Her mother’s trilling laughter rang out. “Don’t bother. He’s a happy man, something I see to quite frequently.”
“Good lord, Mom. Really?” Heather groaned. “No kid wants to hear that.”
“What? That Mommy and Daddy get their freak on with surprising regularity at our age?”
She dropped her face into her hands and shook her head. “Mom. Please. Enough.”
“Mmmhmm. Just as I thought. Heather, love, your face went sixteen shades of red over a little comment. It’s not like I took you shopping at the naughty store, so the only other thing that could possibly evoke such a response is a man.”
She shot upright in her chair and gaped at her mom. “What?”
Her mother sighed and made that tsk-tsk sound parents do so well.
“You refuse to come home for Christmas. Something which, by the way, is getting old.” The look of disappointment mixed with censure was positively cringe-worthy. Ouch.
“Then you completely dodged Travis when he called on New Year’s.” Heather started to reply but a hand waved in the air and a cross expression stopped her cold. “Don’t even,” her parent scolded. “You weren’t the only one affected by what happened.”
If there was a term for the heavy gulp struggling in her throat, she was unaware of it.
“This year was worse than the others.” Holding up an elegant hand, her mom started counting on her fingers. “First, no holiday card. That nonsense you emailed doesn’t count.” Finger two. “Then you blow off your family on Christmas Day. And just so you know, your poor father almost drove here to get you and bring you home.”
“Mom,” Heather murmured. “Come on. Low blow.”
Another finger. “Hurting your brother’s feelings was a crappy thing to do. The least you could have done was call him back, but you couldn’t even be bothered.”
Ugh. She was right, of course, but explaining now so long after the fact would be useless. Not that she could explain. That part was still under construction in her mind.
Four fingers waved “And then … and then,” Jennifer Clarke snipped in a way that made her only daughter shrink in her chair. “You go radio silent for more than a month. We aren’t stupid, young lady. Not calling us was shitty.”
Another gulp. This one harder. Her mom didn’t usually swear, so even a word as tame as shitty struck a nerve. Finished with the countdown of Heather’s failings, she sat back and tsk’ed again. “So imagine our surprise when out of the blue you get a case of the Chatty Cathy’s. George is a dream. The college fair you organized a huge success. Not even this awful weather seems to bother you.”
Uh-oh. Heather didn’t like where this was headed. Going still like a rabbit in the high beams, she tried to appear impassive, but inside was looking for the door. The perfect eggs benedict with the smooth hollandaise sauce she’d enjoyed so much churned in her stomach.
After a long, tense silence that made her want to scream, her mother smiled oh-so-slightly, reached for her teacup, and took a ladylike sip. “When do we get to meet this man?” she drawled.
Er, uh … huh? “Man? What man?”
Where seconds before, she’d seen concerned annoyance in her mom’s gaze; now, she saw nothing but love. And understanding.
“The man who brought you back to life. Who is he? When can I meet him?”
“Oh,” she mumbled. Then, “Oh,” again, only this time with a glimmer of enthusiasm. Was it that obvious? What gave her away? All those nagging questions vanished when Brody’s handsome face and comforting smile flashed in her mind. Smirking, she shook her head infinitesimally and rolled her eyes. “Shit.”
Her quiet laughter got a big smile from her mom. “Shit, indeed.”
Sighing, Heather clasped her hands in her lap and made half an effort not to grin like an idiot. Not that she was in any way successful. “I surrender.” She gurgled with laughter recalling Brody using the same word on her. My god how things have changed.
“I’m listening.” She heard the relief and the hope in her mom’s voice.
“Well, let’s see.” Heather felt like a teenager as happiness flooded her system. She’d so wanted to tell somebody, anybody, about what was happening in her life. Spilling the beans to her mother was all kinds of right and perfect. “He’s an English teacher at the college, and his name is Brody. Brody Jensen.”
“Oh, so you met him at work?”
“Um, well no. That part is just a coincidence. We met …” Heather paused. Telling her mom how they came to know each other might be something he didn’t want broadcast.
