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Hank hesitated before entering the daycare later that afternoon. After two hours reviewing the delay to the schedule with the site guys, another hour on the phone with the city over why their permit was being delayed—and another hour haggling a change order with the concrete crew, Hank was grateful to revisit the daycare. Where a small group of short people would actually be happy to see him. Miss Robin's voice carried through the doorway.
"Okay, who wants to go next?"
A chorus of me's made him smile. Though Miss Robin wanted to project the image of a rigid disciplinarian, she was anything but. Under that stiff reserve beat a sentimental heart.
"Taylor-" Robin paused over the series of groans over not being selected. "Tell me what you love about your mom."
"She's real pretty . . . an' she smells good."
"Thank you, Taylor," Robin praised before scanning for the next eager hand. "Hector—what about you. What's your favorite thing about Mari?"
Hank frowned. Jeff had told him about Mari's issues in adopting Hector. Until his drug-addicted mother agreed to give him up, Marisol couldn't complete her adoption—despite caring for Hector for nearly three years.
"She gave me my own room . . . an' she makes me mac and cheese practically all the time."
"I love mac and cheese, too." Robin moved to his left. "How about you, Tommy? How about your mommy? Annie works here at New Beginnings."
Hank found himself leaning in to listen, surprised when Tommy mumbled. Annie appeared to be a wonderful mom to her boys.
"Okay—we'll come back to you." Robin's voice faltered. "Jason, honey? How about you?"
"Mommy hugs me real tight."
Hank smiled, hearing Jason's slurred words, imagining him speaking around his thumb. He suddenly had the urge to round the corner. Nodding to Miss Robin, he took a few steps into the room.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hank." A smile twitching her mouth, the graying woman shot him an expectant glance. "Mr. Hank, this is sharing time. We're talking about our mommies—and what we like best about them. Would you like to share?"
Hell—he'd walked straight into that one. His face heating, he met her amused gaze. "When I was your age-" He nodded to the dozen heads suddenly swiveling to look up at him. "My mom used to sing in our church choir. She had the most beautiful voice I'd ever heard—like hearing an angel. I could hear her all the way in the back."
"My mommy can't sing." Tommy's muttered voice reached him. "She can't do anything."
"Tommy, if you can't say something nice, you don't have to participate." Robin gently scolded.
"Mommy sings nice," Jason protested.
"Where's your mommy now, Mr. Hank?"
Wondering what was bothering Tommy, he offered a distracted smile to an adorable, red-haired girl, who up until now had been too afraid to speak to him. "Well, she's in heaven now. But . . . whenever I miss her, I imagine her singing in the choir with all the other angels." His mother and then his beautiful Gayle. Both lost to cancer. Over Tommy's head, Hank pointed to the corner and Miss Robin nodded. He nudged the little guy. "Come here. I wanted to talk with you."
"With me?" Tommy's eyes widened, reminding him of Annie. Expressive, brown eyes, shadowed by too many worries. "Really?"
Crossing the room, Hank led him to the clouded window. "I wanted to talk about a project I'm thinking of doing in here."
"What kinda project?" When Hank squatted down next to him, Tommy straightened up so they were eye to eye. "Maybe I could help?"
"Well, before I get to that, I wanted to see how you're doing." Reading the little boy's expression, he sensed he should tread cautiously. "Everything okay? How's school going?"
"It's . . . okay." He hesitated. "Kinda hard."
"Anything I can help with?" Uncertain why exactly, Hank felt a kinship with the little guy. Compared to his exuberant younger brother, Tommy seemed quiet. Almost resigned. He wondered whether his caution was natural or learned. With the long hours he spent at New Beginnings because of Annie's schedule, he was curious whether Tommy was accepting, or frustrated by it.
"I hate being the new kid. I hafta . . . eat lunch alone most 'a the time." His gaze dropped. "I never . . . it's hard to make friends. If Mommy would just-"
"Being new is hard," he acknowledged, pondering his incomplete thought. "I moved a few times when I was a kid. My dad switched jobs a lot."
"He did?" His freckled face lifted, reminding him of Bo waiting for a command. "How did you make friends? I have Hector here at the shelter, but his mommy takes him home every night."
Hank hesitated, unsure what Tommy meant. "I always tried to sit near someone at lunchtime. If there was another boy sitting—sort of alone, I'd sit next to him."
