“Not really. He said you came home from Afghanistan like…”
“Messed up?”
“No.” The tip of her tongue came out to roll over her bottom lip.
“I’d only asked him how well you handled losing fingers.”
“Oh, so you were asking questions? I thought that was against the rules?” He chuckled but even he couldn’t miss the strain of the tone.
“Sorry. I wasn’t meaning to pry, we were just talking and—”
He hadn’t meant his words to sound as harsh as they had. “It’s okay. I lost my fingers, and a helluva lot more, in some remote village. My unit and I were stripping it for dirty bombs.” He let out the stopper and the water swirled down the drain. “We missed one.”
“A bomb?”
“A dish.” He held her gaze as he stretched around her to reach the plate.
“How did you get over the loss?” She looked a bit nervous.
“I spent a lot of time searching for answers at the bottom of a whiskey bottle, wasted time that it was,” he said easily. He didn’t talk much about his past, but she seemed to draw him out.
She played with the fringe on the towel. “What did you do?”
“I put my pride aside and sought out the help of a therapist at the VA. I can’t tell you that I made her job easy because I wasn’t game for all that mind plucking and deep internal business. But I realized I needed something before I holed up and fizzled away.” He handed her the plate. “Keep in mind, some wounds don’t heal but we can become good at putting a new spin on the way we see things. I lost a lot of good men that day and I can’t say that I still understand why I lived while they died, but I guess I still have things to accomplish here.”
“You do a lot for so many, Hank. I see how kind you are to people who come through these doors. Just like Owen, you have such patience with him. And I saw you take food to the elderly.”
“Really? Did Boone tell you that?” Hank shifted, his arm brushing hers.
“Yes. He also said you visit the spouses of the men who died in your unit. You take them Christmas presents and make sure they have everything they need.” She tilted her chin, their gazes connecting.
“Boone talks too much,” he snarled.
“No, Boone is proud of his brother. A lot of people are. You’re a local hero.”
“I’m not a hero, Helena. The heroes are those who have given their lives in the name of freedom, and those who won’t see their loved ones ever again.” He swallowed hard.
“Yes, they are heroes, but I admire the compassion I see in you. You’ve helped me believe that good really does exist in the world.”
“Glad I could be of service.” His breath came out in a hiss when she took his injured hand into hers.
“Do you push people away because of these scars?” She traced the white, jagged lines with her finger.
“Not because of these, but the ones inside.” What was he doing? Releasing chains that had bound him for years.
“You deserve someone who’ll help you mend the broken pieces,” she said softly.
“PTSD is a harsh thing, Helena.” He forced the words out. “There is no mending, but only patching.”
Her chin came up higher, her eyes were glazed. “You talk as if you’re damaged goods. That’s not true. You’re like TripEase mountain. You have jagged and sharp edges, you’ve endured storms and harsh weather, and yet people look at you and see your beauty and strength.”
What was she doing to him? And why in the hell did he feel all soft and buttery in his center?
“Helena…” He cupped her warm cheek. “I—”
“Hank? Where are you?” came a female’s voice from the outer room.
Hank and Helena parted just as the door swung wide and Camilla Hill sashayed in. His chest squeezed.
*****
It took several seconds for Helena to recover from what had been about to happen…
She believed Hank was going to kiss her until they were interrupted by the tall blonde who’d swept into the kitchen as if she owned the place.
“What are you doing here, Camilla?”
“Now is that any way to greet an old friend?” The blonde looked offended. She had beautiful eyes and the red sundress gave emphasis on her large breasts, tiny waist, and wide hips.
Helena suddenly felt self-conscious. Her hair was piled into a messy bun. She’d sweated off the tinted moisturizer she’d put on earlier and she had stains on her jeans from where she’d spilled food.
“I’m sorry. I’m just surprised to see you. Camilla, this is Helena.” Hank introduced them.
The pale eyes of the woman seemed to settle on Helena in a heated glare. Did she see Helena as competition? “Hi. Was I interrupting?” Camilla slurred.
“Well, I—”
“No. Of course not,” Helena blurted. “We were just finishing up cleaning. Hank hired me to wait tables. It seems you two might have a lot to catch up on. I can call Chynna. She said if I needed a ride home she could help.” She’d already started toward the door.
“How lovely of you,” Camilla said. “I haven’t seen Hank in months, and I have a lot to share with him.” She laid her hand possessively on his wrist.
“Wait,” Hank said. “I’ll take you home.”
“No,” Helena and Camilla said in unison.
Helena cleared her throat. “You can’t leave your friend.”
“She’s right, Hank.” Camilla’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve driven a few hours to see you.”
He rubbed his forehead. “Fine. Take my truck, Helena.” He grabbed the keys from a hook and handed them over.
She wanted to refuse his offer, but things had suddenly become awkward and she wanted to get Freya and get out as fast as possible. Taking the keys, she muttered “Goodbye” and went to get her daughter.
Disappointment clogged her chest as she lifted Freya and when she turned, she almost bumped into Hank. “Sheesh. You scared me.”
