“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor. You have an amazing daughter.”
Mr. Kingston’s chest puffed up, his pride clearly evident. He peered over at Maggie with a bright smile. “We’re awfully proud of her.”
“Blah, blah,” Cash said. “Can we eat? Starving here.”
Mrs. Kingston waved her hands. “Everyone inside. Maggie, put Roni in Joss’s spot.”
Way leaned over again, dipping his head closer. “You’re between me and Shep. I’ll save you from his horrendous flirting.”
Before they got to the table, a cell phone rang, immediately followed by a second one.
“And here we go,” Mrs. Kingston said.
“Sorry, Mom.” Maggie and Cash both dug for their phones.
“Really?” Mrs. Kingston said. “We can’t get through one dinner?”
Maggie poked at her screen, then rolled her bottom lip out. “Afraid not. Move it, Cash. It’s a SWAT call.”
In less than three seconds, the two of them were hustling to the door. Maggie met Roni’s eye and snapped her fingers.
“Go,” Roni said. “I’ll Uber.”
“No you won’t,” Way said. “I’ll get you home after we eat.”
“There,” Mrs. Kingston waved her to the dining room. “It’s all settled.”
Alrighty then. Apparently, even without Maggie, the one who’d brought her to this shindig, Roni was staying. She looked up at Way. “Thank you.”
For a few quick seconds, he held her gaze and oh, oh, oh, she could get lost there. She held her breath, let her body take some pleasure from a man’s eyes on her in a way that, for the first time in a long time, she welcomed.
“Keep me updated.”
The sound of Jay’s voice broke the spell and Roni looked away, folding her arms to give her something to do with her hands before she decided to put them all over Way. Lord, had anyone noticed her staring?
“I will,” Maggie said. “Love you all. Let me know who wins.”
Then they were gone and the Kingston clan went about their business of consuming a meal fit for royalty.
This, Roni would enjoy.
* * *
After helping with dinner dishes, Roni was ordered out of the kitchen to the fire pit, where the men argued over just how high the flames should soar.
Men. So very simple, yet so complicated.
In case the group had what Roni liked to think of as reserved seats, she waited to see where everyone landed and then chose one of the vacant chairs. Like most things for a girl without a family, she’d grown accustomed to not having a place. As a kid, it bothered her, left her in tears, half the time. Once she’d hit her preteen years, she’d hardened to it. Learned to squash those feelings. God knew they weren’t serving her.
Now, after dinner with the Kingstons, that old longing roared back. She’d missed so much.
Don’t go there.
Roni stared at the fire, letting the heat warm her as evening air chilled her cheeks. She folded her arms, wishing she’d worn more than a cotton button-down over the tank top Shep had admired.
Beside her, Way reached and grabbed a colorful Mexican blanket from the stack sitting on a side table.
He handed it to her and pointed. “Put that over you. It gets cold out here.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Kingston exited the house carrying a giant tray of desserts. Behind her, Riley supplied another tray with a carafe and mugs. “Dutch coffee, people. I think I’ve got you all beat with this one.”
Even the beverages were competition-worthy in this group. Funny group.
Mrs. Kingston pointed at the blanket on Roni’s lap. “You wrap that around you now. Waylon brought those home from one of his road trips. He always brings us something.”
“Arizona,” he said. “They’re handmade.”
Roni rubbed her cheek against the thick wool. “It’s so soft.”
“The trick with those,” Way said, “is washing them a lot. When you buy them, they’re stiff. Kinda scratchy.”
His mother dropped into the chair next to Mr. Kingston. “He’s right. I think I washed them a dozen times before I set them out.”
“Well,” Roni said, snuggling under the blanket. “This one is perfect now.”
Mugs of steaming coffee were handed around, followed by cake that looked like yellow cake with something swirled through it. Marble cake?
“Mom made it,” Way said, his voice even, yet somehow conveying…something.
“It’s probably not good,” Shep said.
Mrs. Kingston sighed and everyone fell into loud laughter that lingered in the night air. Something inside Roni burst open and—oh, no—she held her breath, fighting against an old pressure that built in her chest.
These people.
Every one them shared a wicked and witty tongue, yet they never got mad. Never got insulted by the intense level of competition and critiques of their food and the playful poking.
I never had that.
In all the homes Roni had been in, everything was judged. If she moved her fork wrong, she’d be disciplined. When it came to foster homes, even the most well-meaning folks felt it was their duty to mold her, to make her into something worthwhile. As if she hadn’t left her father’s home worthy.
After her father, nothing ever felt right or easy. For ten years she’d been…stifled.
The Kingstons? They allowed flaws.
Maybe even encouraged them.
Lost in her thoughts, Roni stayed quiet, breathing through the emotional upheaval that one night in the Kingston home brought. She watched the fire’s flames lick and dance and focused on the occasional crackle of wood.
Country living.
She’d never experienced it before. Not with vast, open land and blackness for acres upon acres. Backyard fires, for her, meant nosey neighbors peeping at her.
This? No perverted neighbors.
