What I Love About You (11 page)

“I wanted to be a hoss.”

“Did you tell her you wanted to be a horse?” Needless to say, the house had remained vacant now for the last three years.

“Yes. She said if I wanted to play farm with her and Madison, I had to be a chicken.”

Natalie stuck her cold hands in her pockets. Playground politics could be brutal. “Well, that’s not very nice.”

“So I told her she was a big poopy head.”

“Charlotte!”

She turned her face and looked up. “What?”

“You can’t call people that.”

She shrugged her shoulders inside her puffy coat. “Blake doesn’t care if I call him a poopy head.”

“You called Blake a poopy head?” They stepped up on the curb and started down the paved trail to the park.

“Yep.”

“When?”

“Umm . . . that one day.” They cut across the cold grass to a colder bench.

“What one day?”

“That one day when he picked up the poop.” She thought a moment longer and added, “The day I told him about my dad.”

“Oh.” The day of her Halloween hangover. The day after he’d kissed her for the first time.

“Can Spa-ky get off his leash now?”

“Yep.” Natalie bent down to unhook the dog as Charlotte took off her mittens and worked a ball from her pocket. “You have to stay where I can see you. Remember?”

“I wememeber.”

Natalie stood. “
Re
member with the R sound.”

“Re re,” Charlotte practiced and handed Natalie the ball to put on her mitten. “
Re
member.”

“Good job.” Natalie handed the ball back. “We’re not going to stay too long because it’s cold.”

Sparky saw the ball and barked like a lunatic as Charlotte cocked back her arm and threw. It sailed through the air for about fifteen feet, and the puppy pounced on it the second it touched the ground. He looked at Charlotte, then took off with the neon green ball in his mouth.

“Come back, Spa-ky!” She patted her knees and the dog stopped and looked at her. He turned his head to the side and dropped the ball. “Good dog,” Charlotte said as she walked toward him. Of course the “good dog” grabbed the ball in his mouth and took off again. Charlotte ran after, calling the puppy’s name.

“I see that dog isn’t any better behaved since before I left,” Blake said from behind Natalie.

She turned and watched him move toward her and was surprised to see him. Surprised that he’d actually shown up.

He walked toward her wearing his tactical boots and Levi’s. The worn denim cupped his package, and she raised her gaze to his brown jacket with pockets on the chest and arms. It had darker brown shapes on the shoulders as if it had once had several patches and he’d ripped them off. His scruffy beard made him look a little ruthless and wildly hot.

She felt heat rise up her neck to her cheeks, and her stomach got a fuzzy feeling inside. “No.” She didn’t want a fuzzy feeling. Fuzzy feelings led to other feelings. Purely physical feelings and thoughts and urges. “He’s still naughty.”

“Blake!” Charlotte called out, and waved. “I knew you’d come.”

“I told you I would.” He stopped next to Natalie and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “How’s business at the photo shop?”

She frowned at him. His attempt at small talk was actually a sore subject with her. “I’m lucky I have any business after what you did in my store.”

“No one saw what we were doing. The door was shut.”

She felt her cheeks burn hotter as she looked up at him through rounded eyes.

His gaze followed Charlotte and Sparky’s antics. “When you want to take up where we left off,” he said as if he was talking about the weather, “let me know.”

“I wasn’t talking about
that
.” Good Lord. “You yelled at Frankie about his monster junk pictures in front of Brandy. Brandy told all her friends at Truly High and before—”

“Wait!” he interrupted, and looked down at her. “The school here is called Truly High?”

“Yes.” Several times throughout the history of the town, someone had petitioned the city to change the name. To no avail.

Blake chuckled. “No shit?”

She glanced at Charlotte, who had managed to wrestle the ball from Sparky. “Anyway, now the whole town knows about Frankie’s monster junk pictures.”

“Isn’t that what he wanted?”

“It’s not what I wanted.” She placed a hand on the front of her wool coat. “Now everyone thinks that I look at their pictures.”

“You do.”

“For quality assurance purposes!”

“That’s what you say.” He chuckled. “Is your business down?”

“Not yet.” He seemed as worried about her ethical business practices as Lilah had been. And speaking of business . . . She couldn’t remember what he said he did for a living exactly. He’d said he was a retired Navy SEAL, and some sort of contractor. “How was your job?” she asked as she brushed her hair behind her ear. She was definitely prying.