"What if he doesn't talk to me?"
"You talk to him." Recognition flared in Tommy's eyes. "Someone has to be brave. I think you're the guy to do it." He was rewarded with a smile. "Ask him what he's havin' for lunch. What his favorite part of school is." He read doubt in the little guy's eyes. "All it takes is one, TomTom."
His mouth lifted at the nickname. "One what?"
He lowered his voice. "One kid—and you've got yourself a friend. Or—at least someone to have lunch with."
Tommy nodded. "I can do that." He appeared to think about it for several seconds. "What if there isn't any-"
Worried eyes tugged his heart. "Then, I'd try to sit near some kids so you can hear what they're talking about," he suggested. "It's easier to join a conversation if you know what they're interested in."
Tommy perked up. "Like baseball? Or ninjas?"
Unable to resist, he ruffled his curly hair. "Yeah, like that."
"Is it true, Mr. Hank?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Are you gonna be working in here? With us?"
"Uh-huh. We're going to build some shelves and paint the walls and maybe build a closet."
Tommy’s eyes widened. "I think—you should . . . let me help you. I’m great at building with blocks." His eager voice suggested he’d been thinking about the news. "Me 'an Hector have built cool stuff with Legos-"
"What about Jason? Could he help, too?"
A freckled nose wrinkled. "He doesn’t have any-" Serious, brown eyes stared into his. "What’s that word when someone doesn’t know how to do anythin’?"
"Experience?"
"Yeah—that. Jason doesn’t know how to do stuff."
Hank resisted the urge to smile. "Don’t you think this would be a good time for us to teach him?"
"So—you would do that? Show us how to hammer and stuff?"
He nodded. "I can teach you how to do lots of different things. By the time we’re done, the daycare center will look amazing—and you guys . . ." He glanced beyond Tommy’s head to the red-haired sweetheart lurking behind a pile of blocks. "And girls," he added, "will be the ones who did all the work to make it look great." He smiled when she nodded. "How does that sound?"
"It sounds really fun." Tommy leaned in, as though he didn’t want the handful of kids around him to hear. "Can I ask you something?"
Surprised when he moved closer, he resisted the urge to smile when Tommy pressed his lips against his ear. "What is it?"
"What if we . . . make a mistake?" The little boy pulled back a few inches to stare at him. "Will you need to . . . yell at us?"
Hank swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. At the boy's sobering words, his mind began the slow slide to a place he'd never imagined venturing. A place where alarm ruffled the hair on his neck. Tommy’s question tightened his stomach. The matter-of-fact words of a six year old. The dread behind them. "This will be a fun project, buddy. Why would I yell at you for a mistake?"
His gaze dropping, Tommy fidgeted next to him, a sneakered foot kicking an invisible scuff mark on the tile. His knees beginning to ache from squatting beside him, Hank didn’t dare move.
"Cuz . . . you’re angry? Or . . . I didn’t pay attention." He nudged his gaze up a notch, level with his chest. Thick, tangled lashes blocked his worried expression. "Or I spilled somethin'? Maybe . . ." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I’m stupid."
Anger surged through him, knotting his stomach. The twinge in his chest reminded him to be gentle. Nudging the little chin up to meet his gaze, Hank kept his voice low. "You're not stupid, Tommy. Don’t ever let anyone say that about you. Or your brother," he added. How he kept his voice neutral, he would never know. "We all know things we can share."
The little guy’s head shot up. "Even me?" His eyes flickered with interest. "What can I teach you?"
Knees killing him, Hank finally gave up. "Let’s sit on the mat for a minute, okay?" With no thought to his clothes, Tommy flopped down next to him. "You play video games, right?" When Tommy nodded, he smiled. "And you know how to do just about anything on a computer, right?"
"Uh-huh. But—everyone knows that."
"Well, I have video games at home, but sometimes—I can't hook them up to the television," he fibbed. "And half the time, I don’t know what most of the buttons do on my laptop." That one was the damned truth. "But, you do."
The clouds cleared from his eyes. "I could teach you that. We could go to your house . . . and I’ll show you how to play."
