SWORN TO PROTECT: An Everyday Heroes World Novel

by Readnour, Kimberly

  “How have you been, Mr. Morgan? I hear you’ve been chasing your help away.”

  “Rumors, I’ll tell ya—just rumors. I keep waiting for you to visit. We still stock your favorite, coconut ice cream.”

  “Mm-hmm, that was always the best. I’ll have to come and visit soon.”

  Mr. Morgan’s winery is located farther outside of town. His vineyard is smaller than the Hoskins family’s, who own most of the vineyards around here. Mr. Morgan always produced some of the best white wines. It drove Mr. Hoskins crazy.

  “Let me grab this gentleman’s coffee, and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Take your time, sweetie. Just fetch me a cup with two sugars when you have a moment.” He ambles over to the far corner table and settles onto the padded stool.

  Nate raises an eyebrow. “An old boyfriend?”

  I bark out a laugh despite him being kind of close. “No. Just an old friend of the family.”

  “You’re originally from here?”

  “Not technically, but I have roots.” As I pour his coffee, I swear a small smile shadows his face. But it happens so fast, I can’t be sure. I slide his cup across the counter. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” He leans in closer, smelling fresh and clean as if he just got done showering. I fight the urge to sniff deeper and take in his full aroma. “I’ll hang around a bit and make sure Mr. Morgan doesn’t cause any problems.”

  “Wow, my personal protector.”

  I expect another hint of a smile, but his face falls instead. He doesn’t say another word as he scurries to a table across from Mr. Morgan and then unfolds the Sunnyville Gazette.

  Duly noted—no mention of protectors.

  “What do you think Mysterious Man does for a living?”

  I startle from Jill’s hushed words. “Where did you come from?”

  “You’d know if you weren’t staring so hard at him.” She stands beside me, arms crossed, and head tilted as if sizing up Nate.

  “I was not.” But I so was. I grab a coffee mug and work my way toward the coffee pot.

  “Seriously, though. What do you think Mystery Man does? I bet he’s a spy.”

  “In Sunnyville?”

  “He looks the part.” We continue to watch Nate, who’s concentrating on the paper as I pour Mr. Morgan’s coffee. “He’s a dark-haired James Bond. Oh, the Pierce Bronson Bond. Not the Daniel Craig Bond.”

  “I think you’ve watched too many movies.”

  “He could be an author.” She snaps her fingers. “That’s it. He writes thrillers. Spy thrillers. That’s why he emits those dark, delicious vibes.”

  “You’re a little whacked. Has anyone told you that?”

  “Think about it. He can write anywhere. Maybe his next novel is set in a small winery town in California.”

  “Then he came to the right place.” I laugh and nudge my way to Mr. Morgan. This conversation is over. I place Mr. Morgan’s coffee in front of him. “Here you go.”

  “Heard you were staying at Galleze’s old rental. Is everything going okay?”

  I nod. “Yeah, for the most part. There’re a few plumbing problems. The toilet runs all the time, and the kitchen faucet leaks. Water springs from the handle on the hot side.” I wink. “Makes doing dishes a challenge.”

  Mr. Morgan frowns. “Have you told them about it?”

  “Not yet. They’re still on vacation and won’t return for a couple of months. It’s not a big deal.”

  “I can send one of my boys out to fix it.”

  “That’s not necessary.” My words come out rushed. But one of his “boys” is an ex-boyfriend. I definitely don’t want Mark coming to my house or back in my life. I ended things abruptly after meeting Ethan.

  “It wouldn’t be a problem. Mark was just asking about you.” He pats down the pockets of his cotton shirt. “It seems I left my phone in the truck, but I can go grab it.”

