Читать книгу Airman To The Rescue - Heatherly Bell - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

HUNTER CONNER WAS about to blow through his next high level on “Call of Duty” when he heard his mother yelling from downstairs. She was so loud that he had to keep turning the volume up but he could still hear her voice screeching in the background. He’d closed his bedroom door and everything. This wouldn’t be a problem if he could find his earbuds but at the moment they were MIA.

“Hunter!” His bedroom door swung open.

No knock or anything. It was like living in a damn zoo. He ignored his mother and kept on shooting the terrorists. One down. Two.

“Put that stupid game down. I need to talk to you!”

Abort mission! Abort!

She ripped the controller out of his hands.

“What do you want?” The sooner she got this over with, the sooner he’d get back to killing terrorists. He could kick ass with the best of them. But his mother was all about ruining his life.

“I shouldn’t even let you play this game. You’re in trouble, mister. I talked to your father and he’s coming to the meeting with us.”

“Seriously? Why?” Mom acted like this fence-tagging thing was the end of the world. Who cared? They were talking about a fence! Everyone acted like he’d killed someone.

“Because he’s your father and it’s about time he did something. With him being a veteran, maybe they’ll take pity on you.”

Hunter snorted. His dad was no badass veteran. He’d flown fighter jets so it wasn’t like he’d gotten his hands dirty or anything. Hunter was going to enlist, too, when he turned eighteen. He hadn’t told Mom yet because she might lock him in his bedroom. She treated him like a kid, like he wasn’t almost a man. But Hunter would be a Marine or a Navy SEAL. A killer. Not some chair force guy like his stupid Dad.

“Why didn’t you ask me first? Maybe I don’t want him there.”

“Because it’s not up to you. It’s his duty as your father. Dinner’s ready.” She slammed his door shut.

Yeah, right. Duty. He didn’t need his father anymore. Maybe when he was a little kid he wanted to spend more time with him, back when all they’d had was an occasional weekend when he was home from flying all over the world. He still had those little Air Force toy jets somewhere in the back of his closet. Point being, he wasn’t a kid anymore. He didn’t need his father. Didn’t need his mother, either, but try convincing her of that.

All of a sudden this summer, Mom wanted him to spend more time with his dad, so they could “get to know each other” again. She only wanted Hunter to spend more time with Matt so she could spend more time with her new boyfriend. He played baseball, a loser who couldn’t make the major leagues so now he was trying to break into the minors. If his Mom wanted to follow Chuck the Loser around, she was welcome to it. Hunter could stay alone in his own house. He was too old for a babysitter.

No way, no how would he hang out with Dad and try to be best buddies like he was a little kid again.

Those days were gone.

* * *

“THAT’S IT?” SARAH followed Matt to the bedroom he’d be staying in.

The man traveled light. Within a couple of hours he’d moved his few belongings into the spare bedroom. A king-size bed, which took up most of the small bedroom, a dresser, a lamp. His laptop and a flat-screen TV. A few boxes that couldn’t contain much of anything.

“You forget I flew fighter jets. Tiny cramped spaces.”

“You didn’t live in them, did you?”

“Nah, I wish.” He grinned. “That would have been cool.”

That boyish grin went all the way to her womb.

One of the boxes was open and on top were a few framed photos. She picked one of them up. A fighter jet in the background, Matt and Stone suited up. “You and Stone.”

“Yep.”

“Where was this taken?”

“Afghanistan.”

He didn’t smile and didn’t elaborate. Of course he wouldn’t. She’d already learned from Stone that part of their lives was off-limits to discussion. She picked up another one, a photo of him and Stone and another guy she didn’t recognize. “Who’s this?”

He glanced over her shoulder. “That’s Levi. He’s still in.”

“Handsome guy.”

“Yeah. He thinks so, too.”

He didn’t hold a candle to Matt in that department, but of course that was only her opinion. She picked up another photo, not done discovering Matt through a journey of a few snapshots. Images, as she realized all too well, told a story. And everyone had a story to tell. She picked up another framed picture of a little boy missing his two front teeth. It was obviously a school photo. His hair was mussed up like he’d just come back from recess, an adorably devilish grin on his face.

“Is this Hunter?”

