Whisper of Love (The Bradens at Peaceful Harbor, Book Five)

by Melissa Foster

  He ducked into the coop and checked the chickens’ food and water. Scanning the nesting beds, he snatched up the few eggs Phillip had missed. Phillip leaned against Nash’s leg and yawned. Nash couldn’t imagine anyone not loving their child with all their heart, but Phillip’s mother, Alaina, had taken off three months after their son was born, and other than receiving official documents releasing her from her parental rights, he hadn’t heard from her since. Not a day passed that he didn’t worry about the long-term effects her leaving would have on his son.

  “Good job, Phillip.” He said his son’s name so fast it came out sounding like “Flip.” He set down his bucket, wrapped his arms around his boy, and whispered in his ear, “I love you, little dude.” He kissed his cheek and scooped him up, earning the sweetest giggle known to man.

  Nash grabbed the buckets and headed for the goat pen. Big and Little, the two goats, trailed behind them as Phillip followed Nash through the process of checking their food and water and sweeping out the goat house, as he did every night. Phillip wiggled the nozzle of the water pipe, just as Nash had, mimicking his “Hm.” Nash tossed a cup of oats in the food bin and waited while Phillip did the same. Big nibbled on Phillip’s shirt, and Phillip leaned down and kissed his head.

  “C’mon, buddy.” Nash had grown up in rural Virginia. Most of his friends had lived on farms, and he had no doubt that caring for animals would help Phillip learn responsibility. Not to mention that his son adored all types of animals, from squirrels to goats to worms. That was just fine with Nash. In his experience, animals were a lot more trustworthy than people.

  The sound of tires on gravel drew his attention. He scooped Phillip into his arms, locked the goat pen, and grabbed the buckets.

  “Visitor,” he said, carrying Phillip toward the house and eyeing the Prius parking behind his old Ford pickup truck. His truck was a gas guzzler, but as much as he hated that, he needed the bed of the truck to haul the furniture he made into town. He hoped Tempest Braden, the woman coming to see the room he was renting out, wasn’t a preachy tree hugger. Hell, he hoped she would turn out to be the silent type so he could pretend she didn’t live in their house.

  Phillip’s brows knitted, his hands firmly planted around Nash’s neck. He wasn’t used to visitors. The last several people who had come to see the room they had for rent hadn’t been the kind of people Nash wanted around his son. They’d rubbed him the wrong way—too aggressive, too loud, too shady, too flighty. He just needed a stable, responsible person to rent the room so he could afford to upgrade a few of his tools and start saving for Phillip’s future. He tightened his grip on his son and headed up to meet the tall blonde stepping from the car.

  Her wispy skirt fluttered around her knees. Large pink roses with muted green leaves looked as if they’d been thrown onto the flimsy white material haphazardly. A fringe of lace lined the edges. On anyone else the flouncy, floral skirt might look immature. But her legs went on forever, and coupled with her tight, curve-hugging tank top, she looked like Sweet and Sexy collided at the corner of Sinful Temptation.

  She turned as he approached, and Nash stopped in his tracks, standing still as a stone. The setting sun caught her hair, highlighting several different shades of blond in long, cascading layers that hung to the middle of her back. Her nose was slightly upturned, and she had a cute, rounded chin. He’d never seen such natural beauty.

  She smiled and tilted her head. “Nash?”

  Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he forced his legs to carry him forward. “Yes. Tempest?”

  She met him halfway up the hill. “Thanks for seeing me so quickly.” She peered into the buckets. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Evening routine. Did you have any trouble finding us?” She was even more beautiful up close. Her hair was tousled, as if she hadn’t brushed it all day, and her eyes were so light blue, they had starbursts of white around the pupils, sparkling like diamonds. It had been a long time since any woman had caught Nash’s interest, and he reminded himself to rein in that attraction. The last thing he needed were complications in Phillip’s life. Even for a girl with the most spectacular blue eyes he’d ever seen.

