Shelter Me (7 page)

She almost managed to hold in her sigh of relief. Almost. Her face heated with a blush. “How did Trooper track you?”

Mike’s eyes swept her face for a flash that said loud and clear he hadn’t missed her embarrassment or interest. “You would have to ask him,” he said, playing along with not openly acknowledging the attraction crackling between them, “except Trooper can’t talk.”

“If only he could, the things he might tell us.”

What a time to realize that as they stood face-to-face, leaning against the posts, their feet were almost touching. It was just feet, for crying out loud. They weren’t naked. She wore sandals so broken in she’d taped the toe thong, and his boat shoes had a frayed shoelace retied together. But somehow being this close still felt . . . intimate. She could stretch her leg just an inch and run her toes along his bared ankle.

A year ago, she would have. Then he would have extended an arm. She would have linked hands with him and he would have tugged her against his chest for a kiss so long and sweet she’d see stars. The steam they’d generated had left her breathless every time they got close.

An effect she was still feeling even now . . . long after that breakup.

There’d been so much good between them, a chemistry and something else, something worth pursuing. Until he’d decided they couldn’t be together because he wasn’t good enough for her and it would be disloyal to her father.

His excuses sounded thin to her then and now. There had to be more. Or Mike simply didn’t want to be with her any longer and thought too much of her dad to simply dump her. So he’d given her a made-up excuse.

Now wasn’t that a sobering thought? She cleared her throat and straightened, which took her feet away from temptation. “Thank you again for bringing Trooper. I’m hungry and need a shower . . . So . . .”

“Right.” He nodded, shoving away and starting down the steps backward. “I should go now that I’ve delivered your dog—twice.”

She knew his leaving was inevitable and it was silly to expect anything different. Must be exhaustion making her weak. She spun away and—slammed straight into her grandfather standing in the open doorway. How long had he been there and how had she not noticed?

Gramps clapped her on the back once before stepping around toward Mike.

“Hello, boy.” Joshua’s avoidance of using a name was always clue number one he didn’t know the person even though he should. “Stay for lunch.”

At least he knew what time it was. She shot an apologetic smile at Mike.

“Thanks, sir. That’s a generous offer.” He paused half in, half out of his truck. “But you don’t need to feed me. I’m done returning your dog, so I’ll just be on my way.”

“There’s plenty of chili, and I know that because I made it myself while the women were gone.”

The women? Apparently Gramps was in his un-PC mode right now.

The General continued, “They don’t like for me to cook—afraid I’ll burn the house down. So we compromise and I use the Crock-Pot.”

There were child locks all over the kitchen and stove, as well as notes. Gramps could still read. For now.

“I do love good chili, General.” Mike stepped around the front of the truck, nearly giving her a heart attack with the notion he might stick around. “But I’ll have to take a rain check.”

The gleam in Mike’s eyes shouted loud and clear he knew exactly how his words were affecting her. She ground her teeth. So he wanted to play games, did he? “By all means, stay for lunch, Mike, if that’s what you would like.”

“Thanks, but—”

“Boy.” Gramps yanked the door open further and pointed inside. “Come on. I know full well home-cooked food is a treat after being overseas.”

Or maybe her grandfather was having a good day. Sometimes she wondered if he liked to mess with their minds by pretending it was a bad day. Ornery old cuss. She almost grinned. Almost.

Time for everyone to stop playing games.

“Gramps, Mike probably has things to do. We’ve already take enough of his time with him coming all the way out here to return Trooper.”

Gramps snorted. “Doesn’t look like Trooper plans to stay with us.”

What the hell?

She looked around her and the dog was gone again. She started to panic, then—there was Trooper—sitting in the front seat of the truck.

Gramps threw his shoulders back and barked, “Stay for lunch. We’re eating out back at the picnic table. That’s an order.”

Mike looked at her, back at his truck, then surrendered. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

What the hell? He’d actually agreed? Was this some kind of ploy on Mike’s part to get close to her, see if she would be open to a “welcome home” quickie after chili? If so, he was in for a rude awakening when dessert was nothing more than a scoop of ice cream on his way out the door.

*   *   *

SITTING AROUND THE
McDaniel patio table again was supremely surreal.

