Scarecrow

by Zoe Dawson

  “Mr. Porter?” she asked, annoyed at how breathless she sounded.

  His face gave nothing away, not even his surprise. “Ma’am, who wants to know?”

  Her breath got all tight again at his dreamy slow way of talking. She couldn’t afford to get sidetracked, not by his sweet little mum or her gorgeous, savvy son.

  “Scarlett Jones. I’m your mum’s neighbor, and she couldn’t find her keys, so I volunteered to pick you up. She was upset.”

  That got a rise out of him. His mouth tightened, and he looked away. There was guilt there. A lot of it.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he drawled, and the effect of his calm, pillow-talk voice shivered through her.

  He looked over her shoulder and twisted his body to get around her. She turned to find him hauling a suitcase off the conveyor belt. Pulling up the handle, he brushed past her. “I’m afraid you wasted your time.”

  Wasted her time… Of all the ungrateful jerks. “Hold on a minute. I’m offering you a ride back to Bellise. It took me an hour and forty-five to get here.”

  “Yeah, sugar, I’m aware, but I’m not going to ride with you. I don’t know you, and I can rent my own car.”

  He moved fast, and she was practically running beside him. Of all the nerve. She stopped as he continued on, no doubt headed for the rental area. She huffed a breath and watched his gorgeous backside disappear around the bend of the hall.

  Like hell,” she murmured, hopping on one foot then the other to remove her sandals, sprinting toward his last location. She rounded the bend and ran right into him, bounced off him like a rubber ball. She would have landed heavily on her tush if he hadn’t reached out with lightning speed and grabbed her upper arms to keep her upright—upright and mashed against him.

  Scarecrow hung onto her, not because she was in danger of falling, but because she felt so damn good against him. Probably not his smartest move, but he wasn’t exactly thinking with the right head at the moment. This was the blonde his father had shouted about on the phone before his death. Scarecrow was here to handle his mom’s care and figure out her competency and the next steps he would need to take to keep her safe and comfortable. But while he was here, he was going to find out what was going on with this woman and why she had leased his parents’ land. And why his father had been so…affected by her? That was the question that was burning through him.

  Who the hell was she, and what kind of connection did she have with his dad?

  He couldn’t remember the last time he was this undone. He stayed cool, stayed calm for a living, part of the job. But this woman. When her hands had moved to his waist, fisted in his shirt, and held onto him like she had no intention of letting go, he couldn’t think.

  Which really sucked. He didn’t know her. He didn’t trust her. After seeing her up close and personal, he wanted to know more about her, and not just because of his dad’s reaction.

  Yeah, other than the sweat trickling down his back and his hardening dick, he was cool. Getting more than a little turned on, he knew he should pull away. But he didn’t want to. This little cream puff with her sexy British accent had something up her sleeve. Call it his badass warrior intuition. His gut told him she was trouble.

  In more ways than one.

  Then, goddammit, she proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  Still clinging to him, still plastered against him, she tilted her head back, sending the loose white blonde strands from her ponytail sliding over his arm. With a soft exhalation that shivered against his jaw, she looked at him, caught his gaze with her own, and knocked him for a loop. Bam. Just like that.

  He prided himself on his timing. It was impeccable, but he was slow on the uptake here. Looking away would have solved everything, but he was too late.

  Those deep violet-blue eyes saw into him, like a probe he couldn’t stop. His pulse picked up. His instincts went on full, SEAL alert. But, fuck him, he still didn’t move. That would have been much too easy, and every SEAL worth his salt knew the only easy day was yesterday. So, he took the hard way, his gaze looking right back at her, sliding over her delicate features, his awareness of her body seeping past his barriers, letting the rush of arousal take him for the first time in a long while.

  His hands tightened around her arms where he held her. Hell, he didn’t need this, he told himself, not for a minute. But, goddammit, she was beautiful, and she was in his arms, all warm and lovely, with forget-me-not eyes and a mouth that had been his undoing from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.