"See? We all have things we can share." When Tommy leaned in to hug him, the knot in his stomach eased slightly. His brain wanted to rebel against his increasing suspicion. Annie’s hesitance. Interest—before a flash of fear. When Annie wasn't skittish, she was a kind, compassionate, damned pretty woman he wanted to know better. But, when she startled—she reminded him of the deer who'd taken up residence in his overgrown orchard. A beautiful doe—sniffing the wind. Catching an elusive scent of danger. Trusting only her senses. Before instinctively bolting for cover. Like the beautiful, brown-eyed doe in his field, Hank suspected Annie might sprint for the trees before they ever had the chance to get started.
Releasing a steadying breath, Hank didn’t like the picture he was beginning to build of Annie’s ex-husband. "I will never yell at you for making a mistake." At the lingering doubt in Tommy's eyes, his heart twisted. "How about I make you a promise?"
Quizzical, chocolate eyes lifted to his face. "What kinda promise?"
"If we make a mistake, we’ll figure out how to fix it. Together," he emphasized. "That’s how you learn to do it better the next time."
"You'll promise?"
Hank nodded. "I will."
Tommy’s eyes brightened. "I don’t have any tools like you."
"You’ve got hands, right? And eyes. And you can hear me when I explain what we’re gonna do?"
The little boy’s smile was contagious. "I gots all those."
"That’s all the tools you’ll need." Unable to resist the impulse, Hank gave him a quick squeeze, liking the sensation of a compact bundle of energy leaning against him. "I’ll bring everything else." He had the sudden urge to start the daycare project now. Today. To spend time with the sad-eyed little boy who was rapidly staking out a corner of his heart. He made a mental note to talk to Annie about Saturday. The sooner they started, the better. If he had anything to say about it—Hank was going to make sure he never witnessed the little boy’s fear again.
***
"YOU CAN DO IT, MCKENNA." Annie peered over her shoulder, making sure no one would witness her pathetic attempt. Releasing a stabilizing breath, she leaned out the doorway. Eyes closed, the breeze brushed her face. Cooling the perspiration beading her forehead. Calming the terror thumping in her chest. You can do this. She could keep it at bay for five minutes.
Spring. She was missing her favorite season. In her former life, she would've wanted to spend every minute outside. Hiking in the state park only thirty minutes away. Exploring the park near her house with the boys. Pushing them on the swings. Tearing after their shrieking, hurtling bodies as they ran—exploring the wooded paths. Puttering in the garden she used to have. She winced at the wistful memories. Of a beautiful, simple life. Before Phil. Of life . . . during the breaks—when he took off in a swirling tornado of rage. His distrust a vibrating thunder, hinting at the brewing storm. The daily cloudburst raining down on them. Paranoia—that she'd finally realized spoke more of his actions than hers. He would accuse. Rage. Disappear. For long, relief-filled weeks.
Annie would take advantage of every single moment—knowing they wouldn't last. "If only-" If only she'd used one of those breaks to disappear. Take off with the boys and drive. Far, far away. Into the night. Until the hundreds of miles between them would allow her to breathe again. Without the hitch of fear. Without panic that he would find them. Putting so much distance between them he would eventually lose interest.
"Okay—now you're just stalling." She forced her eyes open. And took a step. You're on the steps. Her fingers still gripped the doorframe, as though that alone would be enough to pretend she hadn't left the building. She shuffled another step, reminding her of the patients she used to treat. Hovering next to them as they shuffled down the hallway after surgery. One step. Drag the IV. Another step. Reach for the wall. Prying her fingers from the doorframe, she stumbled to the railing. Lightheaded but determined, she clutched it and took another step. She had to do this. Had to move past her fear. If not for her—then for the boys. Annie couldn't take another disappointed glance from them. They'd talked of the site visit for days. Endless evenings of murmured, childish voices in their claustrophobic sleeping space. Playing with the trucks Hank had given them. Talk of shovels and backhoes and piles of dirt they would get to play in . . . Until sleep finally claimed them.
She would tiptoe over to gently remove trucks from their grasp, setting them on the floor next to the twin bed they shared. Breathing in the comforting scent of baby shampoo. Their unruly curls still damp from a quick shower—in the communal bath they shared with nine other families. In the dim glow of a superhero nightlight, she would stare at them. Washed in soft light, her boys appeared peaceful. They slept—finally without nightmares. In those moments, she felt less like a failure. She'd stare at the nightlight . . . one of the few material possessions that had consistently made the journey from place to place . . . and experience a sense of comfort. Safety. For a moment.
