Shelter Me (29 page)

Fifteen

R
AY TOOK THE
last stack of used paper plates and tossed them into the bonfire, the cleanup almost complete. The recycling bin was already filled to the gills, so they used nature’s power and let the bonfire finish off the rest of the mess.

He was finding himself drawn to this place more and more since Lacey’s dog had arrived from overseas. If only he could shake the gut-deep jealousy over seeing Lacey with that cop. They were just standing there, nothing going on.

Except she’d jumped when he and Nathan saw her with the policeman. Ray kept replaying that moment in his head, and he could only think of two ways to interpret that guilty expression he’d seen in her eyes. Either she had something going on with the police dude and wasn’t ready for people to know—more gut churning every time that crossed his mind—or, scenario two, maybe she returned Ray’s feelings and didn’t want him to get the wrong impression. While that was more definitely more encouraging, it also confirmed the fact that nothing was going to happen between them anytime soon. He understood he had no claim to Lacey, but he wanted a future for them. He was prepared to wait.

He just wasn’t prepared for someone else to steal that future out from under him.

Which brought him back to the reality that he didn’t want to be “that guy”—the one she had a fling with to get over her husband’s death so she could transition to a more lasting relationship with someone else. Hell, he could be misreading the whole situation and she didn’t want either of them. If he assumed too much, he would really mess up any chance he had with her.

He watched a stack of plates curl into ashes in the flame, a spot of ketchup in the middle sizzling before the rubbish poofed into dust. After a quick check of the animals with healing injuries, he would have no excuse to stick around.

Maisie and a friend of Sierra’s . . . uh . . . Mary Hannah? . . . were walking to their cars. Maisie had a way of lingering too long, showing a social awkwardness he hadn’t quite figured out how to handle without her bursting into tears. But Mary Hannah seemed to have her well in hand, steering her away with a quiet authority even he would be hard-pressed to ignore.

He heard footsteps crunching along the gravel path leading to the fire pit a second before Lacey reached his side. She held another paper bag full of trash to burn. “We had a lot of people here tonight. Thanks for all your help.”

A lot? Definitely. But she deserved the support and distraction during what had to be a tough day for the family. Father’s Day. Hell. He couldn’t imagine. He didn’t get along well with his old man, and they didn’t talk often, but thinking about never speaking to him again? That hurt.

He searched for something to say to keep the evening and tone light for her. “I bet the dogs are starting to look forward to the Sunday picnic tradition. The leftover burgers are a big hit with the canine crowd.”

A hint of a smile pulled at her cheek. “So true, especially Trooper. I could swear he has a doggie calendar tucked somewhere because he seemed to know first thing this morning that it was Sunday. He pawed at the freezer and the grill. He’s a unique dog, to say the least.”

They settled into a companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the flames eat the paper waste. A light blinked on inside the house on the second floor. Lacey’s teenage son walked briefly into view before closing the blinds.

“How’s Nathan? He seemed—” Ray searched for a diplomatic word to describe the kid, and yeah, to find out if anything had been going on in the garage between Lacey and Wyatt Parker. “He seemed off his game tonight there in the garage.”

She studied a sticky paper plate in her hand, the fire casting her face in a golden glow that showcased too well the dark circles under her eyes. Finally, she pitched the plate into the blaze. “He’s been quieter than usual since Trooper arrived.”

Ah, so she wasn’t going to address the garage at all. It was none of his business anyway. Not really. Not officially. “You’re a good mother.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m just trying my best. Sierra was so much easier to understand as a teenager. Sure she had her moody moments, but they leaned more toward the teenage drama and tears. We could talk or I would just listen. But I knew what to do. With Nathan . . .” She shook her head. “The problems are so much bigger these days. I would give anything to spare him the hurt he’s feeling—”

Her voice choked off with emotion.

To hell with keeping his distance and playing it cool. He squeezed her shoulder in comfort. “I’m so damn sorry, Lacey.”

Her skin was soft and warm where the sleeveless shirt left her arm bare, and the heat he felt right now had nothing to do with the bonfire. Her eyes squeezed closed, and more than anything he wanted to pull her into his arms. She needed him, and it was killing him inside not to be able to help set her world right again.

