by Nicole Snow
Calming, my brother slides his fingers through hers, locking them tight. “Damned straight. Whatever you want to do, Sadie. Maybe I overreacted tonight. Fuck, I'm just so sick of it. Mom's condition, whatever it is, has screwed us royal.”
“Yeah, well, we make do. That's what we've always done, isn't it?” I wait for him to give me the look that says he knows what I'm talking about. “I'm doing this whether you like it or not, Jackson. But I'd really, really love to have your support. Just for once.”
He's quiet for a minute. I'm expecting another verbal lashing, and this time I will walk away, but he eases into his seat. “You've got it. For real. It's just a part-time job. What's the worst that could happen?”
You could find out I'm working for the man who pulled you into a fistfight. I just feel crazier when I confront the other truth I'm hiding.
Still, tonight feels like training. It's the first time I've grown a backbone in a good, long while.
I like it. And I know what I need to do.
Of course, I hesitate. I put it off because I don't have a clue what to expect the second I show up on Marshal Howard's doorstep.
Three more days at the clinic drift by before I'm brave enough to follow through. It's another screaming kid in the waiting room who finally gives me courage, a little boy with no chill. I'm the one who comes out with a green apple sucker while Quinn draws his mom's blood. He quiets down like magic.
I can do this. I might even be good at it.
No more delays. No more crap. Come Monday, I'm seeing Mr. Castoff for my job interview.
2
Little Red Riding Hood (Marshal)
The alarm on my phone blares just before five a.m. It's cold, it's winter, and fuck, the hot shower I step into is glorious.
No time to stand in the suds jerking off, though. It's another day packed with business.
I dry my hair quickly and head for the kitchen, stopping to poke my head through the door into Mia's room. My little angel should be asleep for a couple more hours. That means now is the best window of opportunity I'll have all day to get to my shop and get some major work done.
I take a detour to the stove. My coffee is black, pour over, and so dark it could strip rust.
The first slurp is perfection. Too bad it never lasts.
By the second, I have every reason in the world to be pissed off again.
“Keep coping, asshole. You won't fix it today,” I tell myself, growling into the shadows before I drain the excess coffee dregs into my thermos for later. “It's just another morning. No different than the rest.”
Half an hour later, I'm too busy to worry about the stains on my soul. The grease all over my hands is a nice distraction, making this wrench a hard bastard to screw.
I have to be careful. Have to focus. Classic motorcycle parts don't come cheap if I fuck up and break them.
Besides, I've got plenty more work lined up through New Year's. I put in a solid hour on the old Harleys, stripping metal and overhauling damned near everything. Then my muscles lock, pleading for a break.
This is the part I hate. The quiet, productive hours are over too soon. If I'm lucky, I'll have another thirty minutes, maybe less.
Usually before ten, I hear my little girl screaming my name from the back door, or else coming up to my shop door to rap the secret knock I taught her. She's been sleeping in later the last few days since her fever faded. Of course, I lost precious time, tending to her every need.
Money is the last thing on my mind when she's sick.
I don't know how I've kept us stable, raising a four year old alone as long as I have, but I do. I'm hoping that changes once there's an answer to my nanny ad.
I sit down to rest, sipping the rest of my coffee, staring at the old ammo box in the corner.
It's like a hellish magnet. Never fails to draw my gaze every idle second in my workspace.
Goddamn, not today. I can't.
The blanket I threw over it a couple months ago hasn't helped, ever since the last time I slammed it shut and pinched the lock on tight. Everything is still there.
Secret. Taunting. Pleading.
Everything I don't want to dwell on, but have to.
Ignoring the fatigue in my hands, my fist tightens. “Someday, boys. I haven't given up. I'll die before that ever –“
There's that knock. Three, to be precise. Right on time, honeybee.
Standing, I'm ready to greet her and head back to the kitchen to make us breakfast. I'm halfway to the door before I realize the other three taps are missing.