“Sorry. I wanted to explain—”
“There’s nothing that requires an explanation.” She hoped he couldn’t see the quivering in her bottom lip in the dim light.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he whispered.
“I didn’t say she was, and even if she were, it’s none of my business.” Why didn’t he just let her go?
“That’s not true.” He tore his hand through his hair. “Don’t push me away after you pulled me closer.”
“Hank, you have a friend waiting for you in the other room and I want to get Freya home. Whatever happened—almost happened—was a slip of logic. You’re my boss and Camilla…well, you shouldn’t keep her waiting.”
Helena passed him and hurried outside into the parking lot. Whatever she’d done back in Hank’s office felt like a sacrifice of her heart. She had no reason to feel this way or think that she and Hank had an opportunity for more than a business relationship. After all, her situation hadn’t changed. It was best she put away her wishes and stay focused on reality.
Nine
Helena and Hank had spent most of the day hustling and bustling at Pelican and dodging each other like a case of the plague. When she arrived earlier that afternoon, Hank had greeted her with a simple cool response and she’d reacted just as coolly. Camilla was gone but that didn’t mean she hadn’t stayed the night.
Her feelings were ridiculous and she realized as much. She reminded herself many times that it was none of her business who Hank entertained. People had needs, and so did Helena, and last night in the kitchen she’d almost made the mistake of pushing boundaries. She wasn’t sure when she’d figured out that she felt an attraction for Hank, but it had come on strong. Maybe it started with the stolen glances, or the way he treated Freya. The accidental brushes as they passed. The long talks after the bar closed. His smile. His kindness. It all accumulated into emotion.
Truth was, since she’d started working at Pelican, she’d naturally watched Hank. After all, who would blame her. He held such confidence,
and yet he was modest.
Of course, this all could be considered foolish.
She couldn’t stay in Cooper’s Hawk because…
Why?
When did they stop running?
What if she cut out the fear and focused on the present? Would she want to stay here and get to know Hank better? The answer would be “yes”.
Those were her thoughts later when she was stocking cans in the pantry and Hank walked in. Their gazes met. “I’m almost done,” she said softly.
“No hurry,” he said as he set a box on the floor.
“Did you hire the woman?”
His back was to her as he counted the number of items on a shelf. “No. She wouldn’t work.”
“Oh, sorry.” She roved her eyes over his broad back that flexed each time he moved. The small space didn’t help in easing the pressure in her body. What did she want? She’d wanted to keep her distance but the sudden wall between them saddened her.
“I have more interviews. I’m confident I’ll find someone.”
Stacking the last can from the box, she turned and hooked her thumbs in her front pockets. “Hank, I—” What could she say? “Nothing…” She took a step…
“Helena?”
She looked back at him. He was now facing her. Dark circles lined his eyes and his whiskers didn’t hide his tight jaw. “Yes?”
“What do you need to say?”
Swiveling on her boots, she mustered up the words. “Last night—”
“We crossed a line we shouldn’t have,” he growled. “I made a mistake in thinking I was more than a boss.” He went back to counting the inventory as if finalizing the conversation.
Leave! Leave!
Her feet were glued to the floor.
She placed her fingers on his arm and his bicep tightened under her touch. “I said those things because I was scared. It really is none of my business who Camilla is, but maybe I did feel some jealousy. I know it’s not right, but I’m telling the truth.”
He swiveled so fast he knocked a can off the shelf that rolled across the floor and into the corner. “There’s no reason to be jealous of her.”
She laughed but it sounded tense. “Uhh…I could feel the sexual tension.”
“Once upon a time Camilla and I were involved, but we haven’t been for months, and probably not in the way you think we were.”
“Hank, I—”
“Listen, Helena. She did show up last night thinking we could revisit those old needs, but she didn’t stay. I told her she and I couldn’t see each other.” His eyes were so heated they could have burned a hole through her wall, but she turned away to prevent that from happening. “There you go. Turn away. Hell, run if that’s what you want, but you and I both know there’s something here that ranks high above a boss-employee relationship.”
She stopped at the doorway. His words seeped into the marrow of her bones and found their way through all the chambers of her heart. She could have walked away, maybe even a part of her wanted to still, but she’d witnessed a vulnerability in him that matched her own. So, she turned back to him, covered the space distancing them and kissed him. His body stiffened a moment before he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her, pressing her against the wall between two rows of shelves.
Things heated up fast.
His hand moved to her breast, kneading and gently squeezing through the fabric of her clothing, and she became a puddle of desire underneath his touch.
They were struck by the wrecking ball of desire until they heard…
“Hank, where are you? Oh shit!” George sputtered. “Sorry. I didn’t know you both were in here.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.
Hank eased Helena to her feet, his chest rising and falling as he stared down at her. “Oops.”
“I-I better go. I have tables to wait on.” She fixed the front of her shirt and scurried out of the pantry. George had his back to her, whistling cheerfully as he placed burgers on the flat top. She felt her cheeks flush and continued through the swinging door.
*****
Hank stepped out of the pantry after he’d given himself enough time to walk. The kiss wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d resigned himself to the fact that he’d imagined that she had feelings for him, and he’d sworn to keep his distance, but the second he was close to her he’d lost his head.
