His to Defend (Lake Powell Firefighter Romance Book 2)

by Jewel Allen

  “Fine, sir, thanks.”

  “Kennedy! Stratton is here.” He cocked his head and listened. “I think they might be in the back.”

  I followed him through their magazine-perfect house, through the two sitting rooms, dining room, kitchen, and finally the back deck, shaded by two towering trees. The kids were digging in the sandbox, their grandma watching them from a nearby chair on the lawn, and Kennedy was lying in an oversized hammock.

  A memory returned to me, early on in our marriage, when Judge and his wife could no longer object to us.

  Of Kennedy and me tangled in that hammock. She smelled of summer and sunblock, her white peasant blouse pretty against her tan, untied at her graceful throat. She had flipped over so that she was on top of me, kissing first my neck, and then my mouth…as I greedily responded…

  Mrs. Davis saw me and waved. Kennedy looked over the hammock and took her time getting to a sitting position, her loveliness brightening everything around her. Maybe that’s what we should have done—do therapy in the hammock. It’d be cheaper and far more pleasant.

  But we needed to do this.

  The kids hugged me and went back to their digging. I thanked Mrs. Davis and walked Kennedy to the truck. As I helped her in, I caught a whiff of her perfume, and like always, that light floral scent stirred my blood. I resisted the urge to pull her in my arms and instead went over to the driver’s side, so we could go to a complete stranger and spill our marital problems.

  The sarcastic thread in my head stilled, replaced with wonder as Kennedy turned to me with a shy smile.

  Yes, yes, going to counseling was worth it. “By the way, I deliberately didn’t take OT the next few days.”

  I felt her gaze on my profile, before she turned to the window. “Good.”

  I couldn’t read the tone in her voice. Good as in “Finally!” or good as in…?

  I was overthinking this.

  The clinic stood at the end of a row of commercial buildings. The counselor, Hal, wore thin-framed glasses and kept staring at Kennedy as though she were a goddess reincarnated.

  I scowled. He noticed and hurried into the clinic, where he led us into a room with one window, covered with blinds.

  We did introductions. I didn’t care for the fact he smiled more at Kennedy, and we started.

  “So,” Hal said, holding a pen over a yellow pad of paper. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Ladies first.” I pointed at Kennedy.

  “He snores,” she deadpanned.

  I didn’t miss a beat. “She hogs the blanket.”

  She crinkled her nose. “He insists on washing the dishes.”

  “And she doesn’t like being tickled.” I paused. “Do I really snore?”

  “I can’t remember,” came her soft reply, followed by a smirk.

  “Maybe…we’ll have to refresh our memory.”

  Hal cleared his throat. “Are those really your problems?”

  Kennedy’s gaze faltered to her hands, clasped on her lap. “No. It was mostly because I felt all alone, raising the kids. We have two children, a four-year-old girl, and a six-year-old boy. The girl got sick and I took her to the hospital.” She glanced at me. “I saw Stratton there with a nurse whom he had gotten super friendly with, and I…I decided that was the final straw.”

  Hal scribbled on his pad. “What were the earlier straws?”

  She bit her lip and tucked a pale blond stand behind a delicate ear. “Stratton doesn’t tell me how he feels about his work. I feel cut off there, like we have no connection. And when we’ve tried to talk about things in the past, good luck. He clams up and sleeps. Or goes to work. He works a lot.”

  Hal nodded, writing down more notes. “And you, Stratton?”

  “I was giving our marriage my best, honest. I didn’t want to tell her any of the work stuff because I didn’t want to burden her. Plus, sometimes, the last thing I want to do is to rehash what happened at work. It’s tough sometimes. Ugly. I want to spare my family that ugliness.”

  Kennedy’s eyes seemed to widen with understanding.

  “As for talking about our problems,” I said, “I will admit, I’m good at avoidance. The alternative is bad. In my house growing up, dealing with problems meant…my dad pounding a kid with his fists. So I figured silence is safer.”

  I knew that Kennedy knew, but I could still sense her flinching.

  “Not that I think Kennedy would beat me up,” I added. “But opening up is painful, you know?”

  Hal nodded.

  I spoke up again, before I lost my nerve. “Kennedy, what about my work hours?”

  Kennedy smoothed her skirt. “Well, yes, there’s that too.” To Hal, she explained, “I never see him. He’s on a fast track to a promotion, but it means taking on overtime that he really doesn’t need to take.”

  Hal turned to me for confirmation.

  I almost debated her point. All the words were at the tip of my tongue, ready to jump out. But I realized she was right. I had absolutely no defense. Would the OT really get me any closer to the goal? Not really. All that busy work was my attempt to cover up my insecurity that I wouldn’t be good enough for battalion chief without extra credit.

  “I think I did OT because things had been going south at home,” I said. “I might have been looking for an excuse to be away. Now it’s become a habit, and I hate letting the rest of the guys down.”

  Kennedy glanced away. I hated to hurt her further with the truth, but I felt a notch loosening in my chest to get this all out. I would no longer have excuses for OT.

  “What about you, Kennedy,” Hal asked, “what did you see at home, growing up? How did your parents handle conflict?”