Mike had come to their house for meals before, during the brief time that he and Sierra had told everyone about their relationship. Very brief time. Shortly after that, they’d broken up, just before his deployment.

He’d seen the way it was tearing her up, saying good-bye to him
and
her father. He’d figured out fast that being a military brat was hard enough for her to handle. Being a military spouse was out of the question. And without the military, he was nothing more than the screwed-up kid of a criminal grandma and a father who couldn’t handle raising a boy who was a constant reminder of the woman who’d died bringing him into the world. Mike was through being a reminder of dead people.

So why was he sitting here on the McDaniel family’s patio like this was a regular family get-together? The umbrella flapped overhead and dogs barked in the background while a cat slept on his foot.

He wasn’t sure why he’d stayed other than it had felt easier to accept than getting in his truck and leaving her again. Maybe by the end of the lunch, he would have his answer and some closure.

But God, he had to admit he’d missed being around this quirky, awesome family. The mom with her galoshes, shorts and a pit bull T-shirt. Nathan with a large snake—Bo—draped over his shoulders, and no one thought that was strange. Not even the memory-challenged General in his sweatpants and an Army T-shirt commented on the four-foot-long reptile.

And Sierra. Lord help him every time he looked at her he was damn near mesmerized by her, with her easygoing style that made a side ponytail and tank top look classy—and all the while he knew underneath she had a short Shakespearean quote tattooed on her hip bone.

“Crackers?” Lacey thrust a basket full of saltines Mike’s way.

“Sure, thank you, ma’am.” He took a handful and crushed them on top of his bowl of chili, which actually didn’t taste half bad. The General had definitely lost more of his memory in the past year, but not his ability to cook. “This beats what I would have microwaved at my motel. Thank you.”

One thing Mike missed with his vagabond lifestyle—being able to cook whenever he felt like it.

The General shook Tabasco sauce into his deep pottery bowl. “What kind of motel are you staying at, soldier? You have to be careful of the hookers. They’ll steal your wallet and give you gonorrhea.”

Sierra spluttered on her iced tea. “Gramps—”

Nathan crushed crackers in his chili. “Do you know about that from experience, Gramps?”

Lacey gasped.

Mike interjected quickly, “I’ll be careful to steer clear of trouble.”

“Damn straight.” The General plunked the hot sauce down so hard the ice rattled in the glasses. “And if you’re just saying that to pacify me, at least remember to wrap your rascal when you’re with a hooker.”

“Sir.” Best to rechannel this conversation away from “rascals,” wrapped or otherwise. “Let’s talk about this another time. There are ladies present.”

“By God, you’re right. Sorry, my dears.” He looked to the side sharply. “Lacey, could you pass the hot sauce?”

“Dad, you’ve already—” Lacey started only to be interrupted by Nathan.

“Here, Gramps.”

Sierra swatted her brother’s wrist. “Gramps, how about you taste it first. It’s really awesome.”

The General shook his head. “Lacey never puts enough spices in the food.”

Sierra glanced at Mike apologetically. The old guy had already forgotten cooking the meal. As if this family didn’t have enough grief on their plate. Guilt tugged at him, over being here, over being alive when the man they needed so badly wasn’t. He wanted to help them, but at the same time being around Sierra was torture—for both of them.

Birds chirped along with the barking dogs as Mike just shoveled another bite into his mouth. Joshua dumped more hot sauce on his chili and still seemed to like the meal fine. Distant traffic rumbled, everything but voices filling the awkward silence.

Nathan looked up from his lunch, the snake’s head rising in sync with him. “Mike, you should move into our new studio apartment in the barn loft. It’s clean. And there’s no risk of hookers or gonorrhea.”

Four

S
IERRA COULDN’T DECIDE
who she wanted to kick first—her brother for making the absurd offer or Mike for looking so horrified at the notion of living in her family’s studio apartment. Fine. He didn’t want to be around her anymore. He didn’t have to be so overt about it.

To be frank, she wasn’t turning cartwheels over the notion of having him in her face—and in her apartment. That loft studio was her only chance at a little privacy and independence. At twenty-three years old, she was ready for a place of her own. She loved her job as a graduate assistant teaching 101-level college courses, and she could have afforded a one-room studio on her own, but the cost to her mom to replace Sierra’s help would be expensive. Not to mention stressful. She had to stay. She understood and accepted this was the right thing to do.