  “No. Your directions were perfect.” She smiled at Phillip, and when she spoke again her voice was soft as a summer’s breeze. “What’s your name, cutie pie?”

  Phillip’s fingers dug into his neck. Nash nodded his approval.

  “Flip,” Phillip said.

  Tempest’s eyes widened with amusement. “Flip? That’s a unique name.” That beautiful smile lit up her face again. “I’m Tempest, but everyone calls me Tempe. It’s nice to meet you both.”

  When she turned that smile on Nash, his entire body heated up. As a sea lover, he knew the word tempest meant a violent storm. It was obvious what type of unexpected storm this sweet-natured, soft-spoken beauty could cause, and he couldn’t afford to be caught in a squall.

  “My son’s name is Phillip.” He said it faster than he’d meant to, and realized his son’s name came out sounding like Flip. He’d also said it harsher than he’d intended. Reeling in his attraction was going to make him look like an asshole.

  “Then Flip it is.”

  The way she said it sounded so damn cute, he wasn’t about to correct her.

  “Flip,” Phillip repeated.

  “Come on, I’ll show you the room.” He caught a whiff of her floral perfume on the way inside. It had been a long time since he’d smelled anything so feminine. Maybe this housemate thing wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  Chapter Two

  EYES THAT HAD gone slightly hard and a father? At least Tempest was safe from fantasizing too much about the six-four-or-so stud leading her through his front door. He was strikingly handsome, with thick Viking-like legs and shoulders made for carrying the weight of the world, but she wasn’t into married men, and tension rolled off this guy like a heat wave.

  He led her through a rustic living room with stunning, hand-carved wooden furniture. The scuffed wood floors had seen better days, and the walls were painfully bare. A fireplace, dark with ashes, was tucked between two bookshelves on the far wall, each packed from top to bottom with books and toys. A leather couch sat before a coffee table littered with toys. A soft-looking child’s blanket lay across the arm of the couch, and the sunken end cushion revealed Nash’s favorite spot to sit. She imagined him and Flip curled up on the couch. Spicy scents of wood and man hung in the air.

  “Hold up,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen to the left of the foyer. She heard running water and assumed he was washing their hands. He returned a minute later without the buckets and motioned for her to follow him upstairs.

  The muscles in his back rippled beneath his white T-shirt. Flip peered over his father’s shoulder. His skin was the color of chestnuts, and he hadn’t lost that sweet toddler chubbiness yet. A shock of dark curls hung over his eyes and brushed along his collar. He and his father could both use a trim, but the longish hair made Flip even cuter—and softened some of his father’s rough edges, the way it peeked out from beneath his red baseball cap. She wondered if that was the same hat he’d had on in the picture she’d seen online.

  “I read that you were a sculpture artist. Did you make the furniture in the living room?” She stepped onto the landing of a barren, narrow hallway. He obviously didn’t believe in decorating.

  His lips parted in surprise. “You checked up on me?”

  “Single girl going to a stranger’s house. I call it being safe.” She had wondered about there being no recent articles about him, but it was clear that he was protective of his son and their privacy.

  “Probably a smart move. Yes, I made it.” He motioned toward the bedroom at the end of the hall.

  She glanced into another bedroom as she passed. A child-size bed with an intricately carved headboard sat against the wall. A lamp sat atop a tall dresser beside the window. In the center of the room, plastic tools lay beside a heap of plastic and wooden animals o
n a plush navy rug. She took that all in quickly, her attention drawn to the left side of the room, where intricately carved squirrels perched along branches of tall, sculpted trees. They looked as if they’d grown right out of the floor. Nearly life-size wooden carvings of raccoons, bears, birds, and deer in various stages of play also decorated the wall, making the entire room feel like a veritable forest. The hours it must have taken to create the scene were nothing compared to the love Nash had obviously poured into them. She stole a glance at the big, brooding father, who was completely focused on his son, silent messages she couldn’t read passing between them.

