"Copy that." Hank hadn't thought in military terms in six years, but it was sort of nice to hear them now. After his twenty, he'd retired from the Army sniper program and promptly grown bored. Finding Specialty had been a lucky break—and eventually a haven for him when Gayle's remission slid. Burying himself in work became the physical outlet for his terror over her diagnosis. His salvation from grief when she passed.
He clinked his thermos to Pete's cup. "Okay, carry on." Over the last month, he'd become friends with Big Pete. Not that he could've avoided the paranoid former marine, because he sure as hell wasn't goin' anywhere. Each day, it was a toss-up whether he took more direction from Miss Sharon or the giant marine. While each represented a serious pain in his ass, Hank had quickly realized New Beginnings was different from anything he'd built before. The shelter wasn't just a building.
For Sharon, it was her calling. Protecting the women who lived there from the violence they'd escaped. Serving meals to hundreds of hungry people each day—a droplet of humanitarian aid in the city's drought of funds to battle a burgeoning homeless population. For Pete, New Beginnings was a touchstone. A personal talisman. A mission critical place he needed—for more than just three squares a day. For a man suffering from PTSD, New Beginnings was the calming eye in his personal storm. Pete needed something to protect. And that something was New Beginnings.
Checking his watch, Hank hustled for the door. His boss was due any minute for their thrice-weekly meeting. Since discovering the beautiful girl who ran the fundraising campaign, Jeff Traynor had practically moved in at New Beginnings. But his boss' thing for Marisol Ortega had provided Hank with a wealth of opportunities to torture the rich, young stud who seemingly had it all. Watching the guy who normally had women falling at his damned feet forced to work for it—for the first time in his charmed, perfect life had been especially entertaining.
SWEAT BEADING HIS LIP, Phil lowered his binoculars. It had been cooler that morning. The quick detour on his way to work. But now, the early spring sunshine was beating down on him. Reflecting through the windshield. Heating up the interior of the old Taurus. Reminding him what summer would be like—now that the air conditioning had finally quit. Trying to remain inconspicuous, he'd kept the windows up. With a muttered curse, he cranked them down. Immediately, a breeze drifted over him, cooling his frustration.
"Come on, bitch," he taunted. "You can't stay inside forever." Where was she? New Beginnings had a giant pain-in-the-ass guard stationed outside every day. But—he left each night at six-thirty. "Possibilities there." Picking up the remnants of his sandwich, he smiled. Who'd have thought he could make it there and back on his lunch hour? Lunch hour-and-a-half was more accurate. He'd already ruled out three other shelters in town. But, those friggin' busybody shelters moved bitches around all the time. "Meddlin' in other people's business," he said around a mouthful of stale salami.
She couldn't be far. "She ain't got money to move," he muttered. Keeping her runnin' meant not paying child support. After all—where was he supposed to send it? Although- He frowned. He suspected he was overdue to get hit with another garnishment soon.
But, if he could take Annie out . . . he'd get the kids back. "Selfish little shits." His thoughts turned to revenge. Punishment for the little traitors. They'd chosen her. Over their father. He would've been the perfect father. Rage building in his chest, he started sweating again. The younger one—cryin' all the time. If the little bastards had only learned to listen-
He forced the blackness back, his head hurting. "Soon," he placated. Soon. "No child support necessary." He was close. He could sense it. Staring at the building under construction a block away, he planned his next visit. But, when? A glimpse of the kids. "Before or after school," he decided. It was all the confirmation he needed.
Chapter 3
Hank glanced up from the plans he'd spread across the table when Jeff arrived that afternoon. "How's it going?"
"Have you talked to her yet?"
His boss’ innocent question set his teeth on edge. Why the hell had he ever mentioned Annie? It had been a weak moment—when Jeff had been babbling about Miss Ortega. Why she'd refused to date him . . . why he probably shouldn't keep trying . . . as though any effort at all was too much for the stud to contemplate. He'd shaken his head over Traynor's bullshit whining. But, instead of keeping quiet, He'd gone and opened his stupid mouth.
"Well?"