“Good. Went down as well as could be expected.”

That was it? She watched Charlotte run and Sparky chase her. “Where did you go?”

“Yemen.”

She looked up at him out of the corners of her eyes. His beard made his lips more noticeable. “Yemen?” She wasn’t exactly sure where that country was located. “What were you doing in Yemen?”

“Have you heard about John Morton?” He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to Charlotte and Sparky. “The oil executive kidnapped in Turkey a few weeks ago?”

“Vaguely.” She didn’t watch the news. Sometimes she turned it on while she made dinner and did laundry. She was usually too distracted to pay attention, but she’d have to be dead not to have heard about the American businessman held hostage. “I think he was rescued a few days ago.”

“Saturday. In a compound in South Yemen.”

“Wait.” She put her hand on the sleeve of his jacket and he turned toward her. “Are you saying you rescued that guy?”

He looked down at her hand. “I was part of the extraction team.”

He was certainly big enough, and the timing of his return matched, but she was a woman who didn’t believe everything a man told her. Just a few days ago, Chris Wilfong had tried to sell her a fake lottery ticket outside the Maverick. He’d wanted only five thousand dollars for a ten-thousand-dollar scratch-off, like she was that dumb. Then there was Michael. He’d lied to her for years.

“You don’t believe me?” He rocked back on his heels and frowned. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“You swear too much.” She dropped her hand to her side. “I actually don’t know what you do for a living.”

“I told you I’m a private military contractor.”

“What does a military contractor do?”

“We’re highly trained specialists.”

That still didn’t really answer her question. “What is
your
specialty?”

He thought a moment. “I’m tasked with a lot of things, but my specialty is hostage extraction.”

He could be somewhat charming, but she couldn’t see him sweet-talking kidnappers. “Like a negotiator?”

“If I’m called in, Natalie, negotiations are over.”

Oh. “Like a sniper?”

“No. Not
like
a sniper.” He scratched his scruffy cheek, then shoved his hand in his coat pocket. “I am a sniper. I told you that.”

“No you didn’t.” She glanced at Charlotte, then back at him. “You said you’re a retired Navy SEAL. I think I would have remembered the word ‘sniper.’ ”

He gazed down at her through those watchful gray eyes of his. “Now you know,” he said, his voice lowered on the breeze.

Yeah, now she knew, but she really didn’t know anything else. She knew he’d lived in Virginia, cooked out of a Crock-Pot, and had a brother. He’d never been married and didn’t ever see himself married. That was pretty much it, except now she knew he was a retired Navy SEAL and a sniper. Somehow it fit him. Sometimes coolly detached. Sometimes intense. Al-ways alert.

Silence filled the cold air between them and she struggled with something to say. She couldn’t exactly ask him how many people he’d . . . sniped. Kind of. “I’m a fairly good shot with my .22 revolver.” He watched her through those cool gray eyes of his, making her even more rattled. “Well, I mean, good enough to shoot the tail on a beaver target.”

A wrinkle furrowed his brow as if he was in pain. “That’s not very good, Sweet Cheeks. That’s hardly a flesh wound.” He dropped his hands from his hips and walked toward Charlotte before she could argue.

Her gaze moved down his wide shoulders to the bottom of his coat and Levi’s-covered butt. Not just every man could make Levi’s look good. Warm lust brushed across her belly and breasts. Some men had flat butts. Like her dad. And Michael, for all his good looks, had always had a disappointing backside. Kind of long instead of perfectly rounded like Blake’s. She lifted her shoulders and buried her nose in the collar of her peacoat. She wondered how many squats he did daily.

Her attraction was purely physical, and she tilted her head to the side. It wasn’t her fault, really. There were just so many stare-worthy places on Blake, so many yummy, lick-worthy parts, she was afraid she might actually drool.

Charlotte screamed and Natalie looked up to see Sparky jump on Charlotte’s back and flatten her on the ground. Natalie rushed forward as Sparky bit the horn on Charlotte’s unicorn hat and shook it like a chew toy.

Blake got to the dog first. “Off,” he commanded, and lowered to one knee. Charlotte’s scream got higher-pitched and she flailed about. He pried the horn out of the puppy’s mouth and asked, “Are you hurt, Charlotte?”

“Yes!” she wailed.

Natalie knelt down and rolled her daughter onto her back. “Where are you hurt?”