A tugging breeze raised the hair from her neck. If only she could risk letting the boys outside. The shelter was their sanctuary. And their prison. Aside from getting on and off the bus from school, Tommy and Jason never left the four walls of New Beginnings. She swallowed a sob of frustration and took another step. Sweat snaked down her spine. You've screwed up their lives. Tommy had attended three schools this year alone. Three first grades. Three times being the new kid. Three times leaving friends he'd finally made. Forced to run again. Teetering on the last step, Annie risked a glance over her shoulder. She blinked back the perspiration dripping into her eyes. The door was still cracked open. She'd made it eight feet. Her legs felt like wobbly sticks. Keep going, she warned. Jaw clenched so tight it ached, she took another determined step. "They will not miss out on Hank's gift," she muttered. She couldn't bear the thought of her sons' disappointment in her. Again.
Her goal today was fifteen feet. For a person suffering from agoraphobia—the insignificant distance was as difficult as a mile. She glanced to the spot where she imagined the window would be. The window-seat window. Despite her nausea—despite her weak, pathetic heart crashing into the walls of her chest. Despite the voice in her head shrieking go back inside—she kept her gaze locked on the brick wall where she calculated the new window would reside. The nurse in Annie would not allow her to give in. Though her fear was real, the symptoms she experienced were ones she knew she could conquer. With work. With the therapy she received at New Beginnings. Phil had taken nearly everything from her. "He won't take this, too."
The overgrown, patchy grass under her feet would be home to the walled sanctuary. In seven months time, the desolate, forgotten patch where she stood would become a beautiful, quiet, private rose garden. A fountain would trickle soothingly for the troubled women seeking solace there. Resting on a shaded bench as they planned a future. Breathing in the calming fragrance of roses and honeysuckle vines. They would practice yoga there—on a mat in the sun-warmed grass. Stretching taut muscles. Strengthening body and mind against the fear that took hold when you lived life on the run.
Keeping her gaze averted from the rusting fence that separated New Beginnings from the run-down neighborhood beyond it, Annie didn't want to chicken out. Didn't want to imagine sighting Phil. Didn't want her heart icing over with terror while she tried to do this one, single exercise to help herself become stronger.
"Hey—what are you doing out here?"
When a shadow crossed her path, she startled, biting back a scream of panic. Her body in full flight mode, she lurched back a step. The only thing stopping her was the voice. The gravelly, sexy voice—of a friend. Swallowing against the terror rising in her throat, she offered him a shaky smile. "Just—taking a quick break."
"Are you okay?" Hank's eyes widened, suddenly seeming to study her. "I didn't scare you, did I?"
"I'm f-fine," she reassured, her voice still thin and shaky. Annie shook it off. She was likely pale. She was sweaty. "I got a little hot inside," she offered as explanation. Her eyes likely terror-filled. Nothing you can do about that.
Hank's gaze was drawn to the side of the building. "Were you out here inspecting the potential window?"
She jerked her head up, finally able to meet his gaze. "I was," she admitted. "How did you know?"
He smiled. "I'm beginning to understand how you think." He nodded to the brick. "Let's take a look. Tell me where you think it should go."
Annie hesitated, her gaze shooting to the back door. She'd be much farther away than she'd planned . . . "I shouldn't-"
He checked his watch. "Your break is over?"
Relieved by his assumption, she was surprised to hear regret in his voice. "No—no." The hell with it. No way would she miss an extra minute or two in his presence. "Of course, I want to take a look."
They strolled together, the thirty feet taking far less time than she could have accomplished on her own. When he paused, she glanced up. Forgetting the freight train roar of her pulse in her ears, she measured the distance back to the door. "Is this it? Is this the right spot?"
Hank unclipped the tape measure from his belt. "You tell me," he suggested. Twinkling eyes encouraged her. "Are we there yet?"
Disregarding her pounding heart, she studied the brick wall. Measured the distance to the far corner. If she walked that far, she could peek around the corner and see the chaos of construction vehicles. Of flattened dirt. Of piles scooped from the foundation they would soon start. Too far, her brain shouted a warning. Ignoring the roiling in her stomach, she turned a half step to the trash-strewn lot that would become the garden. Conscious of Hank's lean, rangy body only feet from hers. She could reach out . . . and touch him. Startled, she realized that concentrating on him . . . made her panic subside.