Just as he started to draw her to him, she stepped away and thrust the whole bag into the fire. The greedy flames surged upward.

“Okay,” she said with overplayed calm. “That’s the last of it. Thank you again for your help.”

Fair enough. She wanted him gone. This was a tough day and not the right time to push. “You can go on inside and I’ll shovel sand on the fire to make sure it’s out.”

There were only a few people lingering on the grass, finishing up conversations or saying long good nights.

“Mike can take care of that,” she said quickly.

“I know he can,” Ray answered gently, stepping back from the leaping flames toward shadows, “but he doesn’t have to and neither do you. I don’t mind helping. I’m being a good guest. My mother would approve.”

“Your mother, huh?” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against a tree trunk, as if putting distance between them, but not leaving altogether. Interesting dichotomy. “Where do your parents live? Seems like we’re always talking about my life or the rescue. What about the mysterious, altruistic Doctor Ramon Vega?”

Altruistic? Was that how she saw him? “My parents, hmmm, now I may need another beer for that one.” He shouldn’t have mentioned them in the first place. He shouldn’t have crossed that line, but for some reason, he had. “My mother is married to a senator, my stepdad actually. My biological father died when I was six months old. I don’t remember him.”

“
You
grew up as a politician’s son?”

“I know I don’t look the button-up type, but what can I say? I’m a rebel.” He picked up the shovel from beside the fire and started shifting sand onto the outer edges. The paper burned in a hurry, the blast of initial flames already quieting down.

“Me, too.”

“What?”

“My parents were wealthy and elitist, all about being a part of the country club set. They had big plans to pair their only daughter up with one of their friend’s offspring. To hear my mom talk, somehow I missed out on being a president’s wife someday.” She rolled her eyes, a smile lighting up her face for the first time in longer than he could remember. “But like I told you before, I got knocked up and married a soldier rather than marry a lawyer . . . or a doctor.”

Her gaze zipped to him self-consciously. “I didn’t mean . . . uhm, I wasn’t hinting.” She bit her lip then blurted, “Ah hell. Is it my imagination or are we attracted to each other? Because I really feel like I’m going crazy here sometimes wondering if I’m misunderstanding. And damned if I know what to do about it, because my life is such a mess—”

He dropped the shovel and grabbed her shoulders. “Lacey, you’re not imagining anything.”

His heart slammed against his ribs to have the truth out there. To have his hands on her again.

She swallowed hard, swaying toward him. “I’m not?”

He shook his head and prayed like hell for restraint. “But you’re also correct about your life being in turmoil right now.” The urge to kiss her pumped through him so intensely it took everything he had to hold back. Only his need for more from her kept him in check. “This is an especially bad day. I get that.”

“Father’s Day,” she whispered softly, her eyes filling with tears, hovering on the edge until one fat droplet slid down her cheek.

He hurt for her even more than he hurt for himself. And with all the regret firing through him right now, that was saying a lot. He might never get another moment like this.

Ray thumbed away that moisture, her cheek softer than he’d even imagined as he captured her tear shed for another man. “You’re always going to grieve for him. I understand. But when you’re stepping into that last stage of grief, the acceptance part, I hope you remember that attraction we feel and find me.”

Before the temptation could override his good intentions, he turned away. As much as it killed him to accept, someone else would have to put out the fire for her.

*   *   *

MIKE STRETCHED HIS
arms over his head, working out the kinks in his back from shoveling sand into the bonfire pit. This place was so—Scrabble word search—
bucolic
? Sometimes he felt like an encroaching monster dark cloud invading a Norman Rockwell painting.

Sierra sat cross-legged in the hammock with her laptop, her face lit by the blue glow. Doing homework? Or lesson plans for the classes she taught as a graduate assistant? Her workload would stagger most people. He was so damn proud of her, but he couldn’t deny there were times he felt her level of education put a distance between them. Their breakup before had been about different backgrounds and life experiences. And never had he felt that more acutely than as he’d told her a few stories about Granny at her finest.