It should be six with a pause in the middle. Not three.
What the hell? I rip the door open, afraid something's wrong because Mia never forgets.
It isn't my little girl.
It's a woman. A voluptuous hourglass of a fox who looks like she just stepped out of my wet dreams with her long flaming hair and jade green eyes. Teasing hips, deadly lips, and so much of that bright red fucking hair, my hands have a better reason to burn besides their recent workout.
Then her familiarity hits. Red.
The reckless flunky who stuck my daughter's arm just last week. The shy, soft-spoken girl who should be anywhere but here.
It doesn't make sense.
“You again. Here. Why?” I step out and stop, taking back my front step, surprised she holds her ground.
“I'm here about the nanny job.” It's quick and forceful and anxious. Like she's been practicing the words all morning. “Don't look so surprised. I saw the ads in the waiting room yesterday. I need work. I'm at your service.”
My...service? What is this, the nineteen-fucking-fifties? The mouth on this girl.
She's nervous and defiant. Strange and enticing. Worth maybe five seconds before I kick her to the curb.
Sure, she's given me a hard-on, but not any patience. When I posted my ad, I expected serious offers. “Wrong job, lady. I need mornings, evenings, sometimes in between. This won't work with your schedule.”
I twist my arm behind me, reaching for the door, ready to step back into my shop and slam it shut.
Then Red shows me how insane she really is.
She grabs my goddamned work shirt. She's got to stand on her tippy toes to reach my collar, rocking forward from the motion, just enough to leave a soft invisible kiss of warm breath on my neck. An inch closer, and she'd plow her hips right into the hard-on I mentioned, big and tense and seething.
Fuck me seven ways. I don't need this.
“An interview, Marshal. Five minutes of your time. That's all I'm asking,” she says, her little fists twisting the fabric of my shirt. “I'm just a student in the lab. Not full time. They aren't even paying me yet.”
I'm growling when I grab her wrists several seconds too late. It's not like me to hesitate. “Three minutes. In the house. Start talking now.”
She's ballsy for a broad, coming here like this, using my first name. To Port Eagle, I'm either Castoff or Mr. Howard. Both said with equal derision.
Her courage is worth something – at least a sixty second litany telling her why she needs to get fucking lost if she's got any common sense.
I'll pretend to hear her out and then get her gone.
A minute later, we're in my kitchen. That's where I finally remember to get my hands off her.
Doesn't stop the ache below my waist. I stand behind the table, feigning setting breakfast plates for Mia, hoping Red doesn't see what she's done to me.
Her eyes dart around my place. I wonder what happened to the spitfire who marched her way in here only seconds ago, wonder why she's so quiet. “What's wrong? Clock's ticking.”
She shakes her head, startled, pouring those bright green eyes into mine. “Nothing. It's just...so normal.”
“What were you expecting? A cave with cougar skulls?” My hands slap the table so hard she jumps. “Start talking, sweetness. No time for games. What makes you think you're remotely qualified for this job when you already upset my little girl?”
“You
told me she usually cries. When I took her blood, she didn't. Don't I get a little credit for keeping her cheeks dry?”
I stare through her, letting my gaze do the talking. Very, very little.
“I'm a good listener,” she continues. “Young at heart. Responsible. I've taken every job I've ever had seriously. Never been disciplined once.”
There's a first time for everything. The dangerous ache in my balls strengths when I think about her and discipline in the same sentence.
It isn't fucking good for me.
I turn, throwing a fresh pot of water on the stove for oatmeal. Mia will be down here any minute. Red plows through her life experience, which isn't much.
High school honor roll. Charity work in Cancun. Three years of college. Something about a sick mother.
I can't believe I haven't fallen back asleep by the time I decide to stop half-listening.
Hardly surprising for a girl in this town who looks like she's barely old enough to drink. The girl trails off while I'm digging in the fruit basket for a few bananas to slice up, Mia's favorite add-in.
