Stephanie had never considered painting a room anything but a chore, yet this afternoon she found herself humming while she worked. Suddenly the squishy swish of the roller on the walls sounded cheerful and lively. The smell didn't bother her, not with the gatehouse windows wide open and the afternoon sun spilling into the room. Even the low-grade complaining of long-unused muscles didn't do anything to dampen her happy mood. She doubted anything short of a serious disaster could wipe the smile off her face.
Life was good, she thought as she smoothed the pale paint over the prepared wall. Life was damn good.
She giggled softly and stretched up her arm. The movement pulled at her hips, which ached from being extended when she'd parted her legs as wide as possible so she could wrap them around Nash. The discomfort only added to her exuberance. Being sore after something boring like an exercise class wasn't very inspiring, but being sore because of mind-clearing sex with an incredible lover was worth every twinge. Her insides still tingled with lingering aftershocks and she couldn't stop sighing with contentment. While she'd never considered herself an affair kind of girl, obviously this was something she should have done years ago.
“It never crossed my mind," she murmured aloud.
With three kids and a pretty hefty mortgage, she'd been more concerned about staying afloat financially after Marty's death than getting any sexual needs met. After a while it had been easy to forget she even had needs. Making love with her husband had been very nice, but over time, the memory faded. She didn't want another relationship with a man, so she'd figured intimacy was no longer available to her.
Until Nash had shown her all the possibilities. And what possibilities there were. They'd made love twice, then agreed to try and get some work done. It had been all of three hours since they'd left his bed and she couldn't wait to get back into it.
Mentally calculating the time until the boys would be turning in for the night, she wondered how she would survive that long without Nash touching her. Now that she knew he was even better than her fantasies, she wanted to take advantage of every second they had together.
“You're not working," Nash said as he walkedin from the kitchen. "You're standing on the ladder, grinning." She laughed. "If I tell you that I'm thinking about us being together will that make it okay?”
“Absolutely." He leaned against the door frame, a tall, good-looking man holding spackle and a putty knife. He'd pulled on a dark blue T-shirt over worn jeans. She liked how he was competent in whatever he did, whether it was patching a wall or making her scream with pleasure. She liked how he was comfortable asking her what she liked when they were in bed, and offering to help out around the house when they weren't. She liked that he was a bit nervous about being around his new family and that he wanted her there to act as a buffer. Not that he'd ever said the latter, but she'd read between the lines.
What she liked most was that they were equals. He had needs, she had needs. No one was more in charge. No one was subservient. They were taking care of each other, while getting what they wanted.
She dipped the roller into the paint on the tray. "How's the patching coming?" she asked.
“All done in the kitchen." He turned his attention to the walls. "Are you sure you don't want me to do the painting in here? You're kind of short to reach the top of the walls."
“That's why they invented ladders," she said. "I like doing this. If you want to help, you're welcome to paint the windows. I already taped the glass, but I haven't started on the frames yet."
“Sure. Let me put this away." He covered the can of spackle, then set it on the makeshift workbench she'd created by placing a flat door over two wooden crates. After he left, she heard running water. The man cleaned up after himself, she thought happily. Did it get any better than that? Nash returned and took a nearly empty gallon can of paint and a brush, then walked over to the large window. She watched him expertly brush the wood trim.
“So how did an FBI negotiator learn how to paint?" she asked.
“I helped paint our house a few times when I was growing up. Since then I've been dragged into a couple of projects with guys from work."
“Do you like your job?" He glanced at her then returned his attention to the window. "Most of the time. Not when it goes bad." She didn't know all that much about what he did, but knew it had a lot to do with negotiating with criminals holding hostages. A bad day for him would mean someone died.
“How did you get in that line of work?" He shrugged. "I was recruited by the FBI out of college. I worked in Dallas for a while, got my master's in psychology. I went into profiling, then I attended a lecture by a negotiator. I trained, worked with him for a while and figured out it was something I had the temperament for."
“Meaning you can handle high-stress situations?"
“That and disconnect from the emotions inherent in the incident." Low-key and distant, she thought. He'd been that way with his family at the pizza-night dinner.
