Friend, Lover, Protector. Sharon Mignerey

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СКАЧАТЬ her wonder how the two guys slouched inside could hear anything. They both wore reflective sunglasses and had an I-dare-you-to-complain demeanor—probably friends of the kids who lived at the end of the block.

      The car moved on, and Dahlia’s attention returned to Jack and Emmet. She folded her arms over her chest and watched. She heard Emmet laugh. She didn’t want Jack making friends with her neighbor, hanging out as if he somehow belonged, and standing in her kitchen kissing her.

      More than an hour later she pressed the save button on the computer and headed for the kitchen. The mouthwatering aroma of someone in the neighborhood barbecuing had reminded her that she was hungry.

      In the kitchen her gaze lit on Jack’s pack. Which meant he still was around somewhere…or that he’d be back. She was debating the wisdom of simply setting it on her front porch so she wouldn’t have to deal with him when movement in the backyard caught her eye. Boo barked. Before Dahlia reached the sliding glass door, Jack opened it. Boo sped out and the enticing aroma of chicken wafted in.

      “You’re cooking,” she accused. “On my grill.”

      “Yep.” He just stood there in the open doorway, cool evening air spilling in. Boo danced around his legs, and Jack bent to scratch her ears.

      “Some bodyguard you turned out to be. Leaving to get chicken.” Never mind that she had told him to leave, never mind that to have him here meant today’s danger hadn’t been some horrible figment of her imagination.

      He straightened and met her gaze head-on. She had the impression he was weighing what to say.

      “I went as far as the cooler in the back of my car,” he said.

      Her glance slid past him to the porch where a large blue cooler sat. A utility box unlike any she had ever seen was on her picnic table, opened and sitting on its side like a cabinet. The cooking utensils and spices neatly strapped inside were more than she had in her own kitchen. An open bottle of beer made it look as though he’d completely made himself at home. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stepped out of the house. Her fingers trailed over the top of the box, its finish satiny.

      He opened the grill lid, which contained not only chicken but fresh vegetables that looked as good as the chicken smelled. After turning the chicken pieces over and brushing them with a marinade from yet another bowl, he closed the lid and took a long pull from the bottle of beer.

      Her idea of cooking was boiling water for spaghetti and heating the sauce in the microwave oven. She remembered joking with her sisters once that if she ever found a man who could cook, watch out.

      So, the man could cook. And use a screwdriver with an ease she might never master. And kiss better than anyone else. He also carried a gun, and if even half of what he told her about his training was true, he could give Rambo a run for his money.

      “You drink on the job?” she accused.

      He grinned. “Progress. The lady admits I’m on the job.”

      Realizing she had backed herself into a corner, she frowned.

      “One beer won’t slow me down, if that’s what’s worrying you. I have enough to share,” he added, extending an unopened bottle toward her. “Ten more minutes, and the chicken will be ready.”

      “And then what?” she asked.

      “And then we eat.” He set the beer down on the table.

      She shook her head. “After that, what?”

      A glimmer of humor appeared in his eyes. “Since I cooked, you get to do the dishes?”

      “While you move in,” she finished.

      “So we’re back to that.”

      “I never left it,” she informed him. “I don’t want your beer, and I don’t want your chicken.” Dahlia, you are such a liar. “Eat your dinner, pack up your stuff and go.” The more she thought about that, the more clear she was. “Tell your friend, thanks but no thanks. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

      “We’ve already had this conversation. You didn’t hire me. He did. I’m not going anywhere.”

      “For all I know that guy this morning was after you.”

      He raised an eyebrow, then challenged, “Why didn’t you tell the cops that?”

      “How do you know I didn’t?”

      “If you had, I’d be spending the night in the county jail instead of barbecuing on your back porch.”

      Not about to admit to the man that he was right on all counts, she turned away from his penetrating gaze.

      “You know why you didn’t tell the cops?”

      She refused to turn around but knew that he was messing with the chicken again because she heard the grill open and the sizzle of the marinade dropping on the hot coals, accompanied by an aroma that made her mouth water.

      “Because you know I’m right,” he said. “Somebody was in your house. You talked with your mom, so you know I didn’t lie about your sister.”

      She turned around. “I don’t know that.” A blatant lie and they both knew it.

      “Then you’ll just have to trust me.”

      She shook her head. Of all the things possible, trust was dead last even though she knew he’d been completely straight up with her. Dahlia shivered, remembering her conversation with her mother earlier in the day. Some guy attacked her dad just as he was quitting work for the day. Her mom had assured Dahlia that he was fine and had added that his assailant had to be flown to the hospital in Juneau. It still annoyed Dahlia to no end that she hadn’t known any of this was going on until Jack showed up. The whole thing felt too much like it had when she was a kid— Lily, Rosie and their mom with their secrets that little Dahlia wouldn’t understand. She might be the youngest, but she wasn’t the baby anymore.

      “It doesn’t make any sense that I’m a target.”

      “If I were this guy on trial for executing the assistant D.A.—” Jack took a step closer to her. “And if the D.A. had an ironclad case against me, and if I had unlimited money and no conscience and was determined to stay out of prison, I’d do just about anything to keep the state’s star witness from testifying.”

      His voice had dropped to a near whisper.

      “You’re scaring me.”

      “It’s about damn time.”

      “I can’t live like that. Afraid to open my front door.”

      “At least you’ll be living.” He turned the chicken again, the ordinary act of cooking so at odds with his statement she had the urge to laugh. She didn’t, though, because she knew it would sound hysterical.

      “You have to be wrong.” She went back to the open door and stepped into the kitchen. She picked up his pack and thrust it into his hands. “Come on, Boo,” she said, motioning the dog into the house. Boo sat and looked at her with the quizzical expression that she’d had all afternoon. Dahlia stared at the dog a СКАЧАТЬ