“Good lord, sweetie. He’s not a client, is he?”
“No, no, no,” she quickly assured her mom. “Look, no judgment, okay? We met in group therapy.”
Understanding lit up her mother’s face. “The trauma group?”
“Yes.” She nodded. Lowering her voice, she filled in a few blanks. “He’s a veteran. The war, you know?” Sometimes, nothing else was necessary to say. Explaining he was a vet and adding the word war shut down further discussion.
“Ah. I see.” Mom seemed to consider this tidbit of information then asked, “An English teacher?”
“Yeah, that and other things.” Spelling out those other things wasn’t going to be easy.
Moms were especially adept at cutting through any and all bullshit and going for the gusto without blinking an eye. “Are you sleeping with this man?”
Well, fuck-a-luck-a-bing-bong. The million-dollar question. A couple years of wild monkey sex notwithstanding, the truth was since they’d started dating, their naked gymnastics screeched to a halt. Made answering her mom’s way-too-direct question super easy.
“No. We’re dating. His term, by the way. Not mine.”
To her astonishment, her mom burst out laughing. “For real?”
Heather quirked a half grin and rolled a shoulder. “Yeah. He’s got some old-school thing going on in his head.”
“Oh, poor you.” Mom laughed as she smacked her hand on a knee. “I hope this paragon of gentlemanly virtue isn’t some gray-haired, tweed-wearing, pipe-smoking professor type. You need someone like your dad who won’t take your crap and keep you on your toes.”
Heather snorted. If she only knew! Chuckling, she shook her head at the scholarly description. “Think more along the lines of one of the Aussie Hemsworth boys. Big. Handsome. Mixture of clever and funny.” It took real effort not to swoon.
With unerring accuracy, her mom took aim and landed one right in her lap. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“For god’s sake, seriously?” she griped. “Why would you think I’m not telling you everything?” She touched her nose to make sure it wasn’t growing. Running circles around her mom wasn’t something she was good at.
Pursing her lips in that way moms have, she warned, “Heather.”
Pfft. Note to self … moms always know. “All right. Don’t freak out, though, okay?”
All she got in response was an arched brow.
“The thing is … Brody, he … well, um, he’s, uh … he’s not from around here.” Her mom’s blank stare gave her the willies. “What I mean is—he’s obviously from around here if he teaches at the college. But he also works for a security firm.”
“Can you make some sense, please?”
“Right, right.” Heather nodded. Sense. Good luck with that. “Brody teaches one semester a year and the rest of the time he lives in the Southwest. So not around here. Understand?”
“Not really. Are you saying this is a long-distance thing?”
“Oh, well, not exactly. He’s here now. I mean, obviously, we’re dating and all. I guess we’ll see what happens when it’s time for him to leave.”
If the shrewd assessing gaze her mom subjected her to was any indication, she was busy reading between the lines. To her credit, she let the whole leaving thing drop and came at her with a shocking request.
“Call him,” her mom said. “I want to meet him.”
“Mom, no,” He
ather stammered.
Checking her watch, she tapped it once and started snapping orders. “I can take the seven o’clock train and be back home in plenty of time for Daddy to pick me up from the station. I’d like to freshen up before meeting this Brody Jensen, so maybe you arrange to have him come by your place in a bit.”
“Uh …”
“What?” Mom drawled. “Thinking about trying to give me the runaround? Forget it, sweetie. Get this man on the phone and tell him to ball up. Time to meet the parent.”
Heather choked on laughter. “Ball up, Mom? Did you just say that?”
“Yes and I believe it means to grow a set. Your dad works the expression to death, and it seemed to fit so …” She shrugged.
“I didn’t know you were coming, so we actually have a date tonight.”
“Is he picking you up, I hope?”
“Yes, Mom,” she answered drily. “He parks and knocks on the door. I told you. This is old-school dating.”
“Perfect,” her mother chirped with a happy smile. “I can’t wait to meet the man who got you to go along with such charming old-fashioned ideas. He must be quite a guy.”