“Yeah, when he was six. It’s probably my favorite picture of him.”

“He sure looks like you.” She put the photo down on Matt’s dresser and cleared her throat. “Okay. Maybe we should discuss, uh, you know, some kind of...you know.”

“Some kind of...?”

There went the IQ again. “Rules, Matt. Rules.”

“I’m not big on rules. You should know this about me.”

“G-ground rules.” She continued to stammer and sputter like the village idiot. “House rules.”

“Ah.” Matt winked. “You don’t want me to ruin your game.”

“My game? No, I mean I don’t want to ruin your game.”

He put up a hand. “Wait. Let me see if I understand you. You’re saying I can bring a woman over here if I want?”

“Sure.” Her hand traced the smooth edge of his dresser. “I don’t want you to neglect your...needs. Or anything.”

Oh God, was she blushing? Please let him say he won’t bring a woman over. She’d offered but she didn’t want him to accept. Was it too late to take it back?

He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s generous of you.”

“You’re helping me out in a big way.” Probably not in the way she’d prefer, but she didn’t want to be greedy. That would be wrong.

“And you’re helping me. You should have seen my landlord’s face when I told her I wouldn’t be renewing my lease.”

“Oh, good! Anyway, I don’t want you to feel like this isn’t your house, too. As long as you’re here, this is your house.”

“So kick off my shoes and stay awhile?”

She lifted a shoulder. “This is all I’m saying.”

“Sounds good. And, Sarah?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going to be bringing any women over. But thanks for the offer.”

Offer? She hadn’t made an offer yet. Had she been handing out offers, she might have asked Matt if he’d consider door number two: Sarah Mcallister, thirty years old, single, no kids. Dark brown hair, green eyes. Five foot eight in stocking feet. Comes with her own toothbrush. Doesn’t steal the covers.

“So I guess if you want to see a woman, you’ll go over to her place.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you bring waders for this fishing expedition?”

Busted. She had to remember she wasn’t dealing with the type of man-child she dated back home in Fort Collins. When she could get a date. Matt was nothing if not direct.

“Uh...”

“For the record, I’m not seeing anyone. How about you?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I’m not seeing anyone, either.”

“That’s what I thought, but as long as we’re clearing the air...”

“Air cleared!” She waved her arms and moved into the kitchen.

He followed her. “I’m going to get started on those floors in the hallway first. Before one of us trips.” Already making himself at home, he reached for a glass from the cupboard.

“Sounds good, and I’ll help.”

“No worries. I’m going to need to rip up everything you did. Don’t take this the wrong way, but carpentry is not your strong suit.” He filled his glass with water from the sink.

She laughed like a loon. “I know.”

“So, I’m good.” He leaned back against the countertop and guzzled water.

She watched as his throat muscles moved and constricted, fascinated. He had a powerful neck, and she watched the way he gripped the glass in his big hand, like it was never getting away from him. She found the way he drank water to be incredibly sexy. Almost sensual. And also, she was probably going to need to visit a psychiatrist soon. She’d never found a man’s Adam’s apple particularly stimulating but there you go. She was a very sick woman.

She pulled her gaze away from his neck and forced herself to pick up a spoon and pretend she would do something with it. “But I feel like I should help.”

“Nah, this is why I’m here.” He set the empty glass in the sink and his shoulder bumped hers. “Let me earn my ten percent.”

“Fifteen percent, you mean.”

He grinned. “Thought I might slip that by you.”

She giggled like a schoolgirl, but then she remembered...underwear. Shit! She almost ran into Matt trying to race past him to the bathroom.

“What the hell?” He moved out of her way.

Of course today had to be underwear day. She had all her thongs and bras airing out in the bathroom she hadn’t had to share with anyone else for weeks. Naturally he was right behind her, probably wondering if she’d accidentally set his fifteen percent of the house on fire. She snatched red push-up bras and satiny black thongs off the towel bars as fast as her two hands could move, but it still wasn’t fast enough.

If the unsuccessful way he tried to contain his grin was any indication, he’d seen everything.

“Sorry.” She clutched her bras and panties in both hands. “I forgot. I’ve been living alone for a while.”

Matt shook his head slowly, his large body filling the doorway. “That’s...not a problem.”