Hank endured a well-meaning thump to his shoulder. "Several times." He should’ve kept his mouth shut . . . until he was feeling more confident. He winced at the outrageous lie. What he really meant was when he was feelin' less chicken-shit.
Jeff gave him a knowing look. "So, you’ve asked her out?"
"I’m still in the reconnaissance phase of this mission." Truth was . . . he'd hinted about it with her . . . twice. But, she'd failed to nibble the bait. He needed to man up and just straight-out ask her.
"So, that’s a big, fat 'no'." Traynor dropped the spec book on the conference room table.
"This is different," he protested, despite the truth. "I'm not lookin' for a quick score." And that was all Jeffie knew how to do. One night stands. It was why he was struggling so hard with Miss Ortega. What Traynor wanted and what she would allow were miles apart. Hank grinned. His boss was in enemy territory. With no map coordinates.
"What exactly is it you want?"
He read the discomfort on Jeffie's face. "What everyone wants. Someone to talk to—someone to share dinner with. Someone who makes dinner worth the bother." Hank ran his hand over the whiskers on his chin, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to. "I miss—the clutter . . . of having someone in your life."
"I don't think I could ever get used to sharing my space." Jeff frowned. "Someone telling me my couch is the wrong color-"
Hank couldn't get used to not sharing it. He missed the smells. Of perfume bottles on the dresser. Makeup cluttering the bathroom counter. Fabric softener when the laundry was drying. Another toothbrush in the utilitarian holder. He missed . . . softness. The presence of a woman. His life with Bo wasn’t hard, certainly, but it was sorta . . . Spartan—like he was still living out of an Army duffel.
"Maybe if we'd had kids—the past few years might a' been easier. And harder," he amended. Single fatherhood definitely wouldn't have been easy. But, kids would have provided a pressing reason to roll out of bed each morning. To hold it together for the sake of another person.
"What the hell are you waiting for?" Jeff's expression was dumbfounded. As though it was the easiest thing in the world to find the perfect woman and just sweep her off her feet.
"I’m planning the op, son. I believe I know what I’m doing." Not that he’d ever admit it, but some days Hank wished he could be more like the kid. Just waltz in there and lay on the charm—thick as honey. But, then Annie would likely smile at him—and he'd revert to tongue-tied and bumbling. Like their last three conversations. And he'd look like an idiot. Again.
"At your age, you don’t have time to waste."
Hank winced. He liked Annie McKenna. He liked the way her honey-brown eyes lit up when she saw him coming through the door—before she thought to hide it. He hadn't seen that expression in a woman's eyes in four years. Mostly, because he hadn't gone looking for it. But now that he had . . . he liked seeing it on her.
Though he still hadn't moved beyond pleasantries . . . and a few conversations that left him slightly baffled as to what had gone wrong, he was happy with his slow and steady progress. At least he'd thought he was . . . until he compared notes with Jeff. "I’m forty-three."
"Freeman—in dog years, that’s centuries." Tucking a pencil behind his ear, Jeff stared at him. "You’ve been out of commission for like—decades. Are you sure you remember how to do this? Things have changed since the stone age."
"You don't think I know that?" He glared at the kid. Hell, he was like a blind man in a maze. Turning all directions but never certain which way to go. Stumbling into walls. "I was
twenty when I married Gayle. I barely know what I'm doin'," he admitted. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I'm not even sure how fast I should be movin'."
Jeff tried to hide his grin. "Hank—chill out."
He closed his eyes, counting to five. "Son, I like this job. I'd like to keep this job . . . but the way you're lookin' at me right now makes me wanna pop you." When the kid cracked up, Hank raised his gaze to the ceiling. "Can you just . . . let me blunder through this?"
Why? Why had he flapped his gums? Jeffie would likely haunt him daily about his progress—or more likely—lack of progress with Annie. It felt like someone knowing your house was for sale. Instead of flying under the radar, quietly making a sale before casually going public with the information, you suddenly became the focus of conversation. If the house didn't sell fast enough, it somehow reflected poorly on you. Like maybe you lived in a dump. Or maybe you didn't clean your bathrooms often enough. 'Sold your house yet?' 'Got any nibbles?' Enduring the awkward dance, possibly for months before you could finally report . . . you’d sold the damn house—and don’t ever ask me again.