She rested her head back and closed her eyes. Took a few seconds to enjoy the tranquility and the musky, languorous scent of burning wood. In the distance, a wolf howled, maybe one of the red wolves that Roni had heard about.
The sound should have terrified her, but somehow, it lulled her further into a Zen state.
Country living.
Yes, indeed.
12
Awake, Roni Fenwick was a sexy, brain-scrambling force.
Asleep? Total knockout.
Way stood beside the Adirondack chair she’d curled into and debated whether to let her sleep. She’d only been out maybe fifteen minutes, but as time passed and the fire died down, she might catch a chill that wouldn’t leave her for hours.
Another blanket maybe.
He checked his watch. Almost 9:00.
“Waylon,” his mother called from the back door, “what are you doing?”
He swung back, held his finger to his lips. “She’s sleeping,” he half whispered.
“Well, don’t stand there, put another blanket on her before she catches her death.”
His mother. The former executive accustomed to ordering people around. In his youth, she’d spent a lot of time traveling and they all got used to her absences. Now retired, she wanted to make up for lost time.
He couldn’t blame her. Changing the norm took time, though, and he struggled with it. In his teenage years, his mother was gone, his older siblings were off doing their own thing, and Dad was busy with Shep. Way had spent most of his time on his own. Now his mother wanted to be a helicopter parent?
Before he took a step, she disappeared back inside to finish stowing leftovers and settle in with Dad in front of the television. All these years.
One place.
One person.
The weight of it settled on him. Could he do it? Be tied down like that? Same routine day in and day out?
He couldn’t see it. Marriage meant sharing space and pressure to know what he was doing all the time. His family alone taught him he wasn’t good at either of those things.
In short, he
’d suck at being a husband.
Roni shifted in her chair and let out a long sigh that sent Way’s mind reeling. He’d spent the majority of the day with her, fighting the urge to stare. To touch.
After he’d dropped her off at Mrs. Tasky’s B&B, a vision of her lush little body filled his mind. Her breasts. Her curvy ass.
Then there was the taunting, smart mouth of hers.
With Roni, life would never be boring.
God bless the man who married her. He’d need all kinds of luck, patience, and stamina.
Way squatted down, studied the soft angle of her cheek, the gentle slope of her mouth.
Stunning.
One touch. That’s all he wanted. As if sensing him, her eyes popped open. She flinched, jerking backward.
Whoa. He held his hands up when a zoned-out terror sparked in her gaze. When a woman had that kind of reaction, there was a reason.
Which pissed him off. Left him wondering who did what to tough little Roni Fenwick that made her so jumpy.
“You’re okay,” he said. “You fell asleep.”
She blinked at him. Blink-blink. Blink-blink.
In his military days, he’d known better than to sneak up on a sleeping teammate. Now? That life seemed so far behind, his instincts had gone soft.
She slapped her hand over her chest and glanced at the empty chairs around the fire. “Where is everyone?”
“Everyone left. My folks are inside.”
“I fell asleep?”
“You did. Out cold. It’s not unusual around here. Between the food and”—he turned back, looked at the old farmhouse—“this house, my parents know how to make the place comfortable.”
Her blanket slipped and he grabbed hold of it, lifting it up and tucking it around her, his hands sliding over her hips as he went.
“You’re lucky,” she said. “I never had this growing up.”
Pity that. His family wasn’t perfect, but they were always there. “I know.”
“You know?”
“I checked you out. Sorry. When I did my research on the shootings and your work history, I got some personal stuff, too. I needed to know who you were. What you wanted with my sister.”
He waited for her to rail on him, to spew about invading her privacy, blah, blah, blah.
Not a word.
Just a curious stare.
“What did you find out?”
Throbbing in his knees drew him upright. He needed to stretch his legs, but standing over her didn’t exactly create a cozy environment for talking. And he needed to know what made this woman tick.
He dragged the empty chair beside him closer and lowered himself into it. “I know that your mother walked out on you and your dad died when you were young. Too young. That had to be hard.” He shook his head. “Actually, I can’t imagine. Makes me appreciate what I have. Especially after meeting the Hopkins family today.”
As a kid, Way might have been left on his own a lot, but he’d never felt neglected. Lonely, sure. Neglected, never. His parents, although busy with Shep, always provided for him.
“How did you get all that? Wait.” She snapped her fingers. “Your contact at Justice? The one you mentioned when we were in your driveway yesterday?”
“No. Not him. Someone else. She’s a hacker. She’s good, too.”
“If she can crack a government database, that’s an understatement. And, yes, it was hard losing my father. The foster system wasn’t the easiest to navigate, but I managed. I think I missed my dad so much that everything else seemed unimportant. I always told myself nothing could be worse than my father dying. And I was right.”
“I’m sorry. That had to be…bad.”
She lifted one shoulder. “There’s a numbness that sets in after trauma. At least for me. I measured everything against losing my dad. The grandpa that stared at my chest when I was fourteen? Eh, maybe a two on the scale. As long as the perv didn’t touch me, I kept it in perspective.”
“Jesus! You were a kid.”
“I was a kid used to being on my own. Big difference. I know that sounds unbelievable.”