  “They got along well…as long as my mom agreed with Dad. Which was almost one hundred per cent of the time.” She mused, “That’s good, right?”

  Hal tapped his pen on his chin. “Not necessarily. It may have meant that you didn’t learn how to deal with conflict directly. It’s a different kind of avoidance too.”

  Kennedy and I looked at each other as though with new eyes. Hal asked us a few more questions. Despite my initial skepticism about him, he wasn’t as bad as I thought.

  “Here’s my homework for you,” Hal said. “The next time you have a conflict, you need to tell each other how you feel. But be as constructive as possible. For example, Kennedy, you could say, ‘When you don’t tell me how you feel about your work, I feel shut out. I would love it if you could tell me even a bit of what happened.”

  Kennedy nodded.

  “Or Stratton could say…” Hal looked flummoxed. “What would you want to say?”

  The words emerged like a spring. “I need you to trust me more. When you don’t, it stings even more that you reject my touch, when it’s a way that I want to show you my love and devotion.”

  Kennedy blinked before averting her eyes.

  “Good!” Hal stood and reached for a book on his shelf. “I have other exercises for you. They’re all right here in my book.” He grinned. “It’s only $19.99.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Kennedy

  My skin still felt heated from our flirtatious exchange at the counselor’s.

  I can’t remember.

  Maybe we’ll have to refresh our memory.

  “Do I snore?” Stratton asked me as we got in his truck.

  “Sometimes.” I smiled. “When you’re super tired. Or if you’re on your left side.”

  He smiled too.

  This felt like a date. Was it a date?

  “You want to do something else?” he asked.

  I ran my finger lightly on the arm rest of my door. “Like what?”

  “Swim at the lake.”

  It was two p.m. The perfect time to swim the lake on a fall day. Hot enough to feel refreshing.

  I turned to study him. “Without the kids? They’ll be so sad.”

  “You don’t have to tell them.”

  I hedged some more. “I’ll need a swimsuit and towel.”


  “We can grab yours and mine real quick.”

  The thought of us wearing our swimsuits on the beach without the kids made me panic a little.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Kennedy.” His eyes held a questioning glance. “I know you like the beach.”

  “I love the beach.”

  “Then…?”

  I dodged the real question. “Let me call my parents and make sure they can watch the kids a bit longer.”

  My parents were good with it.

  After I hung up, I took a deep breath. “Let’s do it. But no touching, okay?”

  I didn’t look his way, but I could tell he was watching my profile. “No touching?”

  “Yes. We’re swimming.” I spoke firmly.

  “Thank goodness it’s a large lake.” Amusement lurked in his voice.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” His eyes danced.

  “Promise me.”

  He rubbed his stubble, which glinted with natural highlights. Attractive highlights. “Let me clarify. You can touch me but I can’t touch you?”

  I gaped at him. “When have I touched you?”

  He smirked. “You touch me all the time. When the kids were trick or treating at the station, you scooped my cheek with your hand and I practically melted right there in front of my men and made a weeping fool of myself. There was that time when I moved you to the cabin and you pulled me close for a half-hug.”

  “Sorry that bothered you,” I said, flustered.

  “Huh?” He scratched his head. “Of course it doesn’t bother me. I want you to keep touching me.” His voice turned husky. “But fair’s fair, I want to be able to touch you too.”

  “My touch is different than your touch,” I pointed out. “Yours is more about…never mind.”

  His voice filled with wonder. “You really are being serious about this?”

  “Just agree.” My voice rose. “No touching.”

  “Yes, you’ve made that clear.” He sighed.

  I swung a glance over and his lips were hitched like he was plotting something. But maybe I imagined it because he was serious once again.

  With that out of the way, I relaxed. He stopped at the cabin so I could change into my one-piece, cover-up and towel. At our house, he came out in a shirt and the turquoise swim shorts he had bought at our fifth wedding anniversary in Cabo San Lucas. The first and only time we’d actually gone somewhere longer than an overnighter. A glorious five-day vacation. Nine months later, I gave birth to Evie.

  The memories swam in my mind.

  The beach by Antelope Marina had a smattering of families, many of whom were moms with their preschoolers.

  Stratton opened my door and I jumped out into the sand in my flip flops. “Weird to be at the beach without two kids in tow,” he said.

  I felt a stab of guilt for not bringing the kids, especially since it was the perfect fall day. But it also felt great to not have to mind them the whole time. The thought of being able to float on my back and not worry about anyone else excited me.

  We set off to the side and lay out our towels. I tried to not stare when Stratton peeled off his shirt, revealing his ripped body. I felt self-conscious about mine. I didn’t work out like I needed to, tethered as I was to the job. I took off my cover-up and tried to suck in my muffin top.

  My thighs were so white. I could tell where my skirt skimmed my knees when I took my break every day at work. I poured a handful of sunblock on my hand and rubbed it onto my skin. Stratton came over and sat on his towel, then opened his palm for the bottle. After I handed it to him, he started doing some maneuvering to get sunblock on his back.

  “Here,” I said without thinking. “Let me.”

  He turned and I could see his amused profile. “I thought you said no touching.”

  “Well,” I retorted, “that kind of touching is okay.”