“Oh, and I'm going to be an aunt. Good chance I'll be helping my sister-in-law after the baby comes. Taking care of people is what I do, just like helping my sick mom. I mentioned that. Same reason I'm going into lab work. I'd love more experience with kids.”
I'm less impressed with this resume by the second. “Looks like we're done here,” I say, throwing the banana slices and nuts on top of the oatmeal in a bowl, which I lay down in front of Mia's seat.
“Wait, that's it?” She's got her arms folded when I turn.
“What else were you expecting? I can't hire a kid fresh out of college who's got half her day booked with more important shit. Let me save us both some time. If there's one thing I hate, it's wasting mine, and bringing you in here was a big –“
“Daddyyyy!” Mia's squeal cuts in mid-sentence, but it's not what interrupts me.
It's the blur of tawny fur flying across the room a split second before my oatmeal hits the floor. Our cat, Whiskey, scurries off as my little girl stops. She doubles over, wide eyed and laughing. And who can blame her, knowing how many times I've tried to train that fucking hairball to stay off the table?
If he wasn't her favorite, sometimes, I swear...
“You're right. I'm sorry I wasted your time.” Red blinks at the mess. Her boots thump across the floor. Then I hear the hinges squeal as she pulls open the screen door, ready to leave this insanity behind.
Leaving me too busy holding my dick to reach for the paper towels.
My eyes flick to the clock. It's going on ten.
Shit.
I promised those motorheads I'd have their Harley engines rebuilt by afternoon. They're coming all the way from Dubuque to get them. Also told Mia we'd be going to the mall to get her new shoes, and maybe she'd get an ice cream for good behavior.
That won't happen if I don't get this crap off the floor and make sure she's fed. Right fucking now.
Against my better instincts, I fling the door open, screaming the three feet between us. “You want this job? Then get back here and help. This is your hands-on interview.”
Red halts, slowly looks up, a sour smirk on her lips. “You want to add anything to that, boss? I dunno. Seems like I'm crazy after all, chasing this nanny gig...”
Damn. She just knows she's got me by the balls. For a split second, I'm back in boot camp, the time the drill instructor caught me trying to sneak a beer. Worse, I mouthed off. He taught me how to clean miles of grout with just a toothbrush.
If there's one thing I hate more than asking for help, it's being punished for my own stupidity.
“Come back.” It comes out like thunder stuck in my throat. “Please, Red. I was too hasty, maybe. Show me what you've got, and I'll re-think this.”
Her eyes go to the frigid overcast sky, still mulling my abrupt change of heart. Come the fuck on.
“All right. I'm a believer in second chances. I'll see what I can do, Marshal.” She waltzes past me, into my house. I linger outside a moment, listening to her chattery sweet talk with my daughter while she cleans the floor.
It's times like this I miss the tobacco from my army days. But I gave that shit up years ago; partly for Mia, partly because I can't stand the other burning stench I'll never forget after my last smoke.
I take a few more placebo puffs of icy December air before I go inside, and see my little girl in her booster seat, Whiskey rubbing on her ankles. My death glare doesn't even phase the cat, who looks up and squeaks carelessly at me. Bastard fiend.
“Can you keep her company for the next few hours, Red? It'd mean a lot. Pretty easy to keep her busy. She's got a tablet in the living room, plenty of animal learning games she loves. I've got work to do.”
“Did we start the clock then? I've got the job?”
I hesitate for a couple long seconds. The worst that could happen is already over, isn't it?
If she's able to fill in like this in an emergency, then she's reliable enough. For now.
“Tentatively, yes. How does seventeen an hour plus expenses sound?”
“Fair. Glad we could work this out, Marshal. My name's Sadie, in case you cared.”
I pause. “Good. I'll check in sometime after noon, Red.” I avoid the name, shaking my head as I rush to my workshop to pick up where I left off.
Sadie lingers on my mind like a forbidden kiss.