“My knee. Spa-ky knocked—me—me down and bit my hat.”

Natalie turned her attention to Charlotte’s legs and the little hole in her purple leggings. The hole hadn’t been there before, but there wasn’t any blood. “It looks like you fell hard on your knee.”

Charlotte sat up and tears poured down her cold cheeks. “I think it’s bw-woken.”

“I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Uh-huh.” She rubbed the back of her gloved hand under her nose. “It hurts.”

“Let me see,” Blake said, and put the dog aside. For once, the puppy sat and didn’t move. “I’ve had some experience with broken knees.”

Charlotte swallowed and managed between sobs, “You have?”

“Yep. I had to have surgery on mine. I have a big scar.” He lifted Charlotte’s leg and bent her knee a little bit. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes.” Charlotte nodded. “I don’t w-ant surgery and a scar!”

Blake’s gray gaze met hers and his mouth twitched a little like he was trying not to laugh. “I don’t think you’re going to need surgery.”

As Natalie looked into his eyes, at the humor creasing the corners and his scruffy beard on his cheeks, the air between them seemed to change. At least for Natalie. It got thicker and her lungs burned. Her pulse pounded
boom-boom-boom
in her chest and ears. Blake turned his attention to Charlotte’s leg, and his big hands carefully touched her knee and shin. “That was a pretty nasty fall,” he said, and shifted her booted foot from side to side. “Does that hurt?”

She shook her head and sniffed. “I need a Band-Aid.”

“Definitely a big Ace bandage. I have four. We can wrap both legs.” He looked so serious, Natalie wasn’t quite sure if he was joking. “Maybe we can find more to wrap your arms like a mummy.”

“Mom has Tinker Bell Band-Aids. I don’t want to be a mummy.”

Blake’s deep laugh started low in his chest and worked its way up. It warmed the air around them. At least it felt that way to Natalie as she breathed his laughter into her lungs. It warmed up her chest and burned her heart like a brand. She sat back on her behind as if the wind had been knocked from her and gasped.

“Are you feeling better?” Blake asked, and she almost answered before she realized he was talking to Charlotte. Before she realized he didn’t notice that the world had shifted beneath them. “Are you going to be okay?”

No! No, she wasn’t going to be okay. How could he not feel the shift and change? It overwhelmed and pressed in on her from all sides. She was falling in love with a man who didn’t believe in marriage or relationships and had never felt emotion stronger than lust.

She turned her face away before he did notice. “Can you stand, sugar?” she asked Charlotte.

“Maybe.” Charlotte wiped the tears from one cheek and Natalie rose and helped her to her feet. “It still hurts.”

“I know.” She wiped Charlotte’s other cheek with the arm of her coat. She couldn’t fall in love with Blake. It was unacceptable. “But we have to walk home.”

“I can’t, Mama.” Often it was hard to tell if Charlotte was really hurt or if she was just turning on the tears. Natalie shoved aside the scary feelings entwining her heart and concentrated on her child. Maybe Charlotte was hurt worse than Natalie suspected. She’d been obsessing over the neighbor and was a horrible mother.

She looked at Charlotte’s knee again, but still didn’t see blood. “I didn’t drive.”

“You have to carry me.”

“I can’t carry you all the way home.”

“I’ll pack her out,” Blake volunteered as he scratched the puppy’s head between the ears. “You can’t weigh any more than a rucksack.”

There it was again. The unacceptable little shift she was going to completely ignore. “You don’t have to carry her all the way home.” She picked a few pieces of grass from the yarn in Charlotte’s hat, quite sure that if she gave her daughter several more moments, she’d be okay to walk.

“It’s only about a quarter of a mile and I’ve carried a lot heavier.” He handed over the leash. “I had to sprint a hundred yards with Mouse Mousley on my back during SQT. Believe me, for a SEAL, he was a lard ass.”

Charlotte gasped. “That’s a bad word.”

“ ‘Lard ass’ isn’t a bad word.” He turned and motioned for Charlotte to climb on his back. “It’s a sad condition.”

“Can I say it?”

“No!” Natalie helped Charlotte wrap her arms around his neck and lifted her as he locked his elbows around her knees. She smelled the cool breeze in his hair and on his skin, and it was all so unreal and confusing. “It’s not a condition. It’s not like cellulite. It’s a bad word.”