Friendly, but not completely involved. She envied him his emotional detachment. If she'd been able to muster a little for herself, she might have been able to leave Marty.
“So you were probably really annoying when your wife wanted to pick a fight," she said. "There she'd be, all crabby and on edge, and you'd be rational and logical." She'd been teasing, but instead of smiling at her words Nash looked thoughtful.
“We were different," he admitted as he continued to paint the window frame. "Tina lived on the emotional edge most of the time. Drama fueled her. I never figured she would make it as an agent." Stephanie nearly dropped her roller. She grabbed the handle with both hands and tried not to look shocked. "She was an FBI agent?" Nash nodded.
Who would have known? Stephanie hadn't much thought about his late wife, but if she had, she would have assumed the woman was a… She frowned, not sure what she would have assumed. Certainly not a federal agent.
“We met during training. I was one of her instructors. I thought she was too impulsive and wanted to flunk her out. I was outvoted." She turned back to the wall and resumed painting. Better to leave a few streaks on the walls than to stand on the ladder with her mouth open. "Not a very romantic beginning," she said.
“It wasn't. I thought she was a flake, and she thought I was a hard-nosed rule follower. She moved on and I forgot about her. We hooked up about a year later, on assignment." Doing something dangerous, she thought wistfully. Capturing bad guys or saving innocent lives. There was tension, adrenaline followed by passion.
Stephanie didn't like the knot that formed in her stomach or the feeling of being a fairly typical, fairly boring thirty-something single mom.
“If you two were married, you must have changed your initial opinions of each other," she said.
Nash shrugged. "We were always opposites.”
“Sometimes that works."
“It didn't for you and Marty." That was true. "I'm not sure we were opposites so much as we wanted different things," she said, thinking it was safer to think about her late husband than Nash's late wife. "Or maybe it was just that I wasn't willing to pay the price for always doing what I wanted. I didn't like always having to be the grown-up, but Marty didn't seem to give me a choice. Someone had to make sure the bills got paid on time and that there was food in the house. But there were times when I envied his ability not to worry about things like money and consequences. I could never let go that much."
“You took on a lot at an early age. I think kids who have to grow up fast never forget what it was like to be young and in charge. I had the same thing at home. My mom worked a lot of hours and my brother was a complete screwup. He was born to break rules. Even though we were twins, I always felt like the oldest."
“But he grew out of it," she said. "Kevin's a U.S. Marshal now." Kevin had changed. Grown up. Most people did. Just not Marty.
Nash turned around and looked at her. "How did this conversation get so serious? People having an affair aren't supposed to talk about anything significant." She smiled. "I didn't know. This is my first affair, so you'll have to fill me in on all the rules." He set the brush on the edge of the paint can and walked toward her. "The rules are whatever we want them to be."
“Really?" There was a light in his dark eyes that made her insides quiver. As he approached, she put the roller onto the tray and leaned down. The kiss was hard, hot and left her breathless. Wanting exploded within her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him lower her to the ground.
“It's been less than three hours and I want you again," he murmured against her mouth. "At this rate we're not going to get a lot of work done."
“I don't mind."
“Good, because I-" A noise caught their attention. Both she and Nash turned. Stephanie cringed when she saw Brett standing in the open doorway of the gatehouse. The look on his face told her that he'd seen her in Nash's arms and that he felt betrayed. Before she could say anything, he took off for the house.
Desire drained out of her, leaving behind guilt and confusion. On the one hand, she was glad that Brett remembered his father and still thought about him. On the other hand, while she wasn't looking for love or anything close to it, she knew it wasn't right for her to close off that part of her life simply because her twelve-year-old son might not approve. Brett had to learn that it was okay to move on with life. But was this the time to have that conversation? And if so, what was she going to say? Complicating the situation was the fact that she and Nash didn't have a relationship she could explain to her children.
There was no one to ask, she thought sadly. No one to share her worries with. Like most tough times in her life, she was going to have to wing it and hope she didn't mess up too badly.
She took a step toward the house, then stopped when Nash touched her arm.
“Brett's upset," he said.
