by Jodie Bailey
Jessica laid the knife beside the cutting board and turned to face the man who’d invaded her workplace and now her home. “You do eat, don’t you? Or are you some kind of robot who runs on solar power and sass?”
One perfect eyebrow arched. “Even superheroes have to eat sometime.”
Oh man, he was cocky. But she’d fed him the line so it shouldn’t surprise her he’d run with the metaphor. If he was anyone else, she’d have laughed. But Sean Turner? No way she’d give him the satisfaction. Earlier today, she’d thought it would be possible for them to work together. But now, after his command and conquer tactics with her personal life, he should consider himself blessed she was cooking his dinner and not throwing it at him. He should have involved her, not gone behind her back in a way that hinted she was too stupid to make phone calls herself.
Sean tipped a chin toward her work. “What is all of that anyway? It doesn’t seem one bit like real food.”
It was Jessica’s turn to lift an eyebrow. She held up the package of meat. “You can’t tell me you’ve never eaten chicken before.”
“Breaded and deep-fried.”
“You’re kidding.” She tossed the package back to the counter, opting for a clinical recitation of the dinner menu over considering the spark in his eye as he teased her. “We’re having bruschetta chicken breasts, an Italian salad and buttered fresh noodles from one of the Italian restaurants in town.” Only because she hadn’t had time to make her own. Boy, Turner would really dive off the deep end when he found out noodles came from something other than a box at the grocery store.
“It’s so obvious you were about to feed a bunch of women.”
Jessica didn’t have to see him to know he’d rolled his eyes. She scooped the tomatoes into a bowl, rinsed her hands and stacked the basil leaves. Rolling them into a tight spiral, she ran the knife through the herbs. “Didn’t your mom feed you? Or did she leave you to your own devices to hit the drive-through every night?”
There was a long period of silence—so long Jessica wondered how deeply she’d shoved her foot into her mouth. Finally, he spoke. “I grew up outdoors with my dad. Spent winter mornings in a tree stand hunting deer and summers knee-deep in a river fishing for trout. My mom could throw together a venison stew like you can’t even imagine. She believed in good food with thick gravy and cream of mushroom soup. There was no girlie broo-whatever that is you’re making. She’d feed you breakfast so packed with waffles and eggs and bacon at four in the morning that you wouldn’t even think about food again until you came out of the woods at four in the afternoon.” He cleared his throat, as if some emotion hung up the next words. “There’s not near enough protein in those vegetables you’re tossing together.”
Jessica dumped the basil into the bowl with the tomatoes and pulled the balsamic from the cabinet above her head, careful not to look sideways at the enigma in her kitchen. He’d shifted from all-business soldier to all-loving family man.
Something about the way he said those words revealed he loved his mother more than he would ever tell her, but there was a heaviness that hinted at loss, too. It tugged at her heart in a way that shouldn’t happen when it came to a man like Sean Turner. She angled the subject away from that emotion. “And what do you eat now? Besides breaded and fried chicken flesh of indeterminate origin?”
“Indeterminate origin? I know where my food comes from. The drive-through. You should drag that chicken through some flour and fry it. You do that and move out of my way and I’ll show you how to make a mean sawmill gravy. Then we’ll talk about some real eating.”
“Absolutely not.” No way was she risking her daily physical training calories on a heart attack like the one he’d described. “Have your mom make you some next time you’re home. I’m sure she’d be happy to contribute to your elevated cholesterol numbers.”
Sean didn’t answer. There was a shuffle and a soft sound. When Jessica turned, he was gone.
SIX
Sean stood at the small front window, hands braced high on the sides of the frame, fingers digging into the wood so hard his forearms strained. He stared out at the darkness that swallowed the front yard, hardly seeing anything for the red of his anger.
Not at Jessica. She’d been doing her level best to bond with him or something, trying to draw him out, he guessed, and make him talk like a normal person. And it had all been okay. She was actually kind of cute and sarcastic in a way he really shouldn’t notice, not if he was going to do his job.
No. The anger he felt had nothing to do with her and everything to do with himself. He was weak. Ever since Ethan Kincaid and an FBI hostage rescue team had freed him from terrorists who’d snatched him right out of his own office in Afghanistan, emotions about his parents’ deaths had ridden way too close to the surface. He’d always been able to tamp them down and beat them back with more work, more training, more focus. But now, at night, his dreams alternated between vivid memories of his captivity and horrifying images of what his parents’ last moments must have been like.
Times like this reinforced why he never talked about them. In those rare moments in the past when he’d let himself be vulnerable, it had always been with Ashley. With her, he’d felt like the strong one, even though he was hurting, too. Her parents had died in that fiery crash right along with his, and it was usually together that they grieved. They’d been best friends their whole lives, had even survived a short engagement born out of his brotherly need to protect her. Thankfully, they’d realized quickly that the kind of love they shared was deep, but it wasn’t the marrying kind. While Sean fully celebrated the joy Ashley had found with Ethan, it left him with nowhere to turn.