"Have you thought about the tour for the kids?" Through clenched teeth, he prayed Traynor would accept the change in subject before his urge to choke him grew too strong.
"I think it's a great idea." Jeff's eyes flashed enthusiasm. "Let's plan it in the next few weeks, maybe just before the concrete pour?"
Hank made a note in his planner. "Sounds good. I'll take care of it."
"Mari's little boy, Hector has been begging me to help." He grinned. "He likes digging in the dirt."
"And it wouldn't exactly hurt you with Miss Ortega, right?" His friend's face heated. Finally, it wasn't him on the ropes. "Hector is friends with the two little boys I've been talking with. Tommy and Jason—they're brothers. They're Annie's kids."
"The little guys with the brown hair? They look like mini twins?"
Hank smiled. "Yeah, I've been visiting them in the daycare center. They have lots of suggestions for us."
Jeff tossed his pencil on the plans. "Yeah? Like what?"
"Well, they think New Beginnings definitely should have an ice cream dispenser in the cafeteria." Hank settled back in his chair. "And a 'ginormous' flat screen so they can play video games and watch basketball."
"I like the way they think." Jeff suppressed a smile. "Not sure Miss Sharon would like the idea of her homeless shelter becoming a sports bar. She'd never scrape any of them out after dinner."
"Tommy also thinks we should leave the spoils pile . . . as part of the new landscaping." His lips twitched at the thought of explaining that one to Miss Sharon. "They'd like to build an underground fort." Hank had been surprised to discover he looked forward to his daily chats with the brothers. Once or twice, he'd bumped into Hector as well. Another couple kids he hadn't gotten to meet yet. But, they always hung back, on the edge of the conversation.
A gaggle of cute kids with their noses pressed to the glass. Unable to go outside due to the construction . . . not that there was a safe place for them to play outside. A park down the street . . . an overgrown, forgotten, inner city park. One littered with trash, broken glass and Lord knew what else. Even if Miss Sharon had the staffing to send volunteers down there with the kids, there wasn't much there for them to play on.
"That idea would save a ton of money on all those rose bushes and new trees." Jeff pretended to consider it. "I could sell the ladies on that. A huge mound of dirt . . . instead of the meditation garden." He nodded. "I'm sure they'll go for it."
"What do you say about sprucing up the daycare center?" Hank flipped through the plans until he found the page he was looking for. He'd sketched a few drawings while watching TV with Bo the previous night. His mind on the boys, he'd been unable to get the idea out of his head. If he and Gayle had ever had kids . . . he wouldn't like knowing they were trapped inside all the time . . . in a room with cloudy windows and no place to play. "It's so depressing in there."
If he and Gayle . . . Early in their marriage, they'd discussed children. First, their excuse had been age. Hell- he'd been nineteen when they met. He'd fallen fast and hard. And she'd done the same. Kids were something they'd get to later. Much later.
Next, Desert Storm had gotten in the way. Then Gayle—finally starting a new job she loved. After three moves for the Army, she'd wanted to settle down in a job with friends she liked. Hank hadn't resisted. With him gone most of the time, it wouldn't have been fair to ask his wife to go through a pregnancy alone. Then care for an infant . . . mostly by herself.
Later, it had been four tours in Iraq and Afghanistan that eroded their years together. Gayle had claimed not to mind postponing the babies they'd always wanted. But, had she really? Drumming his pencil on the sketch, it shook him to suddenly doubt himself after all these years.
Gayle had been five years older. More mature in a million different ways. They'd always joked about her bein' a cougar. But, she'd been a powerhouse. A beautiful, loyal, practical woman who'd known the sacrifice it took to be a military wife. And he'd adored her for it. For twenty years, she'd been his reason to come home. Two years before retirement, she'd gotten sick. When he'd left the army— the only career he'd ever known . . . he'd found Specialty. His saving grace, when a year later, he became a widower at thirty-nine.