He pinched the bridge of his nose right over the dull headache that had been throbbing ever since he left the barn. Hearing Nathan’s video game blasting from a handheld system didn’t help matters, either. Each explosion from whatever gaming creature the kid had destroyed sounded too realistic for Mike’s peace of mind, especially with the smoldering bonfire throwing smoke his way. He thought Nathan had gone to bed for the night, when he’d disappeared into the house earlier, but maybe he’d just helped his grandpa get to bed. Nathan seemed to rattle around the place at all hours, as sleepless as Mike.

Except that Nathan was at an age where he still liked to blow up things. Another blast fired through the tinny sound system and wrenched the tension along Mike’s shoulders. If he let himself, too easily he would be right back there in the haze of bad, bad memories. Shit that could pull him under until his only defense was to abandon sleep and play his guitar all night. The memories still hurt when he was awake. But at least they didn’t distort and mutate the way they did in his dreams.

He started to turn away, just call the day quits altogether—until he heard a sniffle. He glanced back at Nathan, sitting on the step with just a video game and a snake for company. The teenager dragged his wrist under his nose and kept playing.

Could be nothing. Only the smoke or allergies.

Except Mike knew it was more than that. This was Father’s Day and Nathan was feeling that. Hard. Had felt it radiating off the kid to a lesser degree every day, actually.

Something was up with the kid. Something . . . off. He’d sensed that same sort of vibe in guys he’d served with, that quiet despair.
Despair.
A darker Scrabble word he wished he’d never added to his vocabulary.

He stuffed the shovel into the dirt and walked to the porch steps where Nathan sat. “What’s with wearing the snake all the time, kid?”

“I really don’t like being called kid,” he said without looking up.

The video game chimed with a new level reached, the screen flashing and a bomb exploding to show a new score. Mike winced again. War sucked ass. It wasn’t a game.

“Roger that . . . my bad.” He sat on the step next to him. “What’s with the snake as an accessory, Nathan? I thought you were into lizards, or at least you were before.”

“My iguana died right about the time Mom got a snake. I was grieving. Would you deny me the consolation of a new pet?”

Mike’s mouth twitched at Nathan’s humor. And it was the most the kid had ever said to him at a stretch, so he kept pushing. “Why not become friends with one of the dogs?”

“The snake looks more badass.”

Fair enough. “Looking badass is important when you’re in high school.”

“How would you know?” Nathan looked at him sideways and snorted. “You’ve probably always been big and cool and fit in.”

“I got into trouble a lot.” There hadn’t been much supervision from Granny in those days.

Nathan’s thumbs flew along the controls, the snake watching from his perch draped around the teenager’s neck. “Did you pick on people?”

Everything went still inside of Mike for a second, not liking the turn of this conversation at all. Concerned. Hell—worried. “No. I just . . . I don’t know . . . liked to push boundaries. See how far I could go.”

“How come?”

“Because I could.”

“Bullshit,” Nathan said, then looked at Mike defiantly as if daring him to call him on swearing. “Everyone has a reason for what they do.”

This was supposed to be about Nathan, not him. But if it kept the kid talking, then he could play along. “To get my dad to notice or get back at him for leaving me with the craziest grandmother on the planet.”

“Crazier than my mom?”

“Hey.” Mike was quick to correct on that score. “Your mom’s not crazy.” The kid had clearly never spent a summer with Granny raising money for “cancer camp.”

“She’s weird.” His fingers never paused on the keys, the clicking a constant dance. “This place is weird.”

“Nah . . .” Strange how perceptions could be so different. He would have given anything for a home like this, a shelter from the storm of his messed-up childhood.

“We have a nanny goat and a pig. Seriously, dude.”

“Okay,” he conceded, “I’ll agree that’s a little . . . different. But then I like different. I’m guessing though that not everyone appreciates unique. So the snake keeps people from making fun of you because of your mom?”

Nathan’s thumbs stilled, but he kept his eyes glued to the game, staring in that sightless way. “They make fun of me because I’m me.”