Good thing she’d made the first move otherwise he would have been worried that he’d pushed her away even further.
Last night he could have easily eased his tension with Camilla, but he hadn’t felt anything but guilt that he’d used her for a long time. Hell, they’d used each other, and although great while it’d lasted, he’d moved on. She hadn’t taken it very well, but he’d gotten his point across and he wouldn’t be seeing her again.
“Did you need something, George?” Hank asked.
The cook offered him a wide smile. “I just wanted to remind you that I have to leave early today because I’m taking my wife to the doctor.”
“I remember. You’re free to go any time.”
“I can stay a few hours.” George poured salsa into a bowl and stacked chips in a basket. “Any luck with the applicants?”
“Nope. Why is this so damn hard?” He blew out a long breath and poured himself a coffee.
“Hiring someone or your distraction with Helena?”
Hank whipped his chin up. “Damn, you cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
“You’re not getting any younger, boss. At some point you must admit when you’ve been caught by the love bug.” He chuckled.
“Love bug?” Hank squinted. “I wouldn’t say I’ve been bitten by anything.”
“Damn, my friend. You don’t believe in love?”
“It’s not that easy, I’m afraid.” Hank stared down into his coffee, wishing he had the answers.
“A woman like Helena doesn’t make out with a man in a pantry unless she’s willing to check out the bed too. Even single mothers have needs—”
George’s words were cut off when Boone strolled in.
“What’s wrong with you?” Hank asked. His brother looked like he’d seen a ghost.
Boone rubbed the bridge of his nose. His shoulders drooped. “You haven’t heard about Owen?”
“No? He’s not drunk again, is he?” Hank took a step toward the door. “Damn, I told him—”
“He’s not here, Hank.”
“He’s not?”
Whatever Boone wanted to say he was having an internal battle. “I just got word that Gladys found him this morning. He was still in his bed. Heart attack.”
All the air left Hank’s lungs. “Damn.”
“If you want to go check on the family I’ll help hold down the fort here,” Boone offered.
Ten
After laying Freya into bed and quietly closing the door to the bedroom, Helena came back out into the living room where Hank still stood by the door, his hat pressed against his stomach. “She’s still sleeping soundly.”
“Good. The place is coming together.”
“It’s amazing what vases of fresh flowers can do for a place.” She stepped into the kitchen. “I’m making a cup of hot tea. Want one?”
“Sure.”
“Again, I’m so sorry to hear about Owen’s passing. How was the family holding up?”
He shrugged. “Goes to show us we never know what life has in store for us. They seemed okay. As hard as it is, I think he was ready. He missed his wife.”
“He talked of her often.”
“They were in love. He was lucky he found the one.”
She offered him an encouraging smile. “True. And Hank, you don’t have to hang out by the door. I won’t bite.” She poured water into the kettle. By the time the tea was prepared, and she brought it into the living room, Hank was sitting on the edge of the couch. He looked more relaxed, but she could see that he still mourned his friend’s death. She set the tray on the coffee table.
Sitting down on the couch,
she tucked her legs up under her and looked at him through the curling steam. “Owen had lived a good life.”
“He lived a long life.”
“You were very kind to him, Hank.” She tapped her short nail against the ceramic.
“I think he’d been very lonely lately. Guess we should all have our ducks in a row.” He scratched his temple. He took a gulp of tea, swished it around his cheeks, then shrugged. “I should be leaving. You’re probably tired.”
“Don’t be in a rush. At least finish your tea,” she urged.
He eased back into the cushion. “Okay.”
“When my mother died my life changed.” She set her unfinished cup on the table. “My father wasn’t the nurturing parent and always made me feel as if I was a possession instead of a daughter. He came from a long line of cold-hearted relatives.”
Hank didn’t say a word. He only listened.
“This ring, it’s the only thing I have left of her. I never take it off. I know it might sound ridiculous, but I feel like it’s a bridge to her.” He surprised her then by taking her hand—his large, calloused fingers wrapped around hers, making her feel warm and secure.
Their gazes met and held.
“If he couldn’t see how special you are then it was his loss.”
“Hank, I—”
The buzzing of his phone sounded from his pocket.
“I don’t have to get that,” he said.
“Yes, you do. It’s okay.”
He stood, breaking the contact between them. She left him and took her cup to the sink.
When he hung up, he said, “Sorry. There’s a situation that I need to take care of.” Hank pushed his phone back into his pocket. His hat was already back on his head.
“Of course. Thank you for the ride home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Through the window she watched the taillights on his truck disappear on the narrow lane.
What if she told Hank the truth? Would it be so wrong? Would he understand? There were days—moments—she craved speaking to someone about her life in California. Trusting others didn’t come easy, but she believed Hank would empathize. Sometimes her past life seemed like another lifetime ago and then, like now, she felt saddened at what she left behind to start fresh. She missed Astrid. And more than likely she’d miss her wedding too. And the birth of the baby.
Cowboy Hank (Cooper's Hawke Landing Book 3) Page 10