“Mommy!”
“Hey, honey.”
“Becca’s in charge of spooning the dough onto the trays. She’s quite precise in her measuring and shaping the cookies. She makes a pretty good dog bone,” Val said, as she admired her grandniece’s handiwork.
“I’m not surprised,” Jules replied as her gaze searched for the owner of the male voice. His back was turned to her, hunched over the oven door as he removed a cookie sheet filled with cookies in the shape of dog bones. Her gaze stayed fixed on him, waiting to see him straighten, wishing to see those shoulders she first saw five years ago, and yet knowing that she would be disappointed. There would never be another man like Gary.
He straightened, revealing broad shoulders covered by a white T-shirt that stretched across his back, and jeans that clung to a very tight backside.
“Okay, this batch is ready,” Dane announced as he turned to the counter. There was no mistaking her. She had haunted his dreams for the past five years. “Red.”
“Gary.”
“His name’s Dane, Mommy. Not Gary. And Mommy’s name is Mommy, not Red.”
“You’re right, honey,” Jules said as she felt her knees give out from under her.
Mark, standing behind her, put his hands on her hips to support her.
“Are you okay, Mommy?”
“Your Mommy has had a long drive. Aunt Val promised her coffee and one of your cookies,” Mark said while guiding Jules to the kitchen counter. “Hi, I’m Dr. Mark Blackwell, a friend of Jules.”
Dane placed the cookie tray on the counter and removed his oven mitts. “Dane Andrews,” he said, his tone clipped. Fighting his need to keep his eyes on Jules, he offered his hand to Mark.
“Dane Andrews,” Mark mused, as he shook Dane’s hand while his other still held onto Jules. “I know that name.”
“Little ears,” Dane cautioned him, nodding toward Becca before he let go of Mark’s hand.
“I have little ears,” Becca piped in. “Lucky has big ears.”
Val looked at Jules with concern. “Yes, he does,” she agreed. “Why don’t you two sit at the table and I’ll get you coffee and some of Becca’s cookies?”
Mark reached for one of the cookies on the counter. “Mind if I take one now?”
“They’re doggie bones,” Becca told him.
“I know, and they look delicious.” Mark took a bite of the cookie and chewed. He grimaced as he tasted the cookie.
“Mark?” Jules asked, giving him a questioning look.
“Jules, they taste—”
“Like dog cookies,” Dane said with amusement. “They’re for my dog. If you’d listened to Becca, you would have saved yourself the embarrassment, Blackwell.” Dane took a cookie from the counter and tossed it to his dog.
Val handed him a paper napkin. “Here, spit it into this.”
“Too late. It’s down. Coffee would help.”
Becca laughed, her child’s voice filling the kitchen and instantly easing the tension that had filled the room.
“Everyone, please take a seat at the table,” Val said as her gaze moved from Jules to Dane, watching how they eyed each other.
Mark offered a chair to Jules at the large pine harvest table. He sat beside her, his gaze taking in the designer kitchen.
“This is quite the home you have here. Do you mind if I ask how big?”
“With all the additions, six thousand square feet.”
“And the size of your spread?”
“Fifty-seven hundred hectares.” Dane noticed Mark trying to figure out the size. “Fourteen hundred acres. For beef cattle. And other things,” he said while removing the last dog bone from the cookie tray and placing it in a ceramic dog treat container. He turned his attention to Becca. “We’re done. You know what that means?”
“Time for cookies and milk?”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll get everything. Dane, go sit at the table and visit.” Val busied herself with gathering refreshments and putting cookies on a plate.
“I’ll help.” Dane’s muscular frame came between Val and the cookies. Snatching the plate from the counter, he popped a cookie in his mouth before delivering it to the table.
Becca smiled at him with wide eyes. Dane took a seat opposite Jules.
“Can I sit on your knee?” Becca climbed on to his knee before Dane could answer.
“Becca?”
“It’s okay,” Dane said. “Unless, of course, you don’t want her to.”
“It’s just that—”
“Mommy, can I have a doggie?”
“Not right now, Becca. We haven’t moved into our house yet. And you’re too little to look after one.”
“I can look after Lucky.”
“Lucky?”
Becca looked down at Dane’s feet and pointed. “He’s right there.”
Jules peered under the table. “He’s a big dog. Isn’t he a bit heavy to be lying on your feet?”
“It’s the best place for him to be,” Dane answered.
“He’s awfully quiet. What’s that ridge of hair on his back?”
“Shh, Mommy,” Becca whispered as she put her finger to her mouth. “He’s working. Don’t bother him.”
Jules looked up at Dane who smiled at Becca.
“It’s alright, Becca, your mommy can talk. He’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback. His hair is like that naturally, and when he is agitated, or in protective mode, the hair stands up, making him look fierce. His breed originates from hunting lions.”
“Is that so?” Mark asked, genuinely intrigued.
“He’s not vicious?” Jules asked, showing concern for her daughter. “And he hunts lions?”
“She’s safe with him. I guarantee it. Besides, we don’t have lions out here. At least none that I know of.” He winked at Jules and smiled.