  She continued down the hall, thinking about the mysterious man following her. His demeanor, and his size, made him appear hard, but she’d glimpsed moments of softness in the way he held and looked at his son.

  She pushed those thoughts away as she entered a cozy, L-shaped bedroom. The walls were painted a dull wine color, which might feel oppressive if not for two sets of French doors that led to a small deck off the back of the house. Cream-colored drapes framed the glass doors. A bed, dresser, and nightstand took up the space to the left, and a gorgeous claw-footed bathtub sat beneath a set of windows in a nook to the right. The tub faced one set of French doors, providing a gorgeous view of the yard. She imagined relaxing in the tub at the end of a long day. The room had old-fashioned charm, and the bathtub made it feel luxurious despite its small size.

  “Does the bathtub work?” She moved across the hardwood to check out the tub. It was sparkling clean, save for an old and rusted faucet.

  “No.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder. “The bathroom is down the hall.”

  She tried to hide her disappointment. “Have you lived here long?”

  He ran a gentle hand down Flip’s back. “About four years.”

  Her mind spun with questions. Had he rented the room out before? Had his wife moved out, taking half of their family’s earnings with her and leaving him short on cash? Did he share custody of Flip? Why had he named his son Flip? Was it a family name? A nickname? She decided to focus on the room itself, and not the reasons it was available, the adorable child’s name, or his baby mama. One thing at a time.

  It was slightly dark, rather small, and she’d prefer a private bathroom, but despite all of that, the room, and the house, had a homey feeling. As if it had somehow soaked up the love Nash had for his son. She looked over as he brushed a kiss to Flip’s forehead. Sharing a house with a quiet guy like him would definitely provide hours of uninterrupted time for writing songs and making plans for the Girl Power group she helped her sister-in-law run.

  “May I?” She motioned to the French doors.

  His heavily muscled body moved swiftly past her, his large hand swallowing the handle as he unlatched the lock and held the door open for her. An act of chivalry or control, she couldn’t be sure. That perfect mouth of his was set in such a serious line, she felt a challenge growing inside her to make it curve up in the smile she’d been thinking about since she’d seen his picture. If not for the dirty-blond hair, silver ring on his right hand, and leather bracelets around his wrist, she might think he was a different man from the one she’d seen online.

  She stepped outside, feeling his presence like a powerful guard dog behind her. His authoritative demeanor relayed a sense of safety despite his brusqueness. Maybe she was just used to that from growing up around overprotective brothers.

  “The property follows the tree line,” he said a little more kindly.

  The pastoral views took her breath away. A lush forest buffered the property from the rest of the world. Not that there were neighbors close by. His house was on the edge of town, about fifteen minutes from any other residential areas, which suited her perfectly. Colorful wildflowers grew in patches along the tree line and throughout the yard. A picnic table sat a few feet away from the house with an upside-down bucket in the center of it, and a short distance away there was a bonfire pit that looked as though it had been recently used. The land sloped gently to the left, leading to a chicken coop and another animal pen of some sort. At the base of the hill, a large, weathered barn faced the road. The deck ran the length of the house, with a built-in bench on either end. On the other side of the house she spotted another, smaller barn, a pond she hadn’t seen from the road, and a large vegetable garden. Her heart skipped a beat at how calming the setting would be after a long day of work. It wasn’t the beach, but it was definitely the next best thing.

  “Do you keep animals other than chickens?” she asked.

  “Goats, a few barn cats.”

  “And what’s in the barns?”

  He pointed to the weathered barn by the animal pens. “My workshop’s there.” Motioning toward the barn by the pond, his expression grew darker. “Supplies for work. It stays locked.”

  That answer might make her nervous if it weren’t for his adorable son. But it made her even more curious. Flip rested his head on Nash’s shoulder with a sleepy sigh. He looked tiny against his father’s broad chest and brawny arms. Nash kissed his forehead, gently stroking his back. You might be gruff, but you love your boy.

