by Dylann Crush
“Coming.” Alex turned back to face Zina, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “I need to get going.”
“Uncle Alex is in charge tonight, huh?”
“Yeah.” He hooked a thumb toward the truck. “Sorry, I didn’t have a chance to properly introduce you. Zina, meet Jordan, Frankie, Izzy, Dolly, and Gramps.”
The older man stuck his arm out of the passenger window and waved. “Mortimer Sanders, but you can call me Morty.”
Zina nodded. “Nice to meet you all.”
Alex glanced from his grandfather back to her. “Will I see you around the warehouse tomorrow? The contractor’s coming back to take some measurements and start putting together a plan for the temporary habitat.”
“Where else would I be? Thanks to Lacey I’m running point on the Munyon wedding and thanks to you, all of my dogs are living there right now.”
Alex shook his head and then let it drop. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t like me very much?”
“What?” Zina wasn’t used to being the recipient of such direct questions. At least not since she’d come back to Ido. The military was full of people who didn’t bother pussyfooting around, but since she’d moved back she’d been subject to the passive aggressiveness of well-meaning small-town residents. The sheer directness of his question made her do a double take. “What gives you that impression?”
“Gut instinct.”
Her gaze traveled to his lean midsection. He was probably hiding a six-pack underneath his thermal shirt. Maybe even a twelve-pack. For a split second she wondered just how firm his abs would feel under her palms. Their brief kiss earlier hadn’t given her enough time to find out. Suddenly, hot prickles flooded her cheeks.
“Look, it’s not that I don’t like you.” She plastered a practiced look of sheer indifference on her face. “I barely know you. I’m just looking out for Lacey, and I don’t want her to get burned.”
“You don’t think I’m legit?” He cocked a brow. Probably a look he’d used all his life. The kind of look that made women’s panties melt and bras fall off and led to hours of sweaty aerobic activity that ended with another notch in his bedpost.
Zina squashed down the immediate attraction and focused her thoughts on Lacey. Trusting, naive Lacey, who believed everyone had a vested interest in seeing her plan succeed. But Zina knew that most people only wanted to participate in someone else’s success as long as they benefited as well. And that’s why she was leery of Alex Sanders.
“I need to go and you obviously have more important things to do than stand here and try to convince me of your honorable intentions.” She turned to walk the last few feet to her truck.
Alex reached for her arm. Heat radiated from his touch, even through the sleeve of her shirt. She looked at his fingers wrapping around her forearm.
He immediately released his grip. “Sorry. I just want you to know that I’m not looking to mess with Lacey. This offer was too good to pass over. I’ll be around long enough to get through the wedding, then I’ll head out. In fact, I just heard about a job at a resort down in Ecuador that sounds promising.”
“Mm-hmm.” Zina scowled as she reached for the handle of her door.
“You’ll see.” Alex gave her another grin, a toned-down version of his last smile.
She’d see. That’s the one thing she knew for sure. She’d see because she’d be watching him like a freaking hawk.
“Uncle Alex, we still have to finish my project you ruined.” One of the girls stuck her head out of the window.
“You don’t happen to know where I can get a piece of poster board, do you?” His shoulders slumped. “I accidentally used Izzy’s project as a dustpan. Her mom’s at work until late, and if she doesn’t get her project turned in tomorrow, she gets an orange tag.”
“A red tag, Uncle Alex. There’s no such thing as an orange tag at my school.”
“See?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t even keep my colors straight.”
Against her better judgment, Zina let down her guard. “What does she have to do?”
“Draw the life cycle of a couple of things. A butterfly, and maybe a tree.” He shifted his keys from one hand to the other. “We’ll figure it out.”
Zina glanced toward the passenger seat of her truck, where Zeb sat adjusting his earbuds. “You know what? Zeb is an excellent artist. I could ask him if he’s willing to help.”
“Really?” Alex’s eyes sparkled. “You sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”
She should make up an excuse. No good would come of spending more time with him. He’d just admitted he was only sticking around through the wedding. It wouldn’t make sense to put herself out there or let herself get attached. But instead of retracting the offer, she matched his smile.
“Sure, let me ask him.”
* * *
* * *
“How did you learn how to draw?” Izzy sat next to Zeb at Char’s kitchen table, trying to copy the swift, sure strokes of his pencil as he sketched out a very detailed monarch butterfly.
“I taught myself. Lots of practice.” Zeb’s forehead furrowed in concentration.
“Why don’t you give him some space?” Alex suggested.
Zina’s hand landed on his arm. “He’s fine. He’ll let her know if she starts to bother him, won’t you, Zeb?”
“Yep, sure will.”
Zeb had already sketched out the first four stages of a butterfly’s life cycle before the girls had finished their takeout. Inviting him and Zina back to the house had been a brilliant idea. Not only would Izzy get her project done in time, but Alex would get a chance to spend some more time with Zina.
“Everyone done with dinner?” Alex reached for the paper wrappers from the burgers and empty french fry containers his nieces had left at the table.
“Let me help with that.” Zina picked up cups and crinkled napkins. “Trash under the sink?”