Holy shit. Her mother just neatly maneuvered her into doing something she didn’t plan, couldn’t control, and wouldn’t be able to wiggle out of. Touché, Mom. Nicely done.
At exactly five o’clock, he rang the doorbell. Brody was punctual and exact like that all the time. Military training. One time, she heard him in the hallway a good five minutes before the time he was expected. Did he ring the bell early? Nope. She imagined him cooling his heels as the minutes counted down. She wouldn’t have been able to stay still. The waiting would drive her crazy, but just like now, he rang the bell on time.
Praying she wasn’t inviting a huge mistake by not forewarning him about the face-to-face with her mom, she scurried to the door with George hot on her heels. When she pulled the door open, the same thing always happened. He smiled. She sighed. The rest of the world faded away, and they stood there grinning at each other until her pup’s excitement at seeing him broke the spell.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured before a swift kiss of hello followed by a good minute of head scratching and tummy strokes. For the dog. When he was finished with the man-dog love fest, he straightened and gave her a wink. “Just rewarding him for looking after my girl.”
His girl. Every time he said the words, she giggled. And felt her panties catch fire. A noise behind her was the reminder she needed to throw a bucket of ice water over them. Nibbling on her bottom lip, she hurriedly whispered, “My mom’s here.”
Unsure of how he’d react to this unexpected news, she watched as he snapped to attention and ran a hand through his hair.
“For real?” he asked with a cautious glance over her shoulder. “May I meet her?”
George dropped to a sit, his tail thumping on the wood floor. She looked down as the dog looked up … expectantly. In this comedy of manners, it sure did seem like Brody and the dog were reading from the same script.
She leaned in close and whispered, “I told her we weren’t sleeping together,” which only got a grunted laugh in return.
“We aren’t, so don’t sweat the details.” The look he gave her reignited the fire in her silk undies. “Now, be a good girl and introduce me to your mama.” The subtle ass swat almost led to her climbing him like a ladder while she devoured his mouth.
When he reached out and swiped a thumb at the corner of her mouth, she melted a bit more. “You’ve got some drool there, m’lady,” he teased. “Hold that thought, hmm?”
Grabbing her by the hand, he gave a hearty squeeze and urged her forward. “Come on then, let’s do this. And don’t worry. I took care of the burping and farting in the car.” A little sense of humor was just what she needed to alleviate her anxiety.
It was all kinds of surreal to walk into her mother’s field of vision with a man who was staking so obvious a claim by the way he clung to her hand. She’d been a teenager the last time she introduced a boy to her parents. Heather tripped over her own feet and ended up standing there awkwardly as a hot flush rose up her neck.
“Mom,” she stuttered. “This is my … this is Brody Jensen. The guy I told you about.” He squeezed her fingers when she looked into his eyes. “And Brody, this is my mother, Jennifer Clarke.”
She was holding her breath and anxiously looking back and forth between the two. Oh, my god. Somebody say something!
“Mrs. Clarke,” Brody prompted with a warmth in his voice usually reserved just for her. Letting go of Heather’s hand, he stepped up and graciously extended his to her mother. With a beaming grin, he drawled, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you and see for myself that this beautiful apple,” he said motioning to her with a nod of his head, “didn’t fall far from the tree.” Her mother all but giggled and fanned herself.
When her mom took hold of Brody’s hand, Heather could breathe again. “Why, Mr. Jensen,” she quipped with a sly grin that struck Heather as funny. “My daughter didn’t do you justice when describing her boyfriend.”
A gurgle of nervous laughter shot embarrassingly from her throat. She didn’t know what was so damn funny, after all. The word justice, which was creeping into her vocabulary, or boyfriend – a word she’d been resisting.
But something uncomfortable tightened inside her after the laughter. It was a specific feeling that she particularly hated. Anything, absolutely anything at all that smacked of going along with something, triggered a visceral reaction she couldn’t control. Heather could define her early adult life as one long period of going along with things. That was how she ended up married to a guy she didn’t even like. Pushing the memories away, she consciously willed the upset to settle.
