When Hank left her, rounding the corner of the building, Annie stared after him for several seconds, her hand at her throat. Before suddenly remembering how far away the door now seemed. Turning, she bolted for it. But at the top of the stairs, her fingers safely touching the doorframe once again, she was startled to realize she was still smiling.
"MAY I HAVE THIS SEAT?"
Annie flinched at the low, sexy drawl. Shivered at what it did to her insides.
"Sit by me, Mr. Hank."
Tommy's plea startled her back to her senses. He was still here? At dinner time? "Of course."
"No, me," Jason urged.
"How about-" Hank lifted the folding chair, moving it between her sons. Carefully lifting Tommy, seat and all, he adjusted him a few feet so he'd have enough room to eat. When Tommy laughed at being lifted in the air, Hank's beautiful smile reverberated through her. "I'll sit with both of you."
His smile drizzled heat through her chest where it had begun to ice over. What if he asked why they were still there? He usually left the site at four—an hour before dinner service started. He likely assumed she, too—left for the day. To a home. To a life outside these four walls. What if he found out? Before she told him herself? What if the boys said something? While her brain hammered a thousand questions—her heart began a slow, melting thaw. It was impossible to feel frightened when his eyes looked at her like-
"Do me, too. Me, too." Jason would not be ignored. Before he sat down again, Hank smiled at her youngest.
"Are you ready?" At Jason's eager nod, Hank lifted his chair, circling over the spot for several seconds before he set him down again.
As they clamored for his attention, he sat down, his gaze catching hers. "Why don't we eat our dinner," he suggested. "Then—if your mom is okay with it-"
His mouth lifted in a smile she quickly became ensnared in. Worries scattering, she hung onto his words, the faint, sexy drawl tripping along her senses. Summoning dangerous thoughts. Of night. Her slumbering sons safely down the hall. A bed—larger than her single one upstairs. His beautiful, strong body over hers-
"Annie?"
"W-what?" Had he said something? Had she? Was she drooling? Or just looking as though she'd lost her damned mind? She needed to reign in her impulsive thoughts. Proceed with caution, McKenna. Summon her willpower. All men could act normal. Charming. Flirty. Harmless. Until they weren't. She absorbed a quick shudder. Years ago, Phil had once acted normal, too.
"I was telling the boys we could check out the daycare. I want to show them what we'll be doing tomorrow."
Tomorrow? Saturday. Tomorrow—was Saturday. When he'd return. To spend the day working on his project. When she would spend several hours with him. Supposedly helping. Not drooling over him. Not tongue-tied. "That—sounds . . ." She swallowed around a sudden dryness. "Wonderful. Of course we can go."
The next twenty minutes proved excruciating. And wonderful. The noise around them faded. The clamor of other diners. The irritated grumbles of people waiting in line. The belligerence of the dark-eyed heroin addict—begging for money in line, until New Beginning's devoted sentry, Big Pete shushed him with a single glare. All Annie could see were Hank's eyes. Lighting up as he talked with her boys, painting a picture of his farm. Glowing with endless patience as Tommy badgered him with questions.
"No horses, bud." At Tommy's crestfallen expression, Hank shot her an amused look.
"Cows?"
He winced. "No cows, either. I have the space for them. Just not the time," he confessed.
"Oh."
A single syllable, capable of shooting down all manner of parental enthusiasm. Annie suddenly felt bad for him. Hank wasn't used to failing on a regular basis. She, on the other hand, had years of practice.
"I have two goats, though." The sexy man with the easy smile rallied, as though hopeful the news of any other living creature might stave off his fall from grace. Perhaps redeem him from the no-cow-setback.
Tommy's thick-fringed eyes widened. "Goats are cool, right Jase?"
"Baaaaah." Jason made the sound around the thumb in his mouth.
When Hank cracked up, Annie smothered her laughter, for once not scolding herself over why Jason had yet to break his thumb-sucking habit. Because comfort was something she was unwilling to draw a line against. Once they were safe . . . maybe.