  He turned away again and held out the sunblock without saying anything. I poured the white stuff on my hand and hesitated. He had a farmer’s tan at his neck and arms.

  My fingers touched him lightly all over to spread the lotion, and then more firmly. He used to like my massages, especially after an eventful shift. I put more lotion on his skin and took my time, until all the white liquid had been absorbed. I wondered what he would do were I to lean my cheek against his back and circle my arms around his torso.

  So much for not touching.

  “Done?” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “Yes.” I scooted back.

  He swiveled, his expression scorching me with his heated gaze. “Your turn.”

  In a swift motion, I piled my hair on the top of my head and held it with a clip. And then I turned my back to him.

  I heard the lotion coming out of the bottle and closed my eyes as his hands rubbed the liquid onto my skin. He made circles with his thumb, easing some of the knotted tension that I didn’t realize I had in my back, and traced my spine with the heel of his palm. Under my straps and down to the small of my back where my swimsuit dipped.

  There was a click and then the bottle skidded to a stop on the sand beside me.

  I didn’t dare look at him. Every nerve ending on my body felt like it was on fire. And then I heard him say, “I’m going to swim.”

  I breathed easy again and faced the water. Stratton walked down to the shallows and dove in.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Stratton

  The cool water doused the fire that raged through my body.

  Touching Kennedy was glorious…and frustrating. And being touched by her almost brought me to my knees. Wanting to beg her to come back. To stay and be my wife fully again. To not just be the mother to our kids, but also to be a nurturer to my soul.

  I missed her. I missed us.

  I wished things could get back to where they had been. With every week that passed, it seemed that Kennedy was getting farther and farther from our marriage. Why would she settle for the restrictions of our wedding vows when she had proven that she no longer needed me? Was that what she wanted, eventually? To stand on her own two feet so that we could get divorced?

  I stopped swimming and treaded water, looking her direction. She was no longer on the beach, but was swimming close to shore. I swam to join her and stopped, standing on the sandy bottom. Against the backdrop of the red rock and the blue sky, Kennedy’s blonde hair and pale eyes stood out in startling contrast.

  Memories of us vacationing in Cabo San Lucas came tumbling back into my mind. We had stayed at a little house with our own private beach. Our very own piece of heaven. We had been so happy then. There were frictions in our marriage, from raising a two-year-old, from my job, but everything was hopeful. Was that really four years ago? How time had passed.

  Kennedy flashed me a dazzling smile and all the full-force of yearning slammed me right in the chest. I smiled back but didn’t move any closer. I wouldn’t be able to trust myself to pull her into my arms and kiss her.

  Wait.

  She did say no touching.

  But nothing about no kissing.

  Emboldened, I waded up to her, her eyes widening and her smile faltering at my approach.

  “What…what are you doing?” she whispered, as I came abreast of her.

  My glance fell to her lips. They were wet with lake water. Soft and inviting.

  “You promised,” she said in a strangled voice.

  “You said no touching,” I murmured. “You didn’t say no kissing.”

  She took a quick intake of breath but didn’t make any attempt to move away or to push me. I was probably a little crazy. I wanted to kiss my wife and I had a one-track mind. If she hated me afterwards…it would have been worth it.

  There were some distractions around us, children giggling, people talking. But all that fell away as I zoned in on Kennedy. My mouth captured hers none too gently. I was starved for my wife and my kiss would hold no apologies.

  For several h
eartbeats, I claimed her as mine. I loved her even if she wanted to push me away. I would chase after her to the ends of the earth if that was what it took to keep our love alive. All I wanted was a second chance.

  We came apart, both of us breathing ragged, her eyes reflecting the turbulent emotions I felt inside. Passion and desire that still remained between us. Love. And then she retreated into herself; I could tell the moment it happened. Her expression turned pinched and a different kind of passion crept into her eyes. A mixture of hurt and anger.

  She turned and half-swam, half-ran out of the water.

  “Kennedy!” I shouted after her. “Sweetheart!”

  By the time I reached her, she had already put on her cover-up.

  “Listen,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

  She kept her back turned to me and didn’t say anything. Just kept gathering her stuff.

  I guessed our date was over.

  I picked up my towel and dried off, then put on my shirt. She was already trekking to the parking lot. She let herself in my truck and I got behind the wheel.

  “Won’t you talk to me?” I pleaded.

  She refused to look over. “When I trust myself to speak again. Let’s head back. Please.”

  “Okay.” I put the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot slowly, my mind racing.

  I glanced over and her fists were balled on her lap. I returned my eyes to the road, feeling terrible. I was sure I had blown it with her.

  When we got to her parents, I worried about having a chance to talk. Within a few minutes, the kids would catch wind of us being back. I hoped she would open up sooner than later.

  “Didn’t you hear anything I said at the counselor’s?” Kennedy’s voice was low. Pained.

  “That you didn’t want me touching you before you were ready?”

  She nodded. “But you made a joke of it in the lake.”

  I expelled a deep breath. “I didn’t mean it as a joke. Well, at first, I guess I was being a smart aleck. You’d said no touching, so I figured kissing didn’t fall under that.”