“Thanks.” He held the cabinet door open for her. “I need to make sure Frankie put the bird back in his cage. I’ll be back in a sec.”
Zina nodded as he turned. She’d never get tired of watching him walk away, not with the way his backside filled out a pair of jeans. She waited until he’d disappeared into one of the doors at the end of the hall, and then wandered after him, wanting to check out the dozens of family pictures decorating the walls.
She recognized his sister in several of them, along with a younger version of Alex. He still had the same dimple on his left cheek but his eyes weren’t nearly as bright now as they were in the faded photos from his youth.
“That’s my son, Charlene and Alex’s father.” Alex’s grandfather stood behind her, pointing a shaky finger at the large family photo she’d been looking at. “You know what it’s like to lose a child?”
Zina shook her head. “I can’t imagine.”
“Sucks the life right out of you. Dragged my wife to an early grave.” He lowered his hand. “Here they are at Disney World. Took us two days to drive to Florida but it was worth it for the smiles on those kids’ faces.”
“You have a beautiful family,” Zina said.
“Doesn’t feel much like a family anymore. Charlene doesn’t have time to catch her breath, and Alex can’t seem to run far enough or fast enough to get away.” He shook his head.
“You’re not giving away all the family secrets, are you, Gramps?” Alex joined them, a smile making that damn dimple pop.
“He’s just showing me how cute you used to be.” Zina turned her attention back to the photos on the wall. A small photograph of a young boy in his underwear with a cape flung over his shoulders caught her eye. “Is this you?”
Alex glanced at the picture, his cheeks flushing just the slightest shade of pink. “No, that can’t be me.”
“It sure as hell is you.” Morty lifted the frame off the wall and passed it to
Zina. “He used to run around naked with nothing on but that cape. Called himself Captain Jaybird.”
Zina pressed a hand to her lips to try to keep from laughing. “That’s adorable.”
“Hey, I was like four in that picture.”
“You must have been pretty tall for a four-year-old.” Zina tapped on the glass. “You sure you weren’t older than that?”
“Maybe six.” Alex’s eyes shifted away from the picture.
“Boy hated to wear clothes. He was naked all the time.” Morty raised a brow. “I’m pretty sure you were about ten here. Your grandmother had to wrestle you into a pair of briefs or you would have had the neighbor girls running away screaming.”
Zina could only imagine what grown-up Alex might look like in a pair of skimpy briefs. The mere thought made her heart pound and her cheeks heat. There was no way he’d send women screaming at the sight of his naked ass now unless they were running toward him.
“Give me that.” He grinned and reached for the picture.
Zina held it behind her back.
“I’m going to go lie down.” Morty ambled down the hall, leaving the two of them alone.
“You sure you’re up for wrestling?” Alex stood in front of her, a smug grin on his face.
“You want it, come and get it.” Zina backed down the hall, the picture clenched in her hands.
His arms circled her, drawing her against his chest as his fingers fumbled to free the frame from her grasp. “That can’t be me. It’s probably a picture of my brother-in-law when he was a kid.”
“So you’re denying you liked to run around naked?”
“I wasn’t naked, I had on a cape.” He backed her up, sandwiching her between the wall and the concrete planes of his chest.
“So the picture is of you.” Zina bit her lip, trying not to laugh right into his face.
“What if it is?” His gaze dipped to her lips. “It’s not like I still run around with my ass hanging out, pretending to be something I’m not.”
The tone shifted. They’d started off teasing, playful, but there seemed to be a lot more meaning to his words now.
“What do you mean ‘something you’re not’?” she asked.
“Nothing. Can I have the picture back?”
She let her arm drop to her side, her fingers still holding the frame. There wasn’t room between them for a sheet of paper, much less a picture frame. “You know, not all superheroes have to wear a cape.”
One side of his mouth quirked up in a half-hearted grin. “And not all little boys outgrow wanting to run around naked. At least not if they’re in the right company.”
Her eyes widened even as heat sparked in her core. Kissing the man on the side of the road in a moment of weakness was one thing. But letting herself take the bait he offered now would be a huge mistake.
“I’d better get going.” She dragged her gaze away from his mouth.
“Mm-hmm.” His hand closed around the picture and he took it from her. “A lot of people around here seem to think you’re like a local superhero.”
Zina scooted a few inches away, her back still up against the wall. “Anyone who says that is either drunk, crazy, or lying.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just stood there grinning at her. “See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she whispered, still caught up in the intoxicating feeling of being too close to him. If she wanted to, she could reach up and press her lips against the little divot at the base of his throat, the place where his heartbeat pulsed.
He lowered his head toward hers and pressed his lips against her cheek, the contact too fleeting, not nearly enough to satisfy the building desire. “I’ve got to go get the girls to bed.”
She jerked her head away, shaking off the haze. “Yeah. I need to get Zeb home. I’ve got another early morning tomorrow.”
“Maybe we can talk about my underwear then if you really want to.”
Zina laughed. “You’re something else, you know that?”