“I know."
“Maybe this would be better discussed with a guy " Stephanie stared at him. "You want to talk to Brett about what he saw?"
“Want is a little strong, but I have an idea about what he's feeling. I'm not going to tell him what's going on between us, but I can reassure him." She considered the offer. The mature side of her argued that Brett was her child and her responsibility. While Nash was probably a nice guy and definitely great in bed, he didn't have children of his own and he had only known hers for a few days. Therefore she should be the one to make things right with her son. The rest of her wanted to toss the problem in his lap and let him solve it. Just once it would be nice not to have to sweat the right thing to say.
“I really should talk to him," she said.
Nash lightly kissed her. "Go paint," he told her. "Give me ten minutes. If I'm not back by then, come find us." Letting go was unfamiliar. Releasing responsibility was unheard of. Stephanie battled what was right with what was easy. Before she'd made a decision, Nash left the gatehouse.
Ten minutes, she told herself as she checked her watch. He couldn't mess up too badly in that amount of time, could he? Nash walked into the house and paused to listen. When he heard something thump against the floor, he headed for the kitchen rather than the stairs.
When he pushed open the door, he found Brett banging his way through emptying the dishwasher. The kid's shoulders were slumped and stark pain darkened his blue eyes.
“Hey," he said. "How's it going?" The twelve-year-old spun to glare at him. "You don't belong here," Brett yelled. "You're a guest. Guests stay in the public rooms. Not the kitchen. The kitchen is for family. Get out." Nash closed the door behind him and approached the boy. Brett clutched a pot in his hands as if he would use it as a weapon if he had to.
“Did you hear me?" the kid demanded.
“I heard all of it. Even what you didn't say." Nash recognized the boy's helplessness, the frustration that fueled anger. He knew Brett wanted to be big enough and strong enough to force Nash out of the room, the house and his mother's life. Brett wanted Nash never to have come here, never to have existed. Now that he was here, Brett wanted him gone.
The old feelings were still there, Nash thought with some surprise as he took a seat at the table.
Buried, nearly forgotten, but still real. How many times had he wanted to take on Howard? Bad enough when Howard and his mother had just been dating, it had gone worse when the two had announced their engagement and said Howard would be adopting the boys. Like they were babies. Like they needed him.
“Your mom's a real nice lady," Nash said slowly, searching for the right words, trying to remember what would have made him feel better. "Pretty, a lot of fun." He glanced at Brett and gave a slight smile. "She probably seems old to you, but not to me. I like her a lot." Fear flashed in Brett's eyes. Nash leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
“The thing is, I'm just passing through," he said. "I'm not sticking around. In a couple of weeks I'll go back to Chicago. That's where I live and work. That's where my life is." His life? For the first time since Tina's death Nash realized he was lying about having anything close to a life. He had a job and that was about it. Few friends outside of work. None that he socialized with. He lived alone and he was damned tired of it.
He shook off that train of thought. Later, he told himself. Right now Brett was more important.
“I understand what you're going through," Nash said.
Brett turned away. "Yeah, right."
“Okay. Grown-ups say that all the time. It's boring and annoying, huh? But in this case, it's true. Your dad died. My dad never bothered to stick around after he got my mom pregnant. There wasjust her, Kevin and me. She was really young and didn't have any money, so it was hard for her. She worked a lot. She worried a lot. I hated to see that, so I filled in when I could. Sort of like you with the twins." Brett traced a pattern on the countertop. Nash wasn't sure, but he thought the kid might be listening.
“They're still pretty young," he continued, "but you understand that it's hard for her. You worry. And the last thing you need is some guy coming in to mess up your family." Brett looked at him in surprise.
Nash nodded. "It happened to us. My mom started dating this guy-Howard. He was okay, I guess. But I never really trusted him. Why was he butting in? He didn't belong."
“What happened?" Brett asked.
“They got married. I didn't want them to, but they did anyway." There was more to the story, but Nash didn't bother going into it. He'd made his point.