  “Don’t you dare.” I motion for him to remain seated when he tries to stand. “You finish your coffee. That leak isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Ready for a refill?” I ask as I swivel to face Nate. The scowl marring Nate’s face makes me pause. But he isn’t directing that look toward me. Nope. He’s aiming it straight at Mr. Morgan. I can’t imagine what the sweet man did to warrant Nate’s wrath. It’s as if he’s jealous, but that’s preposterous. He wouldn’t be envious of an older man. Nate’s eyes cut to mine, and his expression softens. Despite the hard stare a moment ago, desire flickers to life as my mind swarms with warnings and possibilities. I need to stay away from him. It’s highly inappropriate for me to lust after anyone. It makes no difference that train departed the moment those sinewy muscles covered in a light sheen of sweat strutted toward me. As much as I want to pull the train’s emergency brakes, my libido kicked in full steam ahead. And even now, with him fully clothed, I can’t seem to stop. It’s those damn honey-rich eyes. They draw me in and refuse to let go.

  “I’ll fix your toilet and faucet for you.”

  It takes a moment for me to realize he spoke. “What?”

  “Your toilet. I can fix it for you.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You need a functioning toilet and hot water in the kitchen. I’d say they’re essential.”

  “Are you a plumber?” I eye him skeptically. He doesn’t fit a plumber’s profile. But really, how does a plumber look? All that comes to mind is some heavy-set, middle-aged guy bent over showing plumber’s crack. Stereotype much?

  “I’ve dabbled.”

  “Still, I don’t want you to go out of your way.”

  He holds his hand out. “Give me your phone. I’ll put my number in it. I don’t mind helping. I’ve already helped with your tire.”

  “That was a hopeless cause.” I laugh but pull my phone from my pocket, glancing at the screensaver. My kids smile back at me looking so much like Ethan, it hurts. I swallow past the lump threatening to form and hand over the phone.

  Nate stares at the kids’ photo. Sadness crosses his eyes as he absorbs the picture. Does he know about my situation? Unless he ran into Chatty Cathy, I don’t see how that’s possible.

  “There. Now text me your address, and I’ll be over to fix it.” He stands, and the chair titters from his abruptness.

  “Okay. Do you want a refill to go?”

  “No, I’ll be okay.”

  And with those parting words, he leaves. Confusion swirls through my mind. I get the feeling I did something wrong. But what, I don’t know. I glance at his contact information and can’t help but smile at his contact name—Mr. Fix It. He’s mysterious but comical. A wave of unsurety consumes me. I slide the phone into my pocket without texting my address.

  * * *

  Mom and Stan’s pale yellow, Queen Anne style home comes into view as I pull into their driveway. I shut the car off and glance at the wrap around porch. Nostalgia hits from out of nowhere. This porch saved me from making the worst mistake of my life when we first moved here before my senior year. I came so close to staying behind with Jordan, my brother, back in San Francisco. Thank God I didn’t because that would’ve been a colossal mistake. Our dad wasn’t fit enough to take care of himself, let alone his teenage daughter. But that wasn’t important to me at the time. And the compact apartment Mom and I shared didn’t bother me. I was entering my last year in high school. I didn’t want to leave my friends or the city for this small town. But this porch, though. Once I stepped on it, my attitude changed. I felt at home. I felt wanted. Stan wasn’t rich by all means, but he provided the sense of security I didn’t know I needed. But for every positive came a negative, and our negative was leaving Jordan behind. Stan opened his home to him, but Jordan had refused to come. I understood, sort of. His refusal sure broke Mom’s heart. She always had a soft spot for him.

  “Hello,” I utter to the empty living room once I make it inside.

  “We’re in the kitchen, dear.”

  I follow Mom’s voice. My stoma
ch growls the moment the vanilla scent assaults my senses. One would think I’d be desensitized to the smell after working in a café, but Mom’s chocolate chip cookies are to die for.

  I stave off a laugh when my feet hit the cold linoleum. They’re in the kitchen, all right. Liam and Nick sit huddled at the breakfast table, munching on their cookie stash. They have a pile stacked in front of them like poker chips. Unbelievable. “You are going to spoil the kids.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, dear.”

  I beeline to them and kiss them on the head. Their collective hellos warm my heart.

  “Did you have fun today?”

  “Yes, Stan showed us his medals.”

  “Ah, how nice.” My gaze flicks to Mom. She busies herself, taking out another batch from the oven.

  “They’re not like Daddy’s,” Nick says.