“Let me guess.” He chuckled. “She led with that whole English teacher thing, right?” He shook his head at her as if what she said was one-hundred percent made-up. “Sorry to disappoint but I don’t care for smoking a pipe and haven’t worn a turtleneck in forever.” His laughter looked to be charming the socks off her beaming mother.
“Hey,” she muttered. “I’m standing right here.” She would’ve pet the dog to make up for the nervousness, but as usual, the damn mutt was glued to Brody’s side.
“Heather, where are your manners?” her mother chided. “Take Mr. Jensen’s jacket while we get to know each other.”
Brody looked to be choking off a laugh, but he didn’t miss a beat, sliding off the leather jacket and handing it to her with a sly wink. “Here you go.” Turning to her mother, he gave her the sort of smile that was sure to guarantee her approval. “Please, ma’am, call me Brody.”
As she seriously considered taking the jacket and tossing it out the window, she shoved George aside with her leg and flung the leather over a chair. Did he actually called her mother, ma’am? Well, two could play that game.
“Can I get either of you anything?” she asked. Waving Brody off, she jeered, “Yeah, I know. A bottle of water and Mom? How about you?”
“Oh,” her mom gushed. “Whatever he’s having is fine.”
Stomping away muttering how well that didn’t go she narrowed her eyes at George. Damn dog. He was all but sitting in Brody’s lap. Traitor.
When she returned from the kitchen minutes later and handed off the bottles, she found Brody and her mother chatting away like the oldest of friends.
“And the talk around the faculty lounge is that your daughter set a new fundraising record to boot. She really knows how to motivate people. Did she learn that from you, Mrs. Clarke? Or your husband, perhaps?”
“Ah, how funny, Brody. What you describe as motivation, we will tell you is badgering. Sometimes, the only way to get her to give it a rest is to give in.”
Throwing her a cocky smirk, he confirmed her mother’s comment in a way that nearly earned him a hearty swat. “Mmmm. You mean surrender.” He was actively biting off a laugh. “You’re right about that. Heather and surrender is a match made in heaven.”
&nbs
p; She was going to strangle him.
“So I understand you also work in security. What kind of security, if you don’t mind my asking? Nothing too dangerous, I hope.”
Okay. Now, she was going to put a pillow over her mother’s mouth.
“Oh, no, ma’am. Not dangerous unless a mountain of overexcited puppies fits the bill. My days of carrying a weapon are over. What I do for the agency is train guard dogs and lay the groundwork for animals placed with the police and FBI.”
“My goodness. I guess that explains why Georgie won’t leave your side.”
Brody scratched the mutt behind the ears and nodded. “Yep. He’s my buddy. And I feel better knowing he’s here keeping a watch over Heather.”
Three pairs of eyes swiveled her way. Brody’s looking like he should be knighted for keeping her safe. George with his happy puppy eyes and her mother whose knowing expression turned kind of misty. Shit. If she started to cry …
“What time’s our movie,” she asked aloud hoping to divert an emotional outburst.
“We have plenty of time,” Brody answered. “I offered to drop your mom at the train station first. No need for a taxi. Not with that tank I’m driving.”
IF THIS FUCKING movie didn’t end soon, he was gonna explode. For real. The short ride to the station ended up being all sorts of friendly and fun. He’d been so busy charming Heather’s mother that it couldn’t be anything but. Unfortunately, ten seconds after Jennifer Clarke walked away to go catch her train his date went silent. And no amount of cheerful banter as they drove to the theater made any difference.
Did he fuck up in some way? As the movie dragged on, Brody played every minute over and over in his head. To say he’d been surprised to find Heather’s mother at her apartment was the grand prize winner of all understatements. Fortunately, the military trained him to think on his feet. Switching on a charm offensive he was pretty sure could win over his most ardent enemy, Mrs. Clarke was putty in the desert sun within minutes, and there was no doubt in his mind that he’d been given an unequivocal stamp of approval.
So why was Heather all tied up in knots? He couldn’t figure her out. She wasn’t mad. He’d know if she was. And she wasn’t gearing up to rip his face off. He’d know that too.
Sanctuary (Family Justice Book 3) Page 17