"What do you have in mind?" Jeff's voice dispelled the uncomfortable memory. "There's no way Sharon will agree to a change order for it. Their budget is already stretched to the limit." His expression sober, he leaned over the plans. "As it is, Mari's collecting money as we go. Jake's already worried they might run out of funds before we finish."
"Your brother worries too much." Hank pointed to the daycare on the plans. "It shouldn't cost anything extra—if I can get a few subs to donate a little free labor."
Talking through it with Jeff made him realize how much he wanted to do this project. For all the kids who were temporarily stuck in a place they didn't choose. He wanted to do it for Gayle—for the kids they'd never been able to fit into the life they'd agreed to. And he wanted it for himself. Maybe he was too old to be a dad—but Tommy and Jason were showing him he would never be too old for their enthusiasm.
Jeff smirked. "How do you propose we get them to do that?"
"I'll commit my Saturdays until the project heats up. That gives me four months. I can ask the carpet guys for a few remnants." He scribbled a note. "If I time it right, I can get the drywall guys for one Saturday—once they're already out here. And I'll square it with Stanley to give me his painters for maybe six hours-"
"He'd do that . . . without a change order?"
"Well, probably not for you." Hank grinned. "But, he's been asking me for a set of bookcases for his wife's reading area." Since he'd be building shelving and bookcases for the daycare center, he could throw in another set for Stan. Strapping on a tool belt for this side project wouldn't constitute a hardship. He'd always loved working with his hands.
"You really think you can get them to cooperate?" Jeff was now intrigued.
"It's for the kids. They're not entirely heartless." He shrugged. "You remember those nice bay windows from the Tower job? The ones they manufactured in the wrong size?"
"Yeah." His boss frowned in thought. "I think we've still got them in storage. The supplier didn't want them back because they were special order." Jeff dragged a finger along the plans. "We could use two of them along this wall." He glanced up. "Hell, they'd look pretty nice in the daycare. Replace those old, dingy windows . . ."
"That's what I was thinking," he agreed. "It would really brighten the place up. If you're okay with it, I could ask the window sub to come out and take a look. If there's not a lot of exterior re-work, I could probably get him on board—especially this far in advance."
Jeff studied him for several seconds, a rare expression on his face that Hank couldn't read. "Go ahead and call him," he finally said. "Billy owes us a few favors. I think he'd be willing to help us on the windows. If we time it ar
ound the new installation, it would probably only mean an extra day or two of labor."
"Then—you don't mind if I take on the project? If it doesn't cost Specialty anything extra?"
Jeff rolled up the plans. "In this case, what my brother doesn't know . . . won't hurt us." He grinned. "I have a meeting in ten minutes with the ladies."
Jeez. His worst nightmare was dealing with all those women. Enduring an hour of babble just to pick one damned color. "Don't even think about pawning that off on me," he warned. "That can't be part of this deal."
"Cool your jets, Colonel Cranky." Jeff stuffed his notes back into his briefcase. "Let's go take a quick look at the daycare center before I get trapped for the next fourteen hours."
ANNIE HEARD VOICES in the hall and stilled, a handful of forks clutched in her hand. Was that Hank's voice? Inside? At this time of day? They were between meal shifts, the dining hall empty, save for her and the bulky set-up cart. Glancing to the swinging kitchen doors, she made sure there'd be no witnesses before she rolled her cart closer to the hallway.
"Annie—come on over here, Sugar." Sharon's clanging bracelets rattled as she waved her into the cluster gathered around the daycare center door.
Face heating, she remembered to set down the handful of forks. "What is this—high school?" she muttered. Exactly how foolish would she allow herself to be? Still, her curiosity was piqued. Interior construction hadn't started yet.
Sharon, Marisol, Jeff Traynor and Henry watched her approach. Gorgeous, smiling Hank. Heart suddenly thudding like a fourteen-year-old girl bumping into the hot quarterback near her locker, Annie could only pray her expression was more neutral than her pulse. "What's going on?"
Sheltering Annie Page 4