In a weird way, he got that. More from the atrocities he saw at war than from anything he’d experienced in childhood. He had a way of creating small boxes in his mind where he stored all the things he didn’t want to experience. The deaths of friends. The old guy in Guam he kept promising that damned pair of glasses to. The kids with their limbs blown off. All his disappointments got locked away.
“I don’t think it’s unbelievable. I think I actually understand. Partially anyway.”
She laughed. “Then you’re just as screwed up as me.”
“I don’t think we’re screwed up. I think we’ve learned to cope.”
In the fire pit, a log crackled and broke in half, sending sparks flying.
He shrugged. “I mean, when you see things no person should have to, you figure out how to emotionally manage it. In the military, I had no problem going to the chaplain or the shrink for that.”
“Good for you. A lot of men wouldn’t.”
“My problem was the stuff I didn’t see coming. That’s the shit that rocked me.”
She looked over at him with those brown eyes that had a way of dissecting anything in their path. “Like what?”
He leaned sideways, studied her lips. “You trying to head-shrink me?”
At that she smiled. “Maybe.”
Most would deny it. Roni? Total wild card. “Dang, you fascinate me.”
She glanced back at the fire and rested her head against the chair. “I only asked a question. I want to know what it is that ‘rocks’ you. Consider it an occupational safeguard. If we’re working together, I need to know.”
No one could accuse her of being dim-witted. “You’re good,” he said. “We both know it has nothing to do with working together. You just like rummaging around in my head.”
She laughed and the sound echoed beyond the yard, making him smile despite the fact that he did not, repeat, did not, want to be having this conversation.
“Come on, Way. Give me one example of something that rocked you. There’s no judgment. I promise. Look at it this way, you know all my secrets. It’s only fair.”
She had a point there. He stretched his legs in front of him and watched the dying flames flick the air. What piece of himself should he fork over? How personal would he be willing to get?
The event itself wasn’t a hard one to come up with, considering he thought about it every day. Did he want to share it with her? With anyone, really?
Talking about it, freeing it from his damned mind might help. Another log cracked in half, sending more sparks into the air.
A nice night, a beautiful woman he sorta liked. Why not? “All right. There’s one thing that stands out. An old guy in Guam. He owned this little café I’d stop at for coffee and a pastry. He made the best siopao I’ve had.”
“Siopao?”
“It’s basically a steamed bun with meat filling. So good. I can still taste them.” He waved the thought away. “Anyway, he didn’t have enough room inside for tables, but he had a few on the sidewalk. I’d sit out there and he’d come talk to me. Nice old guy. No family. He’d been an only child and the few cousins he’d had all died. He needed glasses, but couldn’t afford them.”
“Oh, that makes me sad. Things we see as so basic and he couldn’t have them.”
“I know. But I remembered one of the guys had found a pair of reading glasses on the ground while on a mission. For whatever reason, he picked them up and held on to them. I figured I’d bring them to the café owner. See if they helped.”
“And did they?”
Way stayed quiet for a second, his pulse kicking like an angry mule. He shifted in his chair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Refusing to look at her, he stared into the dying fire.
“Way?”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Thinking. I kept forgetting to bring them to him. I’d walk in there, see him
struggling to read something and get pissed at myself.”
“He wasn’t your responsibility.”
“Yeah, but I could have helped.”
“We can all say that at times. What happened?”
Damn, this was the hard part. The part that ate him alive. “I finally remembered. I was so fucking relieved and headed into town. I got there and the café was closed. First time ever I remembered that happening. I went to the shop next door and the owner told me the old man had died.”
“Oh, my God.”
From the corner of his eye, he spotted her sitting up, shifting toward him, but he ignored her. Kept his gaze straight ahead. “He collapsed the night before. I never gave him the goddamn glasses.”
She touched him. Just set her hand on his forearm and squeezed. Not hard, but enough that it sparked insane energy .
“Oh, Way. I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t really know him.”
“But you liked him.”
“I did. And I owed him those glasses. All he wanted was to be able to see, and I could’ve helped.”
“Hang on. You know he probably wasn’t mad about the glasses, right?”
Way shook that off. “It’s not about the glasses.”
“What’s it about, then?”
Here we go. He turned his head. The glow of the flames lit her dark eyes and man, oh, man, he could get lost in them. “I didn’t do what I was supposed to and that old man died. It was irresponsible.”
There. Said it. All his donations, every goddamned good thing he did, couldn’t wipe that away.
And now, his design, those frangible bullets were killing civilians.
His design.
His bullets.
Talk about irresponsible.
A few long seconds passed while he sat there, letting himself get lost in her deep brown eyes and praying she wouldn’t speak. Just keep fucking silent and not want to talk.
She’d asked for something that rocked him and he’d told her. Now, every ounce of regret he possessed roared at him. That old man dying changed his life. Made him take stock. All the being alone he craved, the old man had. But then he died. Alone.
And Way sure as hell didn’t want that. So he came home to Steele Ridge and his family that called and texted him constantly. No middle ground. Either alone or everyone up his ass. Hell, even Shep, now that he had Joss, got more privacy than Way.
Burning Ache Page 10
