Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
As a rule, I was not great with children. I spoke to them like they were adults, as I had no experience with any. I was an only child, and after my mother passed when I was three, there was just my father and me. She had been the light of his life, as he was orphaned young and had been—as his friends liked to say when it was late and they were drunk—a right sonofabitch. He had a quick temper, growled at everyone, but my mother, Nina Miller, saw a diamond in the rough. She loved him madly, desperately, and completely. Because of that, because she had showered him with her great heart, he had enough in reserve after she was killed in a car accident to love me with that same fierce and complete devotion until he died of a heart attack in his early fifties. He had been so young, and his absence from my life left a hole that would never be filled. What had been a comfort then, and remained so, was him telling me every day growing up that I was his ride or die. Never, ever, had I doubted that I was loved, and the life lessons he imparted had stuck with me and helped not only me, but others I shared his knowledge with. Rais had said years ago that my father’s love lived in me, and that was probably the best observation I’d ever had directed my way.
But, as a result of growing up alone with my father, no grandparents, aunts, uncles, or anyone else—my mother had been a foster kid just like him—once he was gone, there was no one. At least, no relatives. But my friends were my family, and I had them all over the world. My closest ones, Rais, Jared, Shaw, Cooper, all worked with me, and I saw them often, which was a gift. Rais especially, as we’d served together before he became an Army Ranger.
Because of all that, I had no idea what to do with a ten-year-old girl—Tatum, Luke Duchesne’s youngest child—who’d launched herself at me and held on for dear life. All I did know, because my father had taught me, was that you held a kid until they let go. I had always been the one to release him first.
“Listen,” I said softly, holding her tight, left arm around her back, right hand in her hair. “Burning something is not the end of the world. I burn stuff all the time.”
She nodded and exhaled sharply.
“On all those cooking shows on TV, fire is always shooting up outta the pans, and those folks are all professionals. You gotta think about that.”
More nodding.
“You better?”
“Yeah,” came the tiny voice.
“Good,” I said, not moving, still holding her because she had a death grip on me.
“Who’re you?”
I smiled but didn’t laugh. I would have thought she’d ask sooner, but that was all right. “I’m Nash Miller.”
Long sigh.
“If you want pancakes, I can make you some.”
“I don’t actually even like pancakes,” she muttered, and as I felt her ease back, I let go. She didn’t put any distance between us, instead staring at me, her hands remaining on my shoulders. “I thought they would be easy to make, and I’m really hungry.”
“What would you like?”
“An omelet with ham and cheese.”
“Do you have all the stuff to make that?”
“No,” she told me, sounding close to tears. “All we have is frozen junk, and I can’t eat it anymore. Ever since Mom left, we—oh,” she gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth, gazing at me with wide eyes.
“Sweetheart, I know your mother left you guys.”
Slowly, she let her hand fall away.
“And you can talk to me about your mother anytime.”
She jolted, her big blue-green eyes somehow getting even wider. “I can?”
“Yep. And if you have questions about WITSEC or anything else, I can explain that to you, because I know how all that works.”
“Okay.”
We were both quiet a moment.
“May I ask you a question now?”
“Sure,” she said with a shrug.
“Why was the front door unlocked?”
“It was?” She didn’t sound overly concerned or even surprised. It was more of a huh moment.
“Yes,” I responded, wondering over her nonchalance.
She thought a second. “Maybe when I went to get the mail yesterday, I didn’t lock it when I came back inside.”
Which meant that all night long the front door had been unlocked. That wasn’t going to give me heart palpitations or anything. “Let’s not do that again, all right?”
“Sometimes I don’t remember.”
“I’m here now, so I’ll remind you.”
“That sounds good. Can it be my turn to ask a question?”
“Of course, go ahead.”
“Do you know why my mom didn’t want me anymore?”
Of course that would be the question. “That I don’t know, ’cause you look all right to me, and I wouldn’t’ve left ya.”
“You wouldn’t?”