  Her eyes flashed a hot, smoky indigo and she scowled. “Why did you stop like that?” Her tone had become quite clipped, but her skin tone was so warm. And her gaze couldn’t seem to stop studying his face like it was a work of art.

  But he was the one looking at something very artful. Damn if he didn’t love her crisp British accent filled with a polite, proper impatience only a true Brit could pull off. It brought out his rascally bad boy that had never outgrown his mischievous ways.

  A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “Ah, sugar, just gauging your dedication and persistence is all,” he drawled. “I changed my mind. Where’s your car?” He thought about keeping her close and discovering what he could.

  Her features went flat, and with a graceful move, she backed away from him. He immediately wanted her in his up close and personal space again.

  She was quite aware of his good ole’ boy act, and her expression showed it. “You may have all the time in the world to faff about, Mr. Porter, but I’m busy, and this is something I’m doing for your mum. Please do be serious.”

  He cocked his hip, and his smile grew broader. Suddenly he felt much lighter.

  “I’m always dead serious, Miss Scarlett, ma’am.” He navigated a world that was filled with civil wars, rebel forces, gangs, drug lords, innocent hostages, and not-so-innocent politicians. He’d seen it all, but he’d never seen anyone like her.

  He’d never seen anyone who looked like she’d walked out of the pages of some fashion magazine with her white midriff-baring cropped tank top revealing smooth, skin and taut muscles. Her pale skin showed every change in her disposition from a pink blush when she was interested to a fit-to-be-tied flush when she was flustered. That pink matched the pink of the loose-legged, high-waisted shorts that—damn him—were all tied up with a pretty floppy bow at her slim waist.

  His fingers itched to untie it.

  Then there were the legs that went on for miles ending in…her bare feet with matching pink polish. His eyes tracked back up in a slow, sensual slide to the white high-heeled sandals hanging by a slim bit of leather from her slender fingers.

  He gestured toward the barely-there footwear. “Shouldn’t we mosey along? We can’t faff the day away.”

  Her eyes narrowed at his mocking, but he just reached out his hand, offering his support for her to put her sandals back on.

  Scowling, she took the offer, her palm shocking across his, warm and as soft as butter. He curled his fingers around her, giving her the foundation she needed.

  Bending down with the kind of grace he never even knew existed, she slipped each on in turn. Then before he could step away, she elbowed him in the ribs with another elegant move. The collision he barely felt, but fuck, he was beginning to like her attitude.

  “Right then, Yank, let’s mosey.”

  She turned and headed toward the doors that led outside. Damn if her retreating form wasn’t as intriguing as her front view. She was all swinging hips and pink curves, and her confident runway walk meant business.

  Fuck, he wanted to faff all right. Faff the entire rest of the afternoon away untying any bows she happened to have on her person. It beat facing reality. He’d had enough of it to last himself for a lifetime. He was hungry suddenly, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with food and everything to do with an English crumpet residing so conveniently across the road from him.

  But there was a balance he had to maintain, responsibilities he had to deal with no mat
ter how much he wished he didn’t have to man up, and decisions that had to be made. He’d put this off long enough. The missions he insisted on carrying out—the one to protect Blue and the one to neutralize another warhead—were done. He had to put the on-going problem of the two missing warheads out of his mind. He had to leave that job to his teammates, to Ruckus who was dedicated to cleaning up that terrible breach in security, and to Kat Harrington who had the might of the CIA and the full force of the White House behind her. It was time he took care of his business at home. He wasn’t just a warrior; he was a son, and he was a man who owned up to his responsibilities. Hoo-yah.

  He followed her out of the airport, his thoughts and emotions jumbled. His guilt had played a hard role in his dissatisfaction the last few months, ever since his dad died. He hadn’t been able to reconcile his inability—because of the job he chose—to be there for his parents. He rubbed the back of his neck as they crossed from the airport into the garage. There was shame there for shirking his responsibilities. He was raised better than that.