“I'm not like that," he told Brett. "I like your mom and I'd like to see her while I'm in town. But I am leaving, so all this is temporary. I'm not looking to get married or to replace your dad. I wanted you to know that, man-to-man." He waited while Brett considered the information. Then the kid sucked in a breath.
“Okay. I get it." He still looked troubled, but not so afraid. "I guess my mom needs someone to talk to and stuff." He gaze narrowed. "But you shouldn't kiss her where just anyone can see. My brothers wouldn't understand. They don't remember Dad much and they might think you're sticking around."
“Good point. I'll remember it." Nash stood. "Something else, Brett. You may not believe me, but it's true. Even if your mom were to find someone she fell in love with and wanted to marry, that doesn't mean the guy would be taking your dad's place. No one can do that. You might even like the guy, which would be okay, too. But your dad will always be your dad." Brett looked doubtful, but didn't disagree. Nash figured he'd done as much as he could. He held out his hand.
“Friends?" he asked.
Brett stared at his hand, then him. Finally he moved close and they shook.
“I guess we can be friends," the boy said.
“I'd like that." He jerked his head toward the front of the house. "I'm going back to the gatehouse now, if that's all right with you." Brett nodded. "Tell my mom I'm going to get changed, then I'll come help, too."
“I know she'll appreciate that." Brett headed for the door, then paused. Staring at the ground he said, "Thanks for explaining things, Nash."
“You're welcome." Nash returned to the gatehouse and found Stephanie waiting impatiently by the door.
“You nearly hit your limit," she said, glancing from him to her watch. "I was giving you ten minutes, then I was going to barge in and take over." She tried to smile as she spoke, but he could see the worry in her eyes.
“We worked it out," he said, then explained what he and Brett had discussed.
When he was done, she sank onto the floor and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Thanks for clearing things up with him. He and I used to be able to talk about anything, but lately I've noticed things are changing. I guess it's because he's getting older. I'm not looking forward to him being a teenager. That's for sure."
“He'll get through it, as will you," he said, crouching next to her. "He's a good kid."
“Too good. Oh, sure, he can be a pain, but for the most part, he really tries to step in and help. Sometimes it's easy to let him. When that happens I do my best to remember he is still a kid and not my personal assistant. He's getting to that age when he needs a man around. Sometimes I think I should get over my fear of getting involved with another irresponsible guy and get married simply to take the heat off Brett. It would sure give him a break." She continued talking, but Nash no longer heard what she was saying. Instead he was remembering a conversation he'd had with his mother shortly after she'd told him she was marrying Howard. He'd protested the engagement, saving they didn't need Howard around. His mother had tried to explain that Howard was a good man whom she loved very much.
“But there's more to it than that," she'd said. "My marrying Howard means you don't have to be the man in the family anymore. You won't have as much responsibility. I want that for you." At the time he'd felt as if he were being eased out of his own family. Now, looking back, he wondered if his mother had worried about him the same way Stephanie worried about Brett.
Footsteps on the walkway interrupted his musings. Both he and Stephanie stood.
“Anybody home?" a man called.
“Hey, Nash, did your landlady kick you out already?" He didn't recognize the first voice, but he knew the second.
“Kevin," he said and headed toward the front porch. Nash assumed the other man was one of the Haynes brothers.
When he stepped outside he saw he'd been right. Kevin and Travis stood by the sidewalk. They waved at him and walked closer.
Kevin smiled at Stephanie. "I knew you'd get tired of his ugly face. Threw him out, huh?" She laughed. "Actually he's helping me patch and paint my gatehouse. He does quality work and if he's at it much longer, I'm going to have to give him a discount on his room." Kevin shook his head. "Nash getting his hands dirty? I can't believe it." Nash stepped next to his brother and threw a mock punch. Kevin ducked, shot out a jab, then slapped him on the back. "Wait until you hear what Travis has to say." Travis Haynes wore a khaki-colored uniform and a beige Stetson. He pulled off the hat and smoothed back his hair.
“Kevin and I were talking," he said. "I happened to mention that once a year the Glenwood sheriff'sdepartment along with local firefighters and paramedics get together with the army base about fifty miles from here. We break up into teams and spend a couple of days playing war games. The more experienced men are paired up with new recruits, giving them a chance to learn. What with your background and all, I thought you might be interested." Nash could see Stephanie out of the corner of his eyes. She stood on Travis's right. At the mention of war games, she rolled her eyes.