She could grab the callused hand. Squeeze it tight. What if she were to . . . slide her arms around the narrow waist? Swallowing around a sudden rush of heat, Annie took the fantasy further. What if she could . . . rest her head against that muscled chest? Would her panic attack—disappear? Would she find comfort? Heat—in his strength? Would it feel like coming home? To the sturdy dependability he seemed to exude from his skin. "I think it's-" She cleared the sudden hoarseness from her throat. Would he pull her in like a magnet? Now, her heart was racing for an entirely different reason. "A little . . . farther."
"How far, darlin'?"
Her breath caught at the endearment. The faint drawl that sent shimmery heat to the pit of her stomach. Cheeks warming with heat, she swallowed around the sudden burst of happiness. Before clamping down on it. How can you be so silly? When he was merely being friendly? Unable to risk glancing at him, she took another step. And another. A moment later, his fingers brushed hers. Emboldened, she touched his hand. Still not looking at him, she stopped.
"Are we there yet?"
His gruff voice washed over her, his question seeming to ask something entirely different. Her pulse rioting, she bit her lip to keep from smiling. God—I hope so. Summoning her courage, she lifted her gaze to his. "Almost," she whispered. Annie took one last step, his hand now holding hers. Fingers strong. Warm. Comforting. "Here?"
Hank's gaze never left her face. "You're very close." Tucking the tape measure into his pocket, he lifted his free hand to nudge her two steps more. "Here." Still staring at her, he raised their joined hands to his lips.
She sucked in a startled breath, reading the question in his eyes a moment before his free hand slid to the small of her back. A jolt of pleasure shot through her.
"Are you cold, darlin'?"
Her breath huffed out on a gasp. "No." Time stood still when he hesitated . . . as though waiting for a signal from her. Annie couldn't help her dazed smile—answering his. Before he lowered his head to hers. In the back of her mind, she questioned her sanity. Questioned how she could be acting as though she were a teenager. How she could possibly be so completely desperate for a kiss-
Until he kissed her. His mouth brushed over hers. Whispering a question. Tentative—until he received her answer. His hand gentle at her back—until her free hand slid up his chest. Reached to tug him down to her. Until her lips parted on a sigh of exquisite pleasure. Only then, did Hank deepen the kiss. His mouth slanted over hers. His tongue seeking the warmth of hers. His hand spread on her spine. The weight of each finger suggesting strength. Safety. Nudging her closer.
When his lips finally left hers to graze her cheek, she felt the ragged strike of his breath on her face. "Annie-"
His raspy voice sent a tug of long forgotten desire crackling through her, reawakening her slumbering body. When her eyes fluttered open, she was surprised to discover that somewhere in the last ninety seconds, she'd encircled his neck. Her breasts flattened against his pounding heart. Her hardened, aching nipples pressed to a hard-muscled chest. Finally meeting his gaze, she knew hers must be entirely bemused. His beautiful, blue eyes were bright with heat. Yet, also lit with warmth. Humor. Kindness.
"Sweet—I hate to say this, but-"
A fierce whistle interrupted him. Startled, she jumped back, remembering to unlock her arms from around his neck. "I'm—Henry, I'm . . . sorry." Heat flooded her face. At the realization they'd been seen. That she'd—kissed him. In the middle of a construction site.
"I'm not." The hand at the small of her back tightened. "Not a chance," he added, his smile mesmerizing. "I've been wanting that-" His gaze dropped to her mouth. "Since the minute I laid eyes on you."
His confession made her smile. "Me, too." She glanced back at the door. "I should . . ."
"Me, too." His eyes were sapphire bright as he leaned in. "Since I'm not sure when I'll get this opportunity again," he muttered against her lips. "I'm seizing the moment." He kissed her again. Quick. Thorough. Frustratingly fast. With one last smile, he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. "See you later, sweet."
When Hank left her, rounding the corner of the building, Annie stared after him for several seconds, her hand at her throat. Before suddenly remembering how far away the door now seemed. Turning, she bolted for it. But at the top of the stairs, her fingers safely touching the doorframe once again, she was startled to realize she was still smiling.