It's a pretty name. It suits her. It's also way too fucking close for comfort.
Can't remember the last time I was on a first name basis with a woman. Not since Nameless, probably, that bitch who turned my life upside down with a little help from a busted condom.
Not that I regret Mia. I've never done that for a second.
Her, on the other hand, Jenna...
An angry chill bristles up my spine every time I remember her name.
For some fucked up reason, it also makes me hear Red saying mine. How she says it wrong.
She doesn't say 'Marshal' in the timid, subtle whispers like everybody else in this town, the rare times they aren't saying Castoff instead. If only I had time to care.
Work beckons and money threatens. I dive in and shut my ransacked brain up.
Or try to.
Another thirty minutes into the job, I hurl my greasy wrench down, grunting as I wipe my hands on a rag.
Fuck, I don't like this one bit.
I need a nanny, but I can't have her in my head.
My eyes drift to the ammo box again. I get the same sharp adrenaline burst I always do in my chest.
“Quit worrying, you assholes. This isn't another distraction. I'm not letting little red riding hood screw me over.”
Despite the rocky start, I'm able to finish quicker than I thought. It's barely noon and there's even time for lunch.
I head into the house to check on Mia. The rumble in my gut encourages me to fix a quick sandwich. I throw together cold cuts, mayo, and bread before I head into the living room.
That's where I find them. Mia, parked on the floor in front of the TV, her usual spot, humming a kid's tune while her fingers tap at tigers and elephants on her tablet.
Red is bent over in the corner, scooping something off the floor. That long grey grandma dress she's wearing presses up against her ass cheeks, taunting the hard-on its been hell keeping down all morning.
This shit is too much.
I grab her around the waist. She spins around and gasps, clasping a thick medical textbook tight in her little hands, the object she was busy retrieving.
Our eyes lock for a long, fiery second before I let go.
“Do you mind?” she whispers, an edge in her voice.
“I do. Like to know exactly what's happening in my house. Everything cool here, or did you spill a whole library?” I nod toward several more books and scraps of papers strewn across the floor.
She steps away from me, sniffing, this time facing forward as she attacks the pile. “Clumsy me. My backpack ripp
ed. I was fine picking it up like a normal human being before you barged in.”
All the books and printouts are about blood. Interesting. “You sure you're human? Seems like your studies would go over better in Transylvania than Nowhere, Iowa.”
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. They catch the soft low winter sun seeping through the window, giving me a kaleidoscope of pretty green. “Somebody has to learn to stick veins if we want a functional medical system. Phlebotomists and lab techs are actually in pretty big demand around here with our aging population.”
“That so?” I lean in. An evil part of me adores how her breath sticks in her long ivory throat when I'm up close and personal. My voice drops an octave. “Just keep that shit away from Mia. She's real squeamish with blood and needles. You're welcome to read whatever when she's occupied.”
“Fine. It's only for a few more weeks, anyway. I'll have my certificate soon, and then I'll be able to go back to books I enjoy.”
My flicker of amusement fades. I don't need the reminder I'm dealing with a student.
Another risk. One more strike against having a reliable nanny.
My eyes stick to her while she turns, slips past me, and settles onto the sofa next to my little girl on the floor, opening her book. Sadie smiles down at the kid for a moment, who's trying to pronounce different animals' names. She looks at me and opens her plush lips. “I thought you had work?”
I hesitate, taking in the scene. I'm still trying to decide if this whole thing is a big fat stinking mistake. Maybe I should cut her loose by the end of the day.
There's a million reasons this is wrong.
But Mia's happy singsong melody, stuck in her own little world, doesn't lie. She likes her new babysitter. That's a huge plus. Almost so massive it negates the risk of her getting attached, which will be a bitch to deal with if Red leaves me high and dry.
“Another hour or so,” I finally tell her. “I'll be back in soon to square up your pay and talk hours for the rest of the week.”