Operation Soldier Next Door. Justine Davis

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “He’ll get over it. Nobody could stay mad at this sweetie.”

      “Unless they’re really mad at something else.”

      “Standing right here,” Tate pointed out, feeling a bit aggrieved.

      “So you are,” Lacy said. She sounded as cheerful as Hayley had. None of them—including the dog—had any qualms about intruding or interrupting, obviously. “And speaking of retrieving, I need to retrieve my stockpot, if you’re done with it.”

      “Stockpot,” he repeated, the memory coming back now.

      “The pot the stew was in?” she explained.

      “I know, I just couldn’t remember what it was called. I don’t cook much.”

      “Well, I do, and I need it for spaghetti sauce tonight. My tomatoes aren’t ready yet so I had to buy some, but I’ve got some other veggies I need to use up.”

      “That garden looks like you’d have enough to feed my entire squad.”

      “Invite ’em over,” she said.

      She was kidding, of course, but as he looked at her serene expression he had the oddest feeling that if he did just that, she would welcome them. And deal with the influx graciously and feed them well.

      “I’ll leave you two to it, then.” Hayley glanced at her dog, who had inexplicably given up his fascination with the stockpot and was at the front door, clearly ready to leave, and added, “Since it appears his work here is done for the moment.”

      Tate’s brow furrowed. What was that supposed to mean? But before he could ask, both woman and dog were out the door and headed home at a steady run.

      “Seems you’re making friends in the neighborhood whether you like it or not,” Lacy said when they’d gone out of sight.

      That stung, although not as much as her manners comment. “Why wouldn’t I like it?”

      “Just saying you don’t go out of your way to be welcoming.”

      “Doesn’t seem like I have to, with everybody showing up, anyway.” What was it about this woman that had him snapping like this? Maybe he wasn’t an easy charmer like Cav, but he’d never turned into a grouch at the sight of a beautiful woman. And Lacy Steele was certainly that, as his body kept reminding him. He sucked in a breath, willing himself to speak evenly. “Look, I only meant I thought it would be...slower here. Small-town slow. And I thought I’d left stuff like middle-of-the-night explosions behind for good.”

      “I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “Of course, you’re right. And you have every right.”

      Her instant contriteness, so obviously sincere, made him feel even worse. As if he’d somehow traded on his service to get out of a situation his own rusty social skills had gotten him into.

      “I’ll get the pot,” he said, turning to go to the kitchen before he could make things any worse. When he brought it back, feeling he had to say something, he handed it over with what he thought should be safe enough—a sincere, “The stew was great. Really. Thank you.”

      The smile she gave him then made him forget the awkwardness, and all the irritation he’d been feeling over his disrupted morning. It did nothing, however, to remove that uncomfortable awareness that had him so edgy.

      “You’re more than welcome. And if you like, I’ll save some spaghetti sauce for you. I always make a ton so I can freeze some for later.”

      “I...”

      “Just say ‘yes, thank you.’ It’s easier.”

      He lowered his gaze and let out a rueful chuckle before echoing her suggestion. “Yes, thank you.”

      Her smile widened. “All right then.” She looked around, her nose wrinkling. “That smoke smell is still pretty strong.” He nodded as she pointed out the obvious odor of burned materials. “It would give me a headache.”

      It had, in fact, given him a headache the one time he’d tried to sleep in the house. Not to mention nightmares. “That’s why I’ve been sleeping out in the shop.”

      She nodded in understanding. “Fresh paint’ll fix that when you get there.” She grinned at him, as if he were the friendliest guy in town. “Whole different kind of headache.”

      He smiled back. He couldn’t seem to help it. It even lasted a second or two. It seemed enough for her, because she turned to go, stockpot in hand. Then she turned back.

      “Anything more on your explosion?”

      She’d been here when the lab had called, he remembered. As if he could forget. “No. I think they still suspect Gramps left the valve open.”

      “Bull.”

      She said it so bluntly he drew back slightly. She kept going, rather fiercely.

      “One, Martin was sharp as a tack and would never forget something like that. Two, he was always aware and careful about propane in the first place, double-checking everything when he was done with the grill. Three, I’ve been around the back often, checking on the place, and I never once smelled even a trace of it. And the back corner of my garden is close enough, and I’m there often enough, I would have smelled it, anyway. It wasn’t leaking all this time.”

      Halfway through her surprisingly impassioned declaration he was nodding. By the time she finished, he was nodding and smiling again as she echoed his own thoughts and reinforced his position.

      “Thank you,” he said, meaning it from somewhere deep inside him, where his unfailing love for his grandfather resided.

      “And I thought of something else last night,” she went on, clearly not done yet. “I never saw two tanks. In fact, a few times I took the one tank he had to get it refilled, to save him the trouble since we used his grill so often.”

      Now, that he hadn’t known, Tate thought, feeling both gratified that she was echoing his confidence in Gramps, and sad that he hadn’t known. He should have spent more time with him. But he’d spent as much as he had. When he got enough leave to come home, it had been here he’d come, not the fancy, over-decorated house in So Cal where his parents lived.

      “You don’t believe it, do you? That he was careless or forgot?”

      She seemed as concerned as if he’d been her own grandfather. And Tate felt an odd kernel of a different kind of warmth finally blossom inside him.

      “No,” he said softly. “I don’t.”

      She smiled, seeming to be relieved. “Good. Because he wasn’t. And didn’t.” But then a frown creased her brow. She shifted the big, heavy pot in her arms. “But that leaves us with a big question.”

      Us.

      Funny how she assumed that kind of involvement.

      Not at all funny how that simple, ordinary, two-letter word made his stomach knot up.

      “A СКАЧАТЬ