***
"MAY I HAVE THIS SEAT?"
Annie flinched at the low, sexy drawl. Shivered at what it did to her insides.
"Sit by me, Mr. Hank."
Tommy's plea startled her back to her senses. He was still here? At dinner time? "Of course."
"No, me," Jason urged.
"How about-" Hank lifted the folding chair, moving it between her sons. Carefully lifting Tommy, seat and all, he adjusted him a few feet so he'd have enough room to eat. When Tommy laughed at being lifted in the air, Hank's beautiful smile reverberated through her. "I'll sit with both of you."
His smile drizzled heat through her chest where it had begun to ice over. What if he asked why they were still there? He usually left the site at four—an hour before dinner service started. He likely assumed she, too—left for the day. To a home. To a life outside these four walls. What if he found out? Before she told him herself? What if the boys said something? While her brain hammered a thousand questions—her heart began a slow, melting thaw. It was impossible to feel frightened when his eyes looked at her like-
"Do me, too. Me, too." Jason would not be ignored. Before he sat down again, Hank smiled at her youngest.
"Are you ready?" At Jason's eager nod, Hank lifted his chair, circling over the spot for several seconds before he set him down again.
As they clamored for his attention, he sat down, his gaze catching hers. "Why don't we eat our dinner," he suggested. "Then—if your mom is okay with it-"
His mouth lifted in a smile she quickly became ensnared in. Worries scattering, she hung onto his words, the faint, sexy drawl tripping along her senses. Summoning dangerous thoughts. Of night. Her slumbering sons safely down the hall. A bed—larger than her single one upstairs. His beautiful, strong body over hers-
"Annie?"
"W-what?" Had he said something? Had she? Was she drooling? Or just looking as though she'd lost her damned mind? She needed to reign in her impulsive thoughts. Proceed with caution, McKenna. Summon her willpower. All men could act normal. Charming. Flirty. Harmless. Until they weren't. She absorbed a quick shudder. Years ago, Phil had once acted normal, too.
"I was telling the boys we could check out the daycare. I want to show them what we'll be doing tomorrow."
Tomorrow? Saturday. Tomorrow—was Saturday. When he'd return. To spend the day working on his project. When she would spend several hours with him. Supposedly helping. Not drooling over him. Not tongue-tied. "That—sounds . . ." She swallowed around a sudden dryness. "Wonderful. Of course we can go."
The next twenty minutes proved excruciating. And wonderful. The noise around them faded. The clamor of other diners. The irritated grumbles of people waiting in line. The belligerence of the dark-eyed heroin addict—begging for money in line, until New Beginning's devoted sentry, Big Pete shushed him with a single glare. All Annie could see were Hank's eyes. Lighting up as he talked with her boys, painting a picture of his farm. Glowing with endless patience as Tommy badgered him with questions.
"No horses, bud." At Tommy's crestfallen expression, Hank shot her an amused look.
"Cows?"
He winced. "No cows, either. I have the space for them. Just not the time," he confessed.
"Oh."
A single syllable, capable of shooting down all manner of parental enthusiasm. Annie suddenly felt bad for him. Hank wasn't used to failing on a regular basis. She, on the other hand, had years of practice.
"I have two goats, though." The sexy man with the easy smile rallied, as though hopeful the news of any other living creature might stave off his fall from grace. Perhaps redeem him from the no-cow-setback.
Tommy's thick-fringed eyes widened. "Goats are cool, right Jase?"
"Baaaaah." Jason made the sound around the thumb in his mouth.
When Hank cracked up, Annie smothered her laughter, for once not scolding herself over why Jason had yet to break his thumb-sucking habit. Because comfort was something she was unwilling to draw a line against. Once they were safe . . . maybe.
Though Sharon had already revealed several secrets about his life, she listened intently to Hank's description of his farm. The acres. A barn. Apple trees. A small pond. All of it sounding idyllic. Storybook heavenly. To her boys—a paradise. She acknowledged the contentment in his face as he described it.
"Do you get to fish in your pond?" Tommy's wistful voice sent a twinge of pain to her chest. "Can you swim in it?"
"Bo likes to swim. He leaps in there every chance he gets," Hank admitted. "But usually, he just upsets the geese. They get to squawking and honking at him."