  “There are many different ones. Why don’t you boys grab your stuff and put your shoes on?”

  “Can we take the cookies with us?”

  Mom chuckles. I’m about to tell them they’ll be back here tomorrow, but Mom beats me to it.

  “You can take a few. I’ll bag the rest while you get ready.”

  “Yay!” They race out of the room, and I let out a sigh. The topic of military medals completely averted. I need to discuss their dad’s death with them better, but I can’t seem to broach the subject.

  “I worry about Liam. He misses his friends.” And his father.

  “He’ll make new ones.”

  “I suppose.” I steal one of the cookies and take a bite. A moan may have escaped. “God, I’ve missed these. Yours are always the best.”

  “Nah, they’re just better when someone else makes them. Have you gotten your sitter situation figured out?”

  “Sort of. Do you remember my high school friend, Sandy?”

  “Of course. She has kids around Nick’s age.”

  “She hasn’t committed yet, but it looks as if she’ll watch them for me during my nightly clinical. I already lined up Millie to help during the day.” Millie being the eighty-two-year-old neighbor. She’s spry, but in no means ready to pull a double shift. My boys are good but get real.

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to cancel our trip?”

  “No. Stan’s been looking forward to this cruise for over half a year.” Or longer. That’s all I heard about when they visited last Christmas. They’re taking a dream cruise along the Alaskan coastline. I could never expect them to cancel.

  “Are you coming back here for dinner after you pick up the car?”

  “No, I better get home.” I have a few things to tidy up before tomorrow if I’m going to have Mr. Fix It come over. “I still need to get organized for school, and I found someone to work on my plumbing issues.”

  “You can still have Stanley look at it. He’s not that bad.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m not sure I can afford to have him fix it,” I tease. Back when Mom and I first moved in, Stan installed a filtering system under the kitchen sink. After that debacle, we had to find a new home for the cleaning supplies because nothing would fit underneath the cobbled mess. Pipes and hoses ran in every direction, filling the entire cabinet space. The hefty bill the plumber slapped on Mom to fix Stan’s plumbing blunder was warning enough. Stan’s a talented guy, but a plumber he does not make. I don’t have any other choice but to ask Nate for help. Lord knows I can’t afford a professional right now.

  “I know, but the Gallezes don’t return for another couple of months.” She zips the bags closed, sighing heavily. “It must be nice to take a three-month long vacation every six months or so.”

  “You’d be bored. You wouldn’t be able to cook or bake, being stuck on a ship or hotel room.”

  “True, but Stan still would’ve helped. Who is the person you can call?”

  I shift my weight to the other foot. “No one you know. He’s the man who helped the kids and me when I had the tire blowout.”

  “Oh, the hot, tattooed man.”

  “What?” My voice pitches higher. How would she know how sexy the guy looks? Surely, the rumor mill hasn’t made it to Mom’s house already.

  “Nicholas called the guy who fixed the tire a hot, tattooed man.”

  Where on earth did my five-year-old son come up with that phrase? Although, he isn’t far off course. The man is hot. Gorgeous even. He stirs something deep inside that hasn’t been awakened in years. And when he looks at me. Damn, if I don’t feel it clear to my core. That intense, hard stare of his creates that alive feeling, which is pretty hard for me to deny.

  Mom shrugs and continues, “Nick also said you made him put a shirt on to cover it.”

  “I didn’t . . . Oh.” Understanding dawns on me. Nick meant hot in the sense of temperature. The guy’s shirt was off because he had said he was hot. It was relatively warm that day, but the only visible tattoo was on his left deltoid. The intricate design was massive, extending from his clavicle down to his elbow. I can see why Nick had thought I didn’t want to see it, since Ethan never had any. But truthfully, it looked rather good on him. Too good, even. “The guy had mentioned being hot. And he only has one tattoo. It’s not as if he’s covered.”

  “Mom.” Liam races back into the kitchen.