But back to Mike and his ill-hidden horror over living near her. She ground her teeth and tried to find some kind of Zen centering in the soothing sound of rustling branches overhead.

He nudged his chili bowl away and placed his wadded paper napkin carefully beside it. “Thanks for the offer, kid. But I’m fine where I am.”

Nathan curled the boa constrictor around his arm, guiding its face toward Sierra. “You may be okay. But we’re not.”

Gasping, Lacey grasped her son’s wrist. “Nathan, stop talking and quit taunting your sister—”

Mike frowned, looking around the table, then pinned Sierra with his golden-brown eyes. “What does he mean about your family not being okay?”

“Nothing,” Sierra snapped, glaring at Nathan. What happened to her sweet little brother who’d shared his Teddy Grahams and once gave her his favorite G.I. Joe because he’d seen her crying about their father leaving. “We’re handling things. Right, Mom?”

“We’ve got it under control.” Standing, her mother started stacking mismatched pottery bowls, signaling an end to the lunch picnic with a tight smile on her face.

Nathan snorted. “Of course, Lacey McDaniel always manages everything.”

Gramps barked, “Nathan, don’t sass your mother.”

Bo hissed.

“Really, Gramps?” Nathan rolled his eyes. “You pick now of all times to remember my name? Great. Maybe while you’re clicking on all cylinders, you could let Sergeant Rambo know how Mom’s struggling to pretend everything’s normal when it isn’t. Or tell him how I almost broke my hand trying to fix the stuck window.”

Sierra sunk deeper in her chair while her brother kept right on listing all their recent failures.

“And remember when the pipes burst in the bathroom? Gross. I’m trying to help but I’m still just fifteen freaking years old. There’s only so much I can do with duct tape and a staple gun.” Nathan leaned forward, all hundred and twelve pounds of scrawny teenage manliness clearly zeroing in for the kill. “Dad wasn’t around long enough to teach me much—”

Lacey slammed the eclectic mix of pottery bowls on the table hard enough to halt him midsentence. “Maybe you could stop talking and realize we’re not Mike Kowalski’s responsibility. Nathan? I mean it. Enough.”

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll shut up.” Nathan scraped back his patio chair and tossed his napkin in the middle of his half-eaten chili. He picked up a king-sized pillowcase and unwrapped his snake from around his neck. He tucked the curled reptile into the pillowcase and knotted the top. “Mom, could you take Bo back inside? I’m going for a walk.”

Without waiting for an answer, Nathan dropped the writhing pillowcase in the middle of the table, knocking over his glass of tea and sending ice tumbling out. He popped in his earbuds and sulked toward the woods behind the house, attitude radiating from every slouchy step.

At what age did it stop being okay to walk away from things a person didn’t want to deal with?

A hefty breeze whipped at the dog blankets and towels hanging on the clothesline, the
snap, snap, snap
of the fabric echoing like some kind of comic locker-room prank.

The General scratched his temple, his forehead furrowed with confusion and agitation. “I need more hot sauce.”

He shot from his seat and fast stepped up the stairs onto the screened porch and into the house.

Lacey abandoned the pile of bowls and started toward her father-in-law. “I should follow Dad. He’s confused and he senses the tension. That’s never a good combination.”

She hurried after her father-in-law, so flustered she even forgot to take the snake. Which left Sierra alone, again, with hot Mike and a bunch of unresolved feelings. Suddenly, the absurdity of her life just hit her like a ton of bricks. Why bother fighting or pretending? Might as well just dive right in.

Sierra picked up the king-sized pillowcase and tightened the knot on top. “Want a new pet?” She thrust the wriggling bag his way. “We have plenty.”

*   *   *

A CHUCKLE STARTED
somewhere in the middle of Mike’s chest. He’d forgotten about Sierra’s great sense of humor. Somehow over time he’d only remembered their arguments—and the sex.

But as he looked at her now with her pillow-cased snake in her fist and a grin crinkling her nose, he recalled so much more. The fun times they’d had on dates, everything from Nashville concerts to partying with friends at the river. She had her father’s knack for easing the most awkward moments and bringing out the best in people, putting others’ needs first. Just like her dad. Even as the Colonel had died in Mike’s arms, Allen had managed to slide a moment of dry humor into his final words.