  He gritted his teeth, pushing back the rage and using the fear that reared its ugly head. The rage he had to suppress at home because there was no outlet for it like there was in the field, in combat. The fear wasn’t new either, or maybe it had been hidden inside his anger. Now he wasn’t sure. But he knew to use it instead of letting it run roughshod over him.

  “You can store that in the boot.” She broke his concentration, and his gaze collided with hers, the tingle of electricity coursing every time they made eye contact. He raised his brows. “I suppose you know it as the trunk,” she said with a tilt of her head.

  She pressed the key on her ring, and the back popped open. He hefted his suitcase inside, then closed it with a quick push. Readjusting the laptop case that hung from a strap on his shoulder, he walked to the passenger side, opening the door. “I can drive if you like.”

  “I’m good,” she said. “You look tired.”

  He wasn’t going to comment on that. He’d been on so many missions in the last few months, he lost count. Crossing time zones took some getting used to, but there had been many, many more awake hours, foregoing sleep to get the job done and then a few sleepless nights since he’d gotten home.

  He shrugged and got into the seat, the supple leather a cushion to his tired body. She started the car and before he knew it, he was out. He came awake at a gas station on the highway on the way to Bellise, a good-sized town just south of Lafayette and at the edge of Cajun Country.

  He breathed deep as he got out of the car to stretch his legs. Even in the spring, the potential of the heat of summer hung like a promise, and it would soon be pressing down on everything. He’d forgotten…damn, how he’d forgotten the untamed beauty in the vegetation that crowded civilization, the threat of indigenous growth in all the verdant green.

  Sweat trickled from between his shoulder blades down his back to soak into the waistband of his pants.

  Scarecrow took it all in, absorbed the quiet of it, let the peace of it seep into him. The sun shone, butter yellow, a soft, indistinct ball on the far side of the early afternoon haze. He looked toward the water where mist floated in gauzy strips and entwined through the trees like wispy ribbons.

  “It’s brilliant,” Scarlett said next to him. He knew from experience that when a Brit said “brilliant,” it was meant as something excellent or beautiful. And it was, beautiful. He turned to look at her, and she handed him a bottle of water. He cracked it open and took a swig. When he didn’t answer, she pulled her gaze from the stirring scenery to him. “I guess you were tired after all.”

  “I reckon I was. Thanks for the water.”

  “No problem. I was parched, too, and we needed gas.”

  “Can I pay—”

  She waved her hand and took a sip of water. Back in the car, he finished off the liquid and tossed the bottle into the back.

  “You’re in the military. I’d guess special ops.”

  He wasn’t surprised. This woman was savvy and smart as well as being drop-dead beautiful.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The way you carry yourself. The way you handle even small details. Especially the way you scope out your environment as if assessing all possible threats.” She pulled back onto the road and accelerated. It wouldn’t be long before he got home.

  “My mom didn’t tell you?”

  “No, she hasn’t been herself since your dad died.” She glanced over at him and unexpectedly, she touched his forearm. Electric sparks flew and the air in the car got thicker than the air outside, expanding until he felt his body come alive, more alive than he’d ever felt in his life. The silence between them stretched out, and she flexed her fingers as if she was feeling something tangible between them, too. “I’m aware from your expression that it’s hard to hear that about your mum. I’m sure it concerns you.”

  She moved her hand and he noticed how she rubbed it against her upper leg. His eyes slid over her taut thigh and calf down to her pretty pink toes. His thoughts were headed in the damn wrong direction. He wasn’t here for this…whatever it was.

  He had to chalk it up to the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in quite some time. He had an on again, off again thing with Sarah, a waitress at Sam’s Bar, but he’d been caught up in the team ever since everything went to hell. Tank and Echo had been injured and Blue missing in action. It had been difficult to connect with anyone when he was so focused on getting Blue back and worrying about Tank and Echo.