  One look in those slate-blue eyes and my chest squeezes tight. We always joked that Liam was Ethan’s mini-me, a carbon copy, and I was nothing but an incubator. It’s only been three months since Ethan’s death and way too soon to be thinking about some guy’s hotness level. The average grieving time for a widow is a minimum of two years.

  I tamp down the ever-present guilt and direct my attention to my son. He and Nick are the only men in my life that matter right now. We don’t need anyone else. “What, sweetie?”

  “Can we go to the park? I want to work on some drills. And have you found out about soccer sign-ups yet?”

  “I’m sorry, but after we pick up the car, we need to head home. I have too much to do tonight. But I can take you to the park tomorrow, okay?”

  His face falls and seeing that disappointment nearly kills me. The kids have had it so rough these past few months. “Yes, ma’am. What about the sign-ups?”

  “I’ll check on that. Don’t worry. The season hasn’t started yet. Get your brother, please. We need to head to the mechanic shop.”

  “The boys can stay here while Stan takes you,” my mom says.

  My mind flashes to the clothes strung along the bathroom floor. “I really need to get back home. I have a few things to do if I’m going to have the hot, tattooed guy over.”

  Mom’s knowing laugh earns a smile. “I’m not even going to say it.”

  “You don’t have to. I already know what you’re thinking.” Don’t be such a slob. You never know when people will pop over.

  “But you know I’m right.” The slight chuckle in Mom’s voice has me shaking my head.

  “I know. But some things never change.” But boy, when it does, the transformation rolls in like a tsunami.

  Chapter Five

  Nate

  Another glance at my phone shows nothing. Not even a “thanks, but no thanks.” I bite back the disappointing growl threatening to escape and shove my cell into my short’s pocket. I shouldn’t be surprised Mackenzie never texted me her address. Of course she wouldn’t have. She’s every bit as stubborn as Ethan warned.

  But can I blame her?

  In truth, Mackenzie doesn’t know me. I’m nothing more than the stranger who tried to fix her tire alongside the road. If anything, she’s smart by not having a stranger come over. She is a single mother of two, after all.

  Christ.

  Single sounds wrong, but the truth—the truth of being widowed—sounds way worse. Or maybe it’s because she’s my friend’s widow. My one and only friend.

  And how do I honor my friend’s wishes? By checking my cell phone repeatedly while recalling how gorgeous she looked with those auburn curls whisked into a loose bun. But I am a man. A weak one, apparently. I can’t hel
p but picture her fresh face, free of all that makeup so many women wear. She’s a natural beauty I have no business lusting after. Not only is she my dead friend’s wife, but she’s also ten years my junior. She may as well be wrapped in a red flag because she’s as unapproachable as any communist party. Unwavering and off-limits.

  I have one job to do, and that’s making sure I take care of her. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t mean in bed, no matter how quickly my body ignites into flames when she’s near. Ethan trusted me. I already let him down once. I can’t let him down again.

  As my feet lead me into the auto repair shop, I make a pact with myself. I’ll convince her to take care of her house issues and then get the hell out of Sunnyville. Maybe once I’m gone, she’ll quit consuming my thoughts. But as I head toward the counter, I have to stifle a laugh from the irony. It’s a little hard to purge someone from your mind when they’re constantly around.

  “Finally, getting those tires, are you?”

  Mackenzie whips around, her eyes widening in surprise appreciation before narrowing.

  “Nate, what are you doing here?” Suspicion laces her voice.

  Great. Add stalker tendencies to my growing list of attributes when it comes to this woman. I point to my truck out in the parking lot. “They fixed my air conditioner.” Finally.

  “Oh. That’s right.” Her eyes trace along my body before she blinks as if she realizes what she’s doing. I can’t stop the smirk playing across my lips. I don’t know what it is about her, but I’ve smiled more around her this past week than I have in the past decade.

  “So, your car’s all set?”

  “Yes, they’re pulling it out now.” She tilts her head, eyebrows furrowing as if she’s contemplating something. Or she’s too reluctant to ask. After a beat, she finds her courage. “Is the offer to fix my faucet still open?”

  “Of course, but you never texted the address.” The harshness in my statement surprises me. I need to tone down my irritation.