Jules hadn’t forgotten that wink. He had winked at her that night letting her know that she could relax in his company. She was safe with him. After all this time, Jules’ body still reacted to it. She felt herself relax in her chair, the tension ease, although not leaving her entirely.
“Here you go,” Val announced, placing a tray of mugs filled with steaming coffee on the table. “Help yourselves.” She took her place at the table.
Dane picked up the plate of cookies and offered it to Jules. “I hear this is your favorite cookie. It’s mine, too.”
“Mine, too,” Becca chirped.
“It seems you know more about me than I know about you,” Jules murmured as she helped herself to an oatmeal raisin cookie.
“Only where cookies are concerned.” Dane passed the plate to Mark.
“It looks like Becca’s taken quite the shine to you,” Mark said as he helped himself to a cookie before placing the plate on the table.
“They’ve been inseparable since she got here,” Val answered. “And Dane’s been wonderful with her. I don’t know how many times he’s listened to Red Riding Hood.”
“You could have said no to her,” Jules said.
“I could have, but I didn’t want to. I’ve never won an argument with a redhead, no matter her size.”
He took a bite from his cookie, taking a small piece on the outside and then worked his way around the cookie in a circular direction. Val noticed. So did Jules. Becca ate her cookie the same way while she sat on Dane’s lap.
“I see she’s shown you how to eat a cookie,” Jules said, chuckling nervously.
Dane looked at her with bemusement. “This is the only way to eat a cookie.”
“You and Becca are the only ones who do,” Val replied.
“Must be a recessive gene,” Mark offered. “Perhaps you and Becca share a gene from ancestors long ago.”
Dane’s gaze still focused on Jules. “That must be it.”
He felt Lu
cky’s paw on his lap and the nudge of his nose against his thigh. Dane looked down at his dog and shook his head.
“Now?” he asked the dog. “I have to go,” he announced as he got to his feet. He placed Becca on his chair. “Tell Mommy what you did this morning while I’m gone, okay?”
“Can I come with you?”
“Not this time,” Dane murmured as he patted the child’s head. “If you’ll excuse me. Val? Look after our guests, will you?”
Dane turned and left the kitchen with his dog at his side.
“What’s wrong?” Jules asked her.
“He has to lie down,” Becca answered sweetly. “Lucky makes him go to sleep.”
Val smiled at Becca. Her innocence warmed her heart. “Dane has seizures. Lucky is trained to let him know when he’s about to have one.”
“Are they serious?”
“They must be if he has a service dog,” Mark answered.
“He blacks out. Some days he’ll only have one, and then there will be days where he has more.” Val got to her feet to fetch the coffee pot. “He was in an accident, broadsided by a transport truck. He’s lucky to have survived.” She returned with the coffee and refilled their cups before placing the empty carafe on the table. “His life has improved greatly since he got Lucky.”
“Aunt Val!”
“That sounds odd, doesn’t it? I meant since he got the dog. Although Dane would agree that it was luck that got him that dog.”
“When did he have the accident?”
“About five years ago. Dane has tried every medicine the doctors have prescribed. He’s even tried cannabis, but it doesn’t help. He blacks out. Just falls to the ground without any warning. Bates, he’s Dane’s assistant, found him in his bathroom one morning. He’d fallen and hit his head. The doctor told Dane he was lucky he didn’t die. That’s when Dane decided to get the service dog. He’s been a blessing. Now Dane can finally have a life.”
Jules did the math. Dane’s accident happened after they had spent their night together.
Mark knew that Val needed to speak with Jules without Becca being present. The glances between the two women and the stilted conversation made it quite clear to the psychiatrist that there were issues that needed addressing. When Becca asked if she could color, he took the opportunity to go into the living room with her and supervise under the excuse that he heard it was the latest pastime for adults, too.
Val put the last of the dirty cups in the dishwasher then turned to face Jules who stared out the large window overlooking the snow- covered fields. Val leaned back against the counter, wringing the dishtowel in her hands for lack of knowing what else to do with them.
“She’s his,” Jules said softly, yet loud enough for Val to hear. “I never thought I’d see him again. I knew him as Gary. He helped me out of a bad situation and stayed with me for the night. I never thought I’d get pregnant. The doctors told me I couldn’t. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember. You wouldn’t tell us how it happened. Ned and I always wondered. I thought it was that doctor Sinclair, especially after Ned told me about him when you left. You let me believe that he was her father.”
“You came up with your conclusions, Aunt Val.”
“What else could I do when you wouldn’t talk to me?”
Jules turned to face her aunt. Tears filled her eyes without falling. “I believed it was better to say nothing than to tell you the truth and have you believe I’d made the same mistake again. I couldn’t tell you she was the product of a one night stand. Becca’s a gift I thought I would never have. I didn’t know her father, and I thought I’d never see him again. I was happy with that.”
“You could have told us. There would have been no judgment.” Val folded the towel and placed it on the counter by the sink. She sighed heavily. “What’s done is done. No more dwelling on the past. At least my hunch was confirmed.”
“You knew Becca is Dane’s?”