  She followed the deck to the other side of the house, passing the window to Flip’s bedroom and finding another set of French doors at the far end. The curtains were open, the master bedroom in full view. Toys and a child’s fluffy, animal-print blanket lay on the center of an unmade bed. A dark wooden dresser took up residence opposite the bed. There were no pictures on the walls or decorations of any kind in there either, which struck her as odd, although it was clear that he’d put a lot of effort into decorating his son’s room.

  “Will I have a chance to meet your wife?” She wasn’t above fishing for information.

  He brushed a hand protectively over Flip’s head, and when he met her gaze again, it was with a slightly warmer expression. “It’s just us, but I can assure you I’m not the kind of guy who would try to take advantage of you.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean…I don’t think you’d do that. I was just curious who else lived in the house.” She hurried back to the bedroom, feeling awkward for making him think she was worried about that, and tried to focus on her surroundings, rather than the urge to flee from embarrassment. She could picture herself sitting on the deck playing her guitar and writing songs, taking a moonlight walk in the yard, maybe working in the garden if he’d allow it.

  “How would this work?” she asked. “I’ve never rented a room from someone I didn’t know before. Would I put my groceries in the kitchen with yours?”

  He motioned toward the hall, and she followed him downstairs to the kitchen, which was as rustic as the rest of the house. Dark wooden cabinets with nondescript countertops lined the right side of the room. A red plastic bucket sat beside the sink, along with another plastic hammer. The little boy must love tools. A farmhouse-style table took up most of the left side of the room. A pile of crayons and paper lay in the center. A pretty iron light hung above the table. The kitchen felt lived in and inviting. It would be simple to brighten up the place. A few vases of wildflowers, a fresh coat of paint. But she wasn’t there to decorate. She was there to find a quiet, safe place to live, and this might just work perfectly.

  Nash opened a door that led to a walk-in pantry, which was full of canned foods, water bottles, and a few essential children’s staples like oatmeal, cold cereal, and macaroni and cheese. He kissed Flip’s forehead as he moved to the refrigerator and pulled it open, revealing the buckets of eggs he’d been carrying earlier along with a few grocery items.

  He tilted his head to one side, his lips twitching in an almost smile. “Plenty of room for your food.”

  She was glad he was easing up. “Are there house rules I should know about?”

  “The safety of my son comes first. So I wouldn’t want a stream of men coming in and out of the house.”

  She stifled a laugh. Obviously he had no idea how lame her social life was. The list of available men in Peaceful Harbor who didn’t feel like family was s
hort and littered with too much history to ignore. “That’s not a problem.”

  “Are you a heavy drinker? A smoker? I won’t allow drugs in my house.”

  She crossed her arms, wondering what type of people had tried to rent the room in the past. “Do I seem like a raging alcoholic or a drug user to you?”

  “Just looking after my son,” he said with absolutely no apology in his voice or his expression.

  She admired the seriousness with which he took his parental responsibilities and let that lack of apology slide. Lord knew she’d seen enough parents who weren’t nearly as careful.

  “Do you have any bad or strange habits, or…?” Late-night visitors? She bit back the question. He might reek of rugged, brooding maleness, which equated to a hell of a lot of sex appeal, but she doubted he had a revolving bedroom door. He was as closed off as Fort Knox, and he was clearly too protective of his son to let strangers anywhere near him.

  His eyes never left hers, and the combination of the silence and his piercing stare was like a slow-burning fire. A flutter of attraction she didn’t realize she’d been tamping down bloomed inside her. Okay, maybe he could have a revolving bedroom door. After his son goes to bed at night. She inhaled a shaky breath, taking a closer, more assessing look at him. The tension around his mouth made her wonder if the heat she felt was one-sided, which was a good thing since she shouldn’t be attracted to her potential landlord. Why was she, anyway? He wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming. She told herself his incredible body would not look good naked, and his enormous hands would not feel heavenly on her skin. She snapped her mouth closed against the barrage of unfamiliar—and inappropriate!—racy thoughts.