Though Sharon had already revealed several secrets about his life, she listened intently to Hank's description of his farm. The acres. A barn. Apple trees. A small pond. All of it sounding idyllic. Storybook heavenly. To her boys—a paradise. She acknowledged the contentment in his face as he described it.
"Do you get to fish in your pond?" Tommy's wistful voice sent a twinge of pain to her chest. "Can you swim in it?"
"Bo likes to swim. He leaps in there every chance he gets," Hank admitted. "But usually, he just upsets the geese. They get to squawking and honking at him."
"Who's Bo?" Jason actually pulled his thumb from his mouth for a complete sentence.
"Bo is my dog. He's my best buddy," he confided.
"He goes swimmin'?"
Tommy bolted up in his chair. "You have a dog?"
Hank nodded. "We take a walk every night so he can check everything out. He likes to chase the deer through the orchard-"
Her son shot her an imploring look. "And deer? Can I see him? Your dog—could you bring Bo here? Like—so we could visit him?"
Annie winced as the first storm cloud drifted into place, hovering over their table. Tommy had wanted a dog for years. Even as a toddler, he'd been drawn to them—in parks. On the street. Everywhere. He would wrap his chubby, little arms around their neck, pleading for their owner to stay a moment longer.
She'd always planned to get him one. Until their lives grew uglier. Phil's abusive, drunken words had morphed to abusive, drunken fists-
"I could check with Miss Sharon," Hank offered. "Maybe I can bring Bo for a visit tomorrow. He loves to ride in my truck." His friendly, understanding gaze caught hers- Before his eyes narrowed at what he read there. "Annie? Would that be okay with you?"
"I'm sure . . . Sharon won't have a problem," she managed to choke out. "If you keep him from the dining area." Offering him a weak smile, she glanced away from her son's accusing eyes. The failure she read there. The pet she'd refused him. But, Tommy had been too young to understand what Phil would have done to a defenseless animal- As they'd been too young to understand what Phil had done to her.
That his angry, taunting threats were always against the boys. His sons. As though they'd taken something from him. Instead of giving them— everything. Phil had known she would take any beating he tried to inflict on them. If Jason doesn't stop crying. If Tommy spills his milk one more time. As though he'd needed justification for his violence. His insidious threats—meant to undermine her confidence. Don't leave them here with me, he'd warn. Not even to run out for groceries. Effectively, he'd imprisoned her with her own fear—of what he could do to her babies. Swallowing the sudden shame that enveloped her, she tried to push the memory from her mind.
"Annie-"
She startled at the warm, gravelly voice in her ear. Releasing a shuddering breath, she realized Hank had rounded the table. He was squatting next to her chair, his fingers light on her shoulders. "Darlin', are you alright? You're so pale."
Would she ever be alright? Despair threatening to swamp her, she shook it off. "I'm . . okay," she lied, forcing a smile. "It's a little warm in here."
"You're working too hard," he muttered. "Too many hours." His back to the boys, he brushed his lips against a spot near her ear, making her shiver for an entirely different reason. When the boys began fidgeting at the table, he turned to them. "Just another minute and we'll walk down there."
When they instantly quieted, she shook her head, her laughter forced, trying to break the sudden tension. "Why doesn't that work for me?"
The concern in his gaze began to fade. "Two wild boys? I think you're doing a pretty amazing job." He
glanced to her untouched plate. "Why don't you eat a little? I think you'll feel better."
She pushed her plate back. "I'm not very hungry."
"I don't want you to get sick." He gently nudged the plate back in front of her. "Please? Just a couple bites?"
Heat of an entirely different kind washed over her. Annie tried to remember the last time someone—anyone—had been concerned for her well-being. Flustered by the jumble of emotions he stirred, she picked up her fork. "Okay. I am . . . a little hungry."
His smile reaching his eyes, Hank nodded. Rising from his squat, he winced.
"Your knees?" Understanding flared. "Arthritis?"
He shrugged. "Could be. I probably jumped out of one too many planes."
"Planes?" Tommy squealed. "You—jumped . . . outta planes?" Her son's endless questions started all over again as Hank told them a few stories about his time in the army.