  To top it off, he really didn’t enjoy one-night stands, and Sarah was probably mad as hell at him about now. There were fences to mend with her if he wanted to get back in her bed. But he wasn’t sure at this point when he could do that or even if he wanted to. He was here for however long it took to make sure his mom was going to be okay. Then when he got back, if his team had managed to secure the missing warheads, there would be another mission. There was always another mission.

  Best to be smart and not start something, although that was exactly where his mind was right now. But maybe the lady wasn’t interested. She had touched him, but it had been in sympathy, not an invitation.

  Damn, he was tired.

  “I am concerned about my mom. I could tell from our recent conversations that she’s not doing well.” He bit his lip and she glanced at him, taking in a soft breath, then looking away. He didn’t usually talk about what he did. People at home knew he was in the navy, but not that he was special ops. “I am in the military.”

  She smiled, the corner of her mouth looking delectable from where he was sitting. The scent of her filled up the car, a fresh, sweet citrus scent to make his senses come alive. She brushed back her white blonde hair, intensifying her fragrance. He breathed deep, applying everything he knew about staying focused, but it didn’t help.

  “What branch?”

  “The Navy.”

  “Ah, SEAL, yeah.”

  He nodded.

  “Call name?”

  That piqued his interest once more. How did she know about that? “Scarecrow.”

  “Hmmm,” she said, glancing at him again, her brows raised. “I bet you scare more than crows,” she murmured softly.

  “You have no idea,” he said, and she glanced at him again, that pretty brain behind those beautiful eyes working double time, then she faced forward to watch the road.

  “It suits you. Very country boy.”

  “And you? You look like a city girl. What are you doing in Red River Parish, darlin’?” He discovered that point blank was the way to move forward.

  “Chili farming. I needed a change.” She didn’t miss a beat, and her answer was smooth without a hint of hesitation. She was as savvy as he’d pegged her, and he had to wonder what she was really hiding, because even though she was very good with her answers, his gut was telling him that she wasn’t some freaking farmer. She reminded him of…Kat. Almost too cool. Too smooth with all the right answers. But what would a foreign spook be doing her
e in his hometown? It certainly wasn’t a hotbed of international intrigue.

  Maybe he was losing his mind, or his instincts were skewed because he hadn’t gotten enough sleep in the last few days. Maybe she was just farming chilis. He’d reserve his judgment right now.

  “A change from what?”

  “Oh, look, your mum is waiting for you on the porch,” Scarlett said as she pulled into his driveway. “She’s obviously very happy to have you home. Don’t let me keep you.”

  Smiling, he unbuckled his seatbelt. “We’ll have time to get better acquainted. I’ll visit after I get settled, see your chili setup.”

  She leaned over the console, her voice whisper-soft, her gaze darkening with interest, her breasts pushing toward the scoop top of her barely-there ribbed tank. As she spoke, an errant strand of her hair fell in a silken curve to her shoulder. “I’d be happy to give you a tour.”

  Something inside Scarecrow turned over, and it was all he could do not to bridge the gap and take her mouth with his, to slide his fingers up into the silver and gold of her hair and bend her into his kiss. He wondered if there was a name for this kind of reaction to a woman. Dumbass might cover it. Horny fit the bill. When she looked at him all forget-me-not purple with that challenging look, he wanted nothing more than to give over to the power building inside him.

  Ordering himself to slow it the hell down, way down, he stayed put on his side of the car and did no more than hold her gaze, letting her know he wasn’t the kind of man she could wrap around her little finger.

  Damn right, he was a SEAL, and there was something else going on here.

  He studied her a moment as his mom spotted them and started down the steps toward the car. Scarlett was good, but he was a master at reading people. She wasn’t happy at all about him coming over to her place. But he was going to find out what she was hiding and make sure it wasn’t going to impact his mom. He wouldn’t allow that.