“Gage already said yes," Kevin said. "I did, too. If Quinn shows up in time, I know he'll be in.”
“I'm in," Nash said.
Kevin nudged Travis. "Told you he'd say yes." Nash turned to Stephanie. "What about you?" She shook her head. "I have an actual life that requires me not to play games. Why is it men refuse to stop acting like little boys?" She looked stern, but her tone was teasing.
“Everybody has to play sometime," Nash said. Her gaze locked with his. He felt the sexual tension return and wished they were alone.
“I like a different kind of game," she informed him, then turned her attention to Kevin and Travis. "Gentlemen, I need to get back to my painting. I hope your war games are everything you want them to be." Travis grinned. "You sound just like my wife. She makes fun of me every year." Stephanie waved and headed back into the gatehouse. Nash watched her go, his gaze drifting from her trim waist to the sway of her hips. Heat flared inside him. He knew he had it bad and he didn't give a damn. Wanting Stephanie was the most fun he'd had in years.
“The war games start in a couple of weeks," Kevin said. "You're going to have to extend your vacation.
Nash thought of all the time off he'd accumulated in the past couple of years. "Not a problem.”
“Good."
“We need to-" Travis's cell phone rang, cutting him off. "Just a sec," he said as he pulled out the phone and pushed the Talk button. "Haynes." He walked a couple of steps away as he listened.
Kevin stepped closer and lowered his voice. "So what's with you and Stephanie?" Nash wasn't surprised his brother had noticed his interest. He and Kevin might not be identical twins, but they were still closer than most brothers and didn't have a lot of trouble knowing what the other was thinking.
Nash looked at the gatehouse. "Nothing significant."
“That's not how it looked from here."
“She's great, but I'm not into permanent relationships. As it turns out, neither is she."
“You can't be alone forever," Kevin said. "Why not?"
“It's better to be with the right person." Nash shook his head. "You say that now that you've found Haley, but six months ago you thought alone was a fine way to be."
“You loved Tina enough to want to marry her. What happened that was so bad you wouldn't want to risk trying again?"
“Nothing was bad." Nothing specific. Hecouldn't point to any one event and say "this is the reason I don't want to get involved." Probably because his problem wasn't about his marriage. It was about him.
“You're stubborn, Kevin said.
“We have that in common."
“I know. Mom used to complain about it all the time." He took a deep breath. "Speaking of which, I want to invite her and Howard out here for a few days. To meet everyone. I know you're not going to like it, but you're going to have to deal with it. You can't-" Nash cut him off with a simple, "Fine with me." Kevin stared at him. "You're serious?"
“Sure. Give them the name of Stephanie's B &B. They can stay here." Nash thought of his recent revelations about the past. Maybe things hadn't been exactly as he'd remembered them. Maybe being twelve had colored his view of the truth. Maybe it was time to change things.
“Great. I'll call tonight." Kevin grinned. "They're going to like Stephanie."
“Don't go there," Nash growled. "You start making trouble for me and I'll tell Haley about the time Mom walked in on you with those two cheerleaders. If I remember correctly the three of you were naked." Kevin winced. "I was only sixteen," he protested. "I didn't know what I was doing."
“You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. As for being sixteen, that doesn't help your cause. The cheerleaders were both in college." Kevin grumbled under his breath, then nodded his agreement. "I won't make trouble with Stephanie," he promised.
Nash believed him. Kevin had never wasted his time with lies.
He knew Kevin thought he was doing Nash a favor by wanting things to work out with Stephanie. What Kevin didn't know was Nash wrestled with more than a bad marriage. His brother knew how Tina had died, but not the details. She'd been killed in the line of duty. What Kevin didn't know was that she'd been assigned as backup on one of Nash's negotiations.
His superiors had never blamed him, but Nash knew what had really happened that day. He'd been responsible for the death of his wife as surely as if he'd detonated the bomb himself.