"Who's Bo?" Jason actually pulled his thumb from his mouth for a complete sentence.
"Bo is my dog. He's my best buddy," he confided.
"He goes swimmin'?"
Tommy bolted up in his chair. "You have a dog?"
Hank nodded. "We take a walk every night so he can check everything out. He likes to chase the deer through the orchard-"
Her son shot her an imploring look. "And deer? Can I see him? Your dog—could you bring Bo here? Like—so we could visit him?"
Annie winced as the first storm cloud drifted into place, hovering over their table. Tommy had wanted a dog for years. Even as a toddler, he'd been drawn to them—in parks. On the street. Everywhere. He would wrap his chubby, little arms around their neck, pleading for their owner to stay a moment longer.
She'd always planned to get him one. Until their lives grew uglier. Phil's abusive, drunken words had morphed to abusive, drunken fists-
"I could check with Miss Sharon," Hank offered. "Maybe I can bring Bo for a visit tomorrow. He loves to ride in my truck." His friendly, understanding gaze caught hers- Before his eyes narrowed at what he read there. "Annie? Would that be okay with you?"
"I'm sure . . . Sharon won't have a problem," she managed to choke out. "If you keep him from the dining area." Offering him a weak smile, she glanced away from her son's accusing eyes. The failure she read there. The pet she'd refused him. But, Tommy had been too young to understand what Phil would have done to a defenseless animal- As they'd been too young to understand what Phil had done to her.
That his angry, taunting threats were always against the boys. His sons. As though they'd taken something from him. Instead of giving them— everything. Phil had known she would take any beating he tried to inflict on them. If Jason doesn't stop crying. If Tommy spills his milk one more time. As though he'd needed justification for his violence. His insidious threats—meant to undermine her confidence. Don't leave them here with me, he'd warn. Not even to run out for groceries. Effectively, he'd imprisoned her with her own fear—of what he could do to her babies. Swallowing the sudden shame that enveloped her, she tried to push the memory from her mind.
"Annie-"
She startled at the warm, gravelly voice in her ear. Releasing a shuddering breath, she realized Hank had rounded the table. He was squatting next to her chair, his fingers light on her shoulders. "Darlin', are you alright? You're so pale."
Would she ever be alright? Despair threatening to swamp her, she shook it off. "I'm . . okay," she lied, forcing a smile. "It's a little warm in here."
"You're working too hard," he muttered. "Too many hours." His back to the boys, he brushed his lips against a spot near her ear, making her shiver for an entirely different reason. When the boys began fidgeting at the table, he turned to them. "Just another minute and we'll walk down there."
When they instantly quieted, she shook her head, her laughter forced, trying to break the sudden tension. "Why doesn't that work for me?"
The concern in his gaze began to fade. "Two wild boys? I think you're doing a pretty amazing job." He glanced to her untouched plate. "Why don't you eat a little? I think you'll feel better."
She pushed her plate back. "I'm not very hungry."
"I don't want you to get sick." He gently nudged the plate back in front of her. "Please? Just a couple bites?"
Heat of an entirely different kind washed over her. Annie tried to remember the last time someone—anyone—had been concerned for her well-being. Flustered by the jumble of emotions he stirred, she picked up her fork. "Okay. I am . . . a little hungry."
His smile reaching his eyes, Hank nodded. Rising from his squat, he winced.
"Your knees?" Understanding flared. "Arthritis?"
He shrugged. "Could be. I probably jumped out of one too many planes."
"Planes?" Tommy squealed. "You—jumped . . . outta planes?" Her son's endless questions started all over again as Hank told them a few stories about his time in the army.
"Seems I've been redeemed." His chuckle ruffled the hair at her temple. Unhurried, Hank lowered his mouth to her ear. "Maybe if we're both lucky . . . we can steal a quick dessert before I go." His lips grazed her temple before he stood.
The last bite of pot roast turned to dust in her mouth. She stared up at him, heart flopping uselessly in her chest. "We should-" She hesitated a moment, her very thoughts heating her cheeks.
Hank's eyes sparked. "When you look at me like that-"
Acknowledging his unspoken desire, her smile widened. Just this once—she could be brave. She remembered his earlier words. "If we get the chance, we should—seize the moment."
***