Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Eleven

With Luke on her left and Tanner on her right in one of several 1950s style booths at Cakes and Honey, Tuesday felt more alive than she had in a long time. Grissom had taken his sons into the restroom as soon as they’d arrived. But now, he sat by himself on the bench seat opposite them. His boys were wedged in, so tight against her that she had to lift her arms over their heads when she needed to reach anything on the table. Even though he was alone on his side of the booth, Grissom’s handsome face was a mixture of pride and an emotion Tuesday couldn’t quite put her finger on.

She nearly laughed out loud at the quandary she was in. There she sat, hugging his sons, nearly unable to put her hands on the table, yet neither could she put a finger on the emotion behind their father’s expression. The moment was utterly, ridiculously sublime. She was surrounded by men, but did she understand them? Actually, yes. The boys were easy. But Grissom? The jury was still out on him.

After riding back to the barn, unsaddling their horses, brushing them down, and then watering them, Grissom, Tuesday, and the boys had climbed into his well-used, rusted Silverado. The poor thing looked like it’d seen better days—a long time ago. Once Grissom had strapped his boys into their booster seats on the rear bench, he’d helped Tuesday climb aboard. Thank heavens for running boards. She didn’t want a boost up or his hands on her backside, and he didn’t assume she did, like some guys would have. If anything, he’d been very careful to cup her elbow for that boost up. Between his assist and the suicide strap, she’d managed.

As good as Grissom’s hug had felt during their ride, and as much as Tuesday was attracted to him, the truth remained. His sons weren’t hers, and his feelings towards her were conflicted. So much so that he’d tried to sabotage the last hours of their short time together.

Tuesday honestly wasn’t sure how she felt about him. Tanner and Luke, yes. But their troubled father? For a few moments back in the pasture, she’d enjoyed the evil eye he’d given Maverick. Grissom had been jealous. For no reason, true, but Tuesday noticing he seemed to care about her then, had warmed her like nothing had before. But somewhere between then and now he’d turned to ice. Made excuses. Wouldn’t make eye contact. Until his boys forced his hand. Yes, Grissom had apologized, but only when he’d had no choice.

As much as his arms around her had grounded Tuesday…

As delicious as he smelled… (Alfalfa and cedar were her new favorite scents.)

As comforting as his broad, heavily muscled chest had felt beneath her cheek…

As much as she was attracted to Grissom McCoy, and she was. It was hard not to be. The man was kryptonite, but minus Superman’s magnetic personality. Okay, so he was rough around the edges and unpredictable, but she could see the man of steel beneath the insecurity, if that was where his reticence came from. She didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t be eager to share her children after everything they’d gone through, either.

My gosh, it’d only been weeks since that fiasco in Costa Rica. He and his boys had to have moved out of the place they’d lived in with his wife during that time. Tuesday certainly would have. And they were in counseling. Family counseling. That was a tremendous number of really big changes crammed into a very short amount of time. Of course Grissom was overly cautious. She would be, too. If she had children.

But Tuesday wasn’t even sure she and he had anything in common, other than their love for his boys. When he’d intermittently seemed to care and turn on what little charm he had, it’d felt like sunshine breaking through the frigid, starless Arctic night. But then, he’d turned to ice. What he’d just warmed became dark and empty again.

Tuesday Smart understood Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome. She’d dealt with her share of it after her parents died, so much so she could be the PTSD poster girl. She’d had nightmares, depression, bulimia, you name it. At one time, she’d been suicidal. Her losses had been utterly devastating, and she’d been a kid. An orphan. A grieving, hurting child.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared her for the police coming to her door that night—her parents’ door—with the ungodly notification that they were dead. Freddie was the one who’d made sure she got the help she’d desperately needed. Not her minister. Not any neighbors nor a friend’s parents. Not even a semi-interested social worker had shown up after the shock of that double death and funeral. Only her dad’s business associate, some guy she’d barely remembered meeting, and he’d come all the way from New York City, just for her. The rest was history.

Freddie had never been her lover, and that was what and who was missing in Tuesday’s life. Her soul mate. The man who’d always put her first. Who’d treasure her. Not the random guy with lies in his eyes and greed behind all the right words. Those were male versions of Pam, opportunistic users. The only treasure they wanted was the estate Freddie had left Tuesday.

Which made the world’s far-off reaches seem safer. At least, preferable. Predators there weren’t dressed in sheepskin. They came at you head-on, with obvious intent to kill. If they came at you at all. Truthfully, Tuesday had encountered more hate, deceit, and betrayal in America than she had from the wild animals and various peoples of the world she’d photographed. Greed was the real killer, and that sin was alive and well in the States.

Was Grissom the man of her dreams? Not likely. Was she attracted to him? Simple answer, yes. Complicated, thoughtful answer? Probably not. The spark between them was nothing more than her biological clock ticking down. Reminding her that her time was running out. That she’d better jump at the first man who came along if she wanted any kind of a family. Not happening. She deserved to be treasured like Shane treasured Everlee, and like Heston treasured London. That was her impossible dream, to have what they had. She could wait.

Sure, Grissom was handsome, in a brooding, unpredictably distant way. She’d always been attracted to tall, dark, and handsome, and Grissom had that in spades. His dark brown hair was straight, not wavy. Short on the sides, but long enough on top that fingers of it occasionally flopped into his eyes. His hazel eyes turned dark as quickly as his mood swings. He was thick through his chest, neck, shoulders, and arms. Slender at his waist and hips. Must work out a lot, maybe every day, as solidly as he was built. Did he have a workout gym at home? That made sense. She couldn’t see him dropping his boys off with a babysitter.

Tuesday’s fingers curled into fists thinking about his wife. And therein lay the problem. Tuesday refused to fall for a man because she loved his kids. She wanted to love the man of her dreams for who he was, and she wanted him to love her the same way. Not because his children needed a mother. Not because he wanted her money. Just because he couldn’t live without her.

“You going to eat that?”

She blinked, not sure what Grissom was asking, until he aimed his fork at her untouched blueberry pancake. “Yes, I am,” she declared, as if her mind hadn’t wandered a thousand miles away. To prove it, she cut a small portion of the pancake with the side of her fork, lifted the syrupy triangle to her mouth. and opened wide. “Yum,” she mumbled with her mouth full.

His pupils turned big and black. Suddenly, eating one of Aunt Jemima’s finest turned into an exquisitely carnal act. Grissom made it worse when he reached across the table and, with the pad of his thumb, caught the drop of syrup on her chin. Tuesday closed her eyes, savoring the sweet sensation. It was a small thing, but no man had ever touched her like that before.

She’d been too broken to care about boys after her parents’ deaths. Still numb with grief when she became a wife, then too soon, a widow. On the heels of those nightmares came being one of the FBI’s ten most wanted criminals, and since then, it’d been easier to go along with Robert’s travel plans. That, she knew. Air travel, international and domestic, how to handle an assortment of weapons. She had a concealed carry permit, and had faced off with a few predators in her time. But what she knew about intimacy between a man and a woman would fit in a thimble and still have room left over.

Her head was spinning at the mere thought of intimacy with Grissom. Thank goodness Tanner and Luke were too busy eating to notice how hard she was breathing or that the fork in her hand was shaking. One touch. That’s all it took and her good intentions to keep this man at arm’s length evaporated. Where had her bravado gone?