“Not until now. Although,” Val smiled as something came to mind, “the way she ate her cookie when we were having tea in your hotel suite. There was something about it that reminded me of someone. It wasn’t until I saw her with Dane that I wondered about the possibility. They have some of the same mannerisms, Jules. It’s uncanny.”
Jules’ gaze went to the hallway. “Do you think Dane knows?”
“Dane?” Val gave a knowing smile. “Of course he does. Why do you think he spent so much time with Becca? The man’s smart. It was part of his job to observe people. Learn everything about them. He could see himself in her without even trying. They eat their cookies the same way, for heaven’s sake! I mean what other person eats a cookie in such a strange way. They are both left-handed. Here’s the kicker, Jules. They have the same shaped ears. Look at them and tell me they aren’t the same.”
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t say a word. He’s cool that way. I’m sure he knew as soon as you arrived here any questions he had would get answered.”
“I have questions now.” Dane’s voice was low and demanding.
Both women turned their attention to the doorway to find Dane standing with Lucky by his side. Dane’s hair was damp. He had showered and changed his clothes.
“Val? If you don’t mind Jules and I will be in my office. Look after my daughter and Dr. Blackwell. Please. Red?” He held his hand out to Jules.
Jules felt the heat rush to her cheeks. With her head held high and shoulders back, she walked to him. After all this time, her body still obeyed him. She took his hand and looked at his face, holding his brown-eyed gaze with her emerald eyes.
“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.
“Are you asking me as Red or as Jules?”
“Both. I was never anyone but myself with you.”
“I feel like a truck hit me. Not quite a semi, but enough of one to make my head spin.”
“Do you always feel like that after a seizure?”
“Never. It’s from having two redheads walk into my crosshairs.” Dane pointed down the hallway towards his office.
Lucky followed them, the sound of his toenails clicking on the hardwood floor.
Jules looked over her shoulder at the massive dog following them.
“Don’t mind him, Red, he keeps all my secrets.” They reached his office. “After you.” Dane opened the door and stood back to let Jules enter.
Dane watched Jules take a few steps into the room and stop. He heard the soft gasp escape from her when she took notice of the photographs and memorabilia arranged meticulously on his bookshelves and the mantle above the fireplace. There was no hiding from her now, no pretending that he was the bush firefighter who satisfied her fantasies.
He closed the heavy wooden door behind him and leaned against it and waited. Dane knew there was no easy way to tell Jules who he was. What he was. It was best to have Jules see for herself before they talked. She could make the first move as she did when they first met.
Jules stepped toward the bookcase displaying various leather- bound books and framed photographs. She reached for the one that caught her attention first. It was a photograph of five people dressed in military desert khaki somewhere in the Middle East. Four of the people were men, carrying rifles of some kind. The fifth was a woman. She stood at the end of the row beside Dane. They were all smiles. Jules felt the bile rise from her stomach. She placed the photograph back on the shelf.
“You killed people.”
“I prevented good people from being killed.”
“By killing other people,” Jules said accusingly.
“Yes.”
“How many did you kill?”
“I don’t know.”
Jules spun around to face Dane. Her eyes wild with emotion. “I’m not stupid. Mark recognized your name. You’re a famous sniper! You must have counted every single one of your
kills. That’s what people like you do, isn’t that right?”
Dane shook his head. “It’s not important.”
“It’s important to me! Don’t you think I should know how many people the father of my child has killed?”
She held his gaze. Dane refused to look away. He never felt ashamed about his kill record, and he would be damned if he would let her make him feel that way now.
“Four hundred fifty-two.”
Jules stepped back, her legs weakening beneath her. Dane moved to save her from falling and was stopped by her outstretched hand.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Sit down then. Let’s talk about it.” He gestured toward the leather sofa. “How about a drink? I know I could use one.”
“Okay.” Jules made her way to the sofa. She noticed the quality of the leather, and the luxurious comfort the large piece of furniture offered. It reminded her of another sofa. “Your condo,” she said as she watched him pour drinks from a crystal decanter, “it had the same sofa.”
“I like my comforts.” He turned to face her. Jules’ eyes no longer burned with anger. Now they watched him with suspicion, letting him know that this was his moment to talk, to make her see him as more than the killer she perceived.
He offered Jules her drink. “May I sit with you?”
She nodded yes.
Dane took his seat and Lucky lay down and rested his head on Dane’s feet. Dane made sure to keep a few inches from Jules, fully aware that a neutral zone would be necessary. She was beautiful. More beautiful than he remembered. Motherhood agreed with her. He wondered if he voiced his thoughts she’d take them as a compliment. Everything about her was perfect. Dane prided himself on his attention to details. He had memorized everything about his Red only to discover that she had changed for the better. Her eyes still sparkled, but there was something about them now. They reminded him of a wildcat—that of a mother cat when protecting her young, her eyes wild with a threatening ferocity.
“Val told me about how you lost your parents. I can understand why you hate guns.”
“Hate?” Jules scoffed. “I loathe guns, and I hate people who think they have the right to own them. Nothing good comes from owning a gun. Only death and destruction of innocent lives.”
Boss Page 4