"Seems I've been redeemed." His chuckle ruffled the hair at her temple. Unhurried, Hank lowered his mouth to her ear. "Maybe if we're both lucky . . . we can steal a quick dessert before I go." His lips grazed her temple before he stood.
The last bite of pot roast turned to dust in her mouth. She stared up at him, heart flopping uselessly in her chest. "We should-" She hesitated a moment, her very thoughts heating her cheeks.
Hank's eyes sparked. "When you look at me like that-"
Acknowledging his unspoken desire, her smile widened. Just this once—she could be brave. She remembered his earlier words. "If we get the chance, we should—seize the moment."
Chapter 5
After a night spent dreaming about Annie, Hank woke early on Saturday. Even if he hadn't planned to work at the shelter, he would've found it impossible to sleep late. Two decades in the army had ingrained him to waking with the birds. Then, he'd chosen construction—where job sites typically came to life around six am. As dawn filtered around the blinds, he stared at the ceiling, a smile on his face as he anticipated the day. When a list of farm chores tried to scroll through his head, he shoved it aside. Today was about his project. Today was about two sweet, eager boys. And a beautiful woman he wanted to know much better. Especially after the kiss they'd managed to steal when the boys had been lured away by the kitchen staff with the promise of an extra cookie.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Freeman," he warned as he wandered to the kitchen. They could take their time, he reminded. She had two young children. An ex-husband somewhere in the picture. Unlike him—with the luxury to think only of himself, Annie had to prioritize. Her kids had to come first. She'd have to decide whether she was even interested in exploring a relationship. How to balance that with a job, a busy life and the importance of protecting her boys. The impact on Tommy and Jason if he entered their lives. Would his presence make her life easier or harder? Better or worse? He didn't want to do anything that would make Annie's life more stressful. She was already carrying a difficult load.
And he—needed to take it slow. Sure—the smidgen he knew about Jason and Tommy made him eager to learn more. He'd always loved kids. Had always assumed he'd have them. But, life had dealt him a different hand. "Maybe you're too old now." Would he be any good at it? Was it too late? He'd spent the last four years alone. The eighteen months before that, taking care of Gayle. Though he was finally ready to ease into a post-Gayle world, there was too much at stake to rush it. The last four years he'd lived in a gray, quiet mist. It was time to enter the light again. But he needed the right woman. Not just a beautiful woman.
At forty-three, Hank wasn't much interested in dating. He didn't want to meet several women. He just wanted one. But, it was a tall order. A woman to share his life with. A woman who would be content with him. With living a quiet, peaceful life. Sure, he wanted to travel. He wanted dates with a pretty woman at his side. He wanted to cook with her. Hold hands at a movie. Sip wine on the deck. He wanted—sex. "Lots of it." Bo's nails clicked down the hallway as the old lab greeted him. Hank gave him a quick pat. "Right, Bo?" But, he also wanted the companionship he'd had with Gayle. The ease of just . . . knowing what the other person was thinking—sometimes before even she knew. The laughter. After nineteen years, he'd still been in love with his wife. She'd still been the go-to person he'd wanted to spend time with. His best friend.
"Just because Annie's prettier than hell doesn't mean she's right for you." Hank sighed, doubting his groin would ever agree with that theory. He'd awakened hot. Hard. The memory of her taste on his lips. The feel of her lush curves in his arms. Before he'd groggily remembered he was alone.
He couldn't make the mistake of assuming he'd find that bond again. What he'd had with Gayle had been perfect. She'd known it, too. Discovering it again might be as elusive as it had been trying to find his wedding ring, after it slipped from his finger in the tall, swaying, sweet grass fields behind the farm. Always searching, but never finding it.
Six months to the day after Gayle passed. Hank had been existing on auto-pilot. Barely eating. Working himself to death. Days blurred together. Nights he'd endured one endless, ticking minute at a time. Bo by his side on the restless nights he couldn't sleep. Sitting on his deck, staring at the ridge. Night after night. Sometimes breaking down. Sometimes angry. Sometimes just—dead inside. As though he, too, had ceased to exist. As though breathing required too much effort.