So when Jessica had stepped closer, needing him, pulling her near had seemed too natural. She’d fit against his chest so perfectly, and he’d almost sunk into that moment.
Stupid. She’d been right to pull away, and he should have been the one to do it. Should have never closed that gap in the first place. He had to be stronger than this.
Sooner or later, he’d defeat this weakness and remember the man he was supposed to be, the soldier who had everything together, who won battles and exposed terrorists instead of being sidelined by weak emotion and silly nightmares.
“Turner?” Jessica’s voice was more tentative than he’d heard it before, even when she’d faced her attackers.
There was definitely no way he was going to let her be the stronger of the two of them, and no way he was letting any more personal information invade the space he needed to do his job. Pushing off the window frame, Sean slid the curtains closed. He turned and crossed his arms, determined to project the strength of the man he should be.
Jessica stood at the entrance to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a white dish towel, watching him with furrowed brows. He’d worried her, and the fact nearly pushed him over the edge. Why should she care about him? And why did he want her to?
Sean sniffed, the decade-old hurt suddenly too fresh. “My parents were killed by a drunk driver not long after I joined the Army.” He dug his fingers harder into his biceps. Hadn’t he just decided not to confide in her anymore? The last thing he wanted was her sympathy, or to open up to her in any kind of personal way. It was out of the bounds of this mission and definitely out of the bounds of his life. He’d already lost one woman he thought he’d loved. He sure didn’t need another one stepping in to try to take her place.
To her credit, Jessica didn’t react. Instead, she stood in place and drew the towel between her fingers. “That stinks. It really does.”
The bold plainness of that statement spoke more sincerity than if she’d offered sympathy or condolences. It was real, more real than anything anyone had ever said to him, and it clutched him around the heart in a way he both longed for and hated. “Yeah, well.” He shrugged and tried not to watch what she did next.
She lifted a mischiev
ous smile. “You know, if it would make you feel better, I could always slap a whole stick of butter in the frying pan and dredge that chicken through some flour and some heavy-duty seasonings. You know, give it a real Southern country kitchen kind of vibe. Or I could swim it in some good ole melted shortening and make your heart scream for mercy. How does that sound?”
Sean choked on a laugh that felt better than anything else he’d done in the past seven months. It made him appreciate the woman in front of him more than he should.
With that smirk on her face and her hair down out of its usual low twist, man, Jessica Dylan was cute. She caught something in his gut that swirled as hunger never had, twisting him up in a way that was totally uncomfortable and more exhilarating than jumping out of an airplane with an oxygen mask at thirty thousand feet.
Ashley had never made him feel this way. The thing that had existed between them had been a steady rock under his feet, built on a shared upbringing and shared grief. Ashley had been a safe place to land. This? This was dangerous. A landing zone in the middle of an enemy-controlled airfield.
Either that or the idea of breaded and pan-fried chicken was making his palms sweat. Yeah. He was a man. Food had that effect on him, right?
“Well?” Jessica was waiting for an answer, threading the dish towel between her fingers as she eyed him, as if she was trying to read his mind but wasn’t really sure she wanted to know what lurked in there.
“Tell you what.” The frame of the window pressed into his spine as he leaned back, trying to appear nonchalant while his muscles fought to remain clenched. “You make me this froufrou tomato whatever chicken of yours tonight, since you already got it started. Next time, I’ll slap a big ole steak in some flour and fix you a country-fried, gravy-soaked slab of meat that will make you decide cholesterol and fat are absolutely worth the years they’ll shave off of your life.”
Her eyes slid to the side, and she held the towel tighter between her fingers, something in his words throwing off her confidence.
Next time. He’d all but invited her out on a date with the word picture he’d just painted. Man, he needed to check himself before he wound up in the ditch. An organization with all the markings of a rogue terror cell was on the loose and they were trying to kill the woman in front of him. He’d do better to remember that than to think of how he could wrangle another meal with her.
“Know what?” He straightened and dropped his hands to his sides. “You go make the rest of your dinner. I’m going to walk around your house inside and out and make sure there’s nothing to be worried about. It’s better if I know the lay of the land anyway in case something happens.” He took a step toward the door, the twinge in his shoulder reminding him he wasn’t all of the man he was pretending to be, that little bit of pain reigniting the passion in him to take down any bad guy who stood in his way.
Without looking back at Jessica or waiting for an answer, he crossed the room for the door and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him, reveling in the autumn chill that frosted his emotions and reminded him that all he needed was his mind. His heart could stay cold.
* * *
The warm scent of browned butter drifted over Jessica, cut by the pure acid of the tomatoes and basil in the bowl beside the stove. She pulled the last of the lightly fried chicken from the cast-iron skillet and set a thick, perfectly browned piece on each plate, sliding the third one into a plastic container for Angie to eat later. She always stayed out late on Bible study nights, but Jessica never gave up hope that one day, the younger woman would decide to sit in.
Sean had been prowling around for half an hour, but she hadn’t missed the expression on his face before he left. Something was bothering him, and it was more than his parents’ deaths.