“I’ll just put these in my bedroom.”

She couldn’t look at him as she rushed past him. They’d never even kissed and he’d already seen her panties.

An hour later, Matt had set himself up in the hallway and ripped up all of her handiwork. Sarah kept busy by keeping Shackles away from nails and other life-threatening injuries, letting him outside in the backyard and back in again about a hundred times per hour. She needed a dog door, but it was low on her list of priorities. For now, she was Shackles’s door woman.

“How long have you had him?” Matt asked.

She’d just let Shackles in again from the backyard and hadn’t heard Matt come up behind her. “It’s been over a month now. The adoptive family who brought him out with Paws and Pilots changed their mind. Guess their kid turned out to be allergic.”

“It was good of you to take him in.”

Matt had worked up a sweat and his white T-shirt stuck to him like a second skin. His handyman tool belt hung low on his hips.

“Emily has a way of being pretty persuasive.”

“Stone has shared that with me more than once.” Matt grinned and squatted down. Shackles came right up to him, sniffing. “I would have taken him except for my old landlord. No pets allowed.”

“He likes you.” Who wouldn’t? She imagined all pets and children would find him approachable. He looked so safe, so solid and...solid. She swallowed.

“I didn’t think you’d want to take him in since you’re moving.” He scratched between Shackles’s ears and her dog melted into Matt, rubbing against his leg.

“We have dogs in Colorado, too.”

“Right, of course you do.” He gave Shackles one last pat and then straightened to his full height. “And this lucky little guy gets to go back with you.”

It had to happen sooner or later and had been the plan all along. She had to go back to Colorado. Even though she’d enjoyed her freedom out here, with Mom safely back home where she’d learned she wouldn’t die if her daughter wasn’t a thirty-minute drive away. But Sarah was a freelance forensic artist with a nice regular gig in Fort Collins. She was supposed to get back to all that at some point. Back to her life, which, even if it was a little boring, was at least stable. Certain.

When Matt went back to the flooring, Sarah followed Shackles outside again and this time made her way to her father’s garden shed. She unlatched the hinge and stepped inside, clicking the overhead lightbulb. Out here, she’d stored all of her father’s mementos right alongside the old lawnmower and rusty garden tools. These were all the items she wanted to keep. Maybe it didn’t make sense to anyone else, surely not to Stone, who’d called most of it junk. And she had to admit, none of it had been exactly what she’d been searching for. An old fishing pole, a worn-out set of skis and poles, a broken snowboard. Numerous model airplanes. A framed velvet picture of Dogs Playing Poker. She smiled, remembering when Stone had requested to be able to keep the picture, in front of Emily. The poor girl’s eyes had widened in horror but she’d smiled and agreed until Stone told her he’d been joking. Emily was too nice sometimes.

Not like Sarah. Back home, she’d been called “prickly” and that was the nice word for her. Another more common word rhymed with witch. Behind her back, she understood coworkers feared her, and not just because they were afraid she had the power to make the likeness of their face appear on a forensic sketch of a criminal suspect. As if she would ever be that unprofessional. Please.

The plain truth was that it wouldn’t hurt her to be nicer and more open. Less bitter and prickly. She was working on it.

Her recent sketch work was in a corner next to the easel. All she’d worked on in the months she’d been here. Mostly landscapes, because far be it from her to get too personal. Anyway, she’d had her fill of portraits. Wide eyes, narrow eyes, threatening eyes. Thin lips. Thick lips. Pug nose. Crooked nose. Shaggy-haired strangers. She was sick of drawing alleged criminals based on a witness’s description. They almost never got the eyes right, which meant Sarah never got them exactly right, either.

Still, she’d been one of the best sketch artists in Fort Collins. Once caught, the suspect’s actual photo would be almost a duplicate of her sketch, except for the eyes. So she got criminals almost right time and again. Unlike men in her personal life. Her handful of friends would say it was because she was too picky. Sarah would say it was because she no longer believed in fairy tales. At thirty, all she wanted was a grown-up relationship between two consenting adults who could bring each other a little bit of pleasure. She didn’t need long-term.

And, at least for the short time she had left here, she wondered if maybe Matt would be game for a little harmless fun.