That day in the field, Hank had cursed her—sensing Gayle had taken his ring. As though she'd wanted to poke him. Force him into moving on with his life. Instead, he'd spent fourteen hours crawling through the field, his panicked heart flopping uselessly against his ribcage. Hot. Sweaty. Desperate. In the end—unsuccessful.
Bo led the way to the kitchen, eager for his breakfast. After scooping kibble and refilling his water bowl, Hank started the coffeemaker. "Ready to go meet some kids at the shelter?" Slobbering water on the tile floor, the friendly eyes glanced up at him. He was careful not to say the word 'ride'—at least not until he was ready to leave. Bo would've made a beeline for the door and wouldn't have budged from the spot—except to retrieve his leash and drag it through the house, urging him to hurry up. "I still need a shower, bud."
Thirty minutes later, he let Bo take a run through the fields while he gathered up the supplies he would need for the day. He'd picked up a few child-sized tools he was eager to teach Tommy and Jason how to use. While he framed in the closet, they could be tapping in nails and sanding the rough edges. He grinned. "And clean-up duty. That's sure to be a big hit."
He'd also picked up small sizes in the safety supplies he wanted them to learn about. Today would be about safety rules and goggles; mini reflective vests. Hank smiled as he scooped up the bag he'd left on his workbench in the garage. "The last thing you need is an accident," he muttered. Annie surely wouldn't appreciate the boys getting scraped up on the first day. After feeding the goats and loading his truck, he was finally ready. Hank brought his fingers to his lips. The sharp whistle brought Bo galloping down the hill. "C'mon bud, let's take a ride."
"WE HAD PANCAKES, MR. Hank."
Jason bellowed his greeting from the hallway near the daycare, not waiting to see whether Hank was inside. Annie shushed him from a pace behind. Catching his smile as she rounded the corner, she waved.
"Were they good?" After setting several boards on the floor, Hank tousled Jason's hair, grinning at her exuberant son, before alert, blue eyes shifted to her. "Good morning, Annie."
Surprised that Tommy was still dawdling in the bathroom, she remained in the door, one eye on the hallway. Barely able to sit still during breakfast, her son had talked nonstop about spending the day with Hank. His hero worship of the kind, handsome man standing ten feet away had made her smile. Her kids had never known the sort of dad she'd envisioned for them. Someone who loved them. Who would always put them first. Who'd move heaven and earth to protect them. Instead-
"Good morning, Hank." Determined to ignore the sudden weight of sadness, she focused instead on the gorgeous man in her presence. The gorgeous man wh
o'd kissed her the previous night. Who'd made her middle-aged, creaking knees go weak. Annie sighed. How could she think about the bad moments—when standing before her was the best thing to happen in—years.
"They were real good. I had two big ones." Jason's little hands gestured for emphasis.
There was something about the way he said her name in that sexy drawl—that made her toes curl. Made her breath catch. Made her stomach heat with a wanting beyond her control. Made her mind careen off track imagining . . . possibilities. Today, she would have the great fortune to spend several hours in his company. She would not allow Phil to intrude on their day. You will enjoy every moment, she vowed. Hank's warm gaze still on her, his eyes seemed to take in her wayward thoughts, because his smile deepened.
Her face heating with sudden embarrassment, she dropped her gaze. "Did you wash your hands?" Her youngest was nearly always happy. His view of the world carefree—despite their circumstances. So different from Tommy. Her worrywart eldest, who'd experienced too much. She prayed with time, the worst of it would fade from his memory. Annie dabbed at the sticky blotch on Jason's shirt.
"Uh-huh. Tommy helped me."
"There's still syrup on your shirt, Jase." Catching the scent of Hank's woodsy cologne as he joined them, she acknowledged he was rapidly becoming the treasured, bright spot in her endless days at the shelter. "The boys are ready to be put to work."
"How about you?" His smile contagious, he held her gaze. "Are you helping?"
"I'll have you know I'm pretty handy with a hammer and screwdriver." Being on her own had made her adept at learning how to solve problems. She could unclog a toilet, retrieving the various action figures that somehow managed to find themselves flushed. She could fix a dripping faucet. Spackle and paint over fist holes through walls. Re-hang the boys' bedroom door when Phil kicked it in-
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