But as she drifted down the hall, her thoughts still lingering on Alex and just what he might look like in nothing but a cape, she wondered if something else might be just what she was in the mood for. If something else might be just what she needed.
ten
The next morning Alex woke to the sound of a siren. He startled, jumping up from the air mattress Char had blown up and set in the middle of the living room. He’d been displaced from his short stay in the back bedroom when Gramps moved in. He grabbed his jeans and stuffed in one leg, then the other. Was it an ambulance? Surely Char would have woken him up if something happened to one of the girls.
As he pulled his T-shirt on over his head, Frankie came into the room. “There you are.”
“What’s happening? Is everyone okay?” Alex rushed to his niece, who calmly took a bite of a banana as she stood at the foot of his makeshift bed.
“Yeah. Mom said to wake you up so I sent Shiner Bock in to do the job.”
Alex glanced to his right. The damn bird sat on top of the credenza, shaking his head and plucking at his feathers. “You’re kidding me.”
Frankie shook her head. “He can make all kinds of noises. Watch this.” She held a small piece of banana out to the bird. “Shiner, cry like a baby.”
The bird bobbed his head and then began to wail. Alex would have sworn there was a newborn infant somewhere in the house.
“See?” Frankie held her finger out to the bird, who took a delicate nibble of the banana.
“I see. Is there a way to turn him off?”
Frankie’s brow drew down over her eyes, making her little forehead crease. “He’s a bird, Uncle Alex.”
“Yeah, I know.” He reached out and pulled his niece in for a hug. “What time is it, anyway?”
Frankie shrugged her shoulders as she twirled away. “Time to go to school. Mom says we’re leaving in five minutes.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She reached for the bird, who climbed onto her hand and then waddled up her arm to rest on her shoulder. “Jordan made waffles. Mom says you better come and get some before Dolly feeds them to her stuffed animals.”
“Be there in a sec.” He waited for her to disappear through the doorway before reaching for his phone.
The contractor had confirmed their meeting for this morning. He didn’t have any time to waste if he wanted to get the penguin habitat constructed in time for the wedding. For a moment his thoughts wandered to his interaction with Zina last night. She was like the pit bulls she rescued—tough and protective of the ones she loved.
The fact she was suspicious of his motives rankled him a bit. It shouldn’t matter what she thought. He was going to be stressed enough as it was without any outside interference. But he’d made it this far in life by winning people over. He’d just have to work a little harder to gain her trust.
“I heard there were waffles.” He entered the kitchen to find the aftermath of an explosion of flour all over the kitchen counters. His jacket hung on the back of the chair he’d used last night. Somehow it had also suffered the wrath of whoever had taken out their aggression by making breakfast.
“We had a little accident with the baking mix,” Char said.
“Really? Who’s responsible? I think someone deserves to be tickle tortured for that.” Alex held his hands up and wiggled his fingers.
“It was Jordan.” Dolly giggled and pointed her wand at her older sister.
“Don’t even think about it, Uncle Alex.” Jordan jerked the spatula out of the bowl, sending a glob of raw waffle batter right at his shirt.
The batter splattered against his chest and then plopped onto the floor. Alex glanced from his shirt to Jordan, whose eyes had gone wide.
“Sorry about that.” She thrust the spatula back in the bowl.
“No problem, kiddo. What’s a littl
e salmonella poisoning among family members,” he joked.
“Coffee’s on. Mugs are in the cabinet in front of you. It’s the only way I survive.” Char tossed him a towel and offered a sympathetic smile.
He grinned back. Then Dolly pushed past him, her plate tipping just enough to spill syrup down the front of his pants. He jumped backward, knocking over the pitcher of orange juice. It raced across the counter, dousing his notebook in liquid.
“For fuck’s sake.”
“For fuck’s sake. For fuck’s sake,” the bird mocked him.
“Oooh, Uncle Alex is going to get a consequence.” Izzy covered her mouth with her hand.
Silence descended. The only noise came from Jordan’s phone in the form of a video she’d been watching while she monitored the waffle iron.
“Alex, can I talk to you?” Char turned away from where she’d been packing lunch boxes. “In the living room?”
He glanced from Jordan to Frankie. They both looked away. Izzy shook her head and Dolly clucked her tongue. He was a grown man. Why did he suddenly feel like he was about to get grounded by his sister?
Char moved down the hall and stopped inside the living room. “What’s going on?”
He slid his hand over his shirt. “I’m covered in breakfast. Is it always like this around here?”
“Yeah, it pretty much is.” Her shoulders slumped. “Which is why I can’t have Gramps moving in, too.”
He wanted to offer some sort of comfort but wasn’t sure how. “We’ll figure something out. Once I get paid from this gig, I’ll have plenty to pitch in and find Gramps a new place to go.”
“How did we end up here?” Char lifted her head. Her lower lids brimmed with tears.
A hollow feeling grew in his gut. While she’d been trying to make a life for herself and her family, he’d been partying around the world. Tossing back beers at the Hofbräuhaus in Munich, watching the gals put on a show at the Moulin Rouge, and doing his best to single-handedly support the economy of several islands in the South Pacific.
“We’re going to make this work.” He reached out and put a hand on his sister’s shoulder.
