself as he debated the possibility of lunch.
Ana’s hands went to his arms, and her eyes journeyed from his chest up to his face. “You said she won’t back down, and since I’m not yet marked as a fugitive,” she responded in a whisper, “I think we’d be okay to have lunch at your parents’ house. Well, as long as they don’t tell anyone we’re in town.”
“Are you sure you want to go to my parents’ place?” he asked, finding his voice unusually timid.
Her lips twitched into a smile. “You said we can’t be of any help to your team, right?” One shoulder lifted. “And if we stay here alone, there’s a pretty good chance we might do more than kiss.”
They’d been on the brink of doing a lot more before his mom showed up.
He leaned in and brought his chest closer to hers while she maintained her grip of his forearms. “Oh yeah, and would that be a bad thing?” he rasped, visions of their naked bodies entangled as they made love coming to mind.
“Not bad at all,” she murmured when he took hold of her hips, locking her in front of him, forgetting his mom was upstairs.