She scooped buttered noodles from the strainer at the sink. Sean Turner wasn’t being 100 percent honest with her, and it rankled, even though she had no right to know details about his private life. He owed her nothing other than to complete the mission he’d been assigned. Still, standing there watching him hold on to the window frame as though he could pull it from the wall, something in her had wanted to go to him, to give him comfort for whatever had him so angry it reddened the back of his neck and whitened his knuckles. He was hurting, and everything in her wanted to fix it.
It was good he’d walked out, even though it sliced a little at her spirit. He was on a mission for a unit she didn’t completely understand. He was not her friend and he was definitely not date material. If she was ever going to prove to her father she was a good soldier, no man could be date material. She had to stay focused.
Carrying the food to the small kitchen table, she analyzed the green cloth and white plates. Maybe she should have ordered pizza instead. Cooking for him was too intimate, and the implication that he’d return the favor one day? Well, that never should have set her heart racing.
Sean Turner was in dangerous water.
She was filling two glasses with ice when the front door opened and his heavy footfalls sounded on the hardwood. He didn’t come immediately into the kitchen, but she found him standing at the entrance, waiting for permission.
Carrying two glasses to the table, she waited for him to speak, then took matters into her own hands. “Find anything?”
He stepped closer to the table, pulling his hands from his pockets and rubbing them together against what was bound to be a fairly chilly, damp Tennessee fall evening. “I’m not sure I like how the covered porch wraps all the way around to the back. Too much cover. You’ve got a sturdy privacy fence, but there’s a weak spot at the back corner. If you’ve got a hammer and a few nails, I’ll tighten it up after we eat, make it harder for anyone to slip through.”
The glass clattered against the table harder than Jessica intended. The idea of someone sneaking into her backyard grated on nerves still raw from her encounter that afternoon. It was terrible for someone to lie in wait in the back of her vehicle. It was a whole other horrifying thing for them to gain entrance to her house while she slept. “You think that will be enough?” She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she set the other glass down. The question made her sound like a weak female. She was a soldier. A soldier with a concealed carry permit, a revolver and combatives training. There was nothing to be afraid of.
Except there was. For the first time, the idea of Sean Turner bunking on her couch outweighed the goal of getting him out of her life as fast as possible. She’d never wanted a man to protect her before, but tonight it sounded like the only way she was going to get any rest was if someone helped pull guard duty.
Sean stepped to her side. The warmth of him filtered through her sweatshirt. It was best not to turn and face him.
“I shouldn’t have muscled in on your private life like I did earlier today. You’re a strong woman. So strong you scare me.” He fiddled with a napkin on the table as if he wasn’t used to making apologies and wasn’t exactly sure which way to turn next. “I’m sorry.”
The way he stood so close and the unexpected humility in his words tore apart the last of her anger. She relaxed. “Thank you.”
“Still, you can’t do this on your own. I’ve got my stuff in the car, and all I have to go back to is a hotel room where I’ll sit up all night anyway. Keeping watch here is better than trying to explain to my chain of command why I didn’t stand guard. Rather than face that music, I’ll sit out in my car until the neighbors call the cops and label me a stalker. I doubt either one of us wants that one on our record.”
Jessica flashed a quick smile in spite of herself. She straightened a plate on the table, some stubborn part of her still not able to surrender. “True. But I don’t want the girls in my Bible study getting wind that a man spent the night at my house.” There was too much she couldn’t explain to impressionable women younger than her, some of whom held her up as an example, although they definitely shouldn�
�t.
“Your roommate will be here. Everything’s on the up-and-up.”
“My roommate’s only here until Wednesday. She’s going to Knoxville to visit her parents for Thanksgiving.”
“Well, hopefully this won’t take that long.” He pointed to the front room. “It’s the couch or your driveway, but I’m not walking away when some guy was hanging out in your backseat this afternoon. I can promise you he wasn’t there to tell you you’re due for an oil change.”
That was a low blow, reminding her of that. But it also kept her from arguing any further. “I wouldn’t make a dog sleep in the car. I certainly won’t make you.”
Sean actually laughed. “Well, at least I rank one higher than the dog.”
“We can hash this out later.” Jessica stepped away and pointed to the table. “We should eat before the food gets cold.”
Without arguing anymore, Sean stepped to the small table and waited for her to choose a seat before he sat in the one across from her.
She winced as her foot brushed his. Probably would have been better to sit at the dining room table. Then she could have put him at one end and herself at the other. At least there wouldn’t be the constant danger of accidental footsies. She tilted her knees to the side and drew her feet under her chair, bowing her head to pray silently. She didn’t know where Sean’s attitude toward God lay, but she wasn’t going to change her routine for him.
When she lifted her head, he was watching her. “You pray.”
“You’re surprised? You’re the one who canceled my Bible study, remember? How about you?” Why the answer to that question interested her so much, she had no idea.
“I’m sure you’ll never let me forget.” He slipped his napkin into his lap, noticing his plate for the first time. He poked the chicken with his fork. “You fried this?” Without lifting his head, he raised his gaze to meet hers. “For me?”
