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How could she do that?
“I’m sorry,” I apologized.
What else was there to say?
I mean, I didn’t know this man well enough to say anything else without it sounding half-hearted at best.
Of course, I knew of him. I knew that he was an ex-football player, though many in this town didn’t since he’d grown a beard and had joined a motorcycle club—something you’d never expect a famous ex-football player to do.
But again, nobody followed his career like I did—compulsively.
“The reason I asked if it was all that you do was because you know who I am,” he looked at me like he knew what I’d been thinking. “And you know Matias’ situation. I…I need help watching him on the days that I have to work.”
I gave him a look that clearly said exactly what I was thinking.
If anybody could afford to watch their kid all day and not work, it was him.
“Matias doesn’t want me to quit,” he answered my unspoken question. “That was what I was going to do, but he asked me not to.”
I pursed my lips. “And there are those times that I’m called out on the volunteer fire department.”
“You’re on the fire department?” I asked in surprise.
Rome smiled slightly. “Volunteer. Yeah. As of two months ago. I got my peace officer’s license when I started working in the prison. Some of the other guys are on it, too. You’re lucky I haven’t gotten on the bomb squad…yet.”
I wasn’t touching that comment with a ten-foot pole. Maybe if I didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t happen.
“Most people, when they’re bored, don’t do dangerous things,” I pointed out. “At least not that dangerous.”
I felt a flutter of panic hit my chest at the thought of that perfect body of his being burned during a fire he volunteered to help put out.
Then I immediately cut that thought off at the knees.
I would not care what happened to him. I would not care what happened to him.
Caring led to liking…and I didn’t like people.
At least not anymore.
But…a certain little boy had slipped under my defenses, and there was no way in hell that I’d tell him no.
Especially when he’d asked.
“What days?” I asked carefully.
Rome swallowed. “You tell me what days you can watch him, and I’ll have my schedule worked around yours.”
I looked at my watch. I had an hour to finish up the living room and get to the next job—which I sure as hell couldn’t be late for.
“I can do Mondays, Wednesdays, every other Friday, and Sundays,” I said, sounding snippy.
Rome looked like he was defeated.
“That’ll work. I’m going to go part-time, so in all honesty, I should only need you two to three days…as long as there isn’t an emergency,” he explained. “And I have a friend who’ll watch him, too. It shouldn’t be too bad…and if you want, just charge me your cleaning rate, and I’ll pay you at the end of the week. Is that okay?”
I looked at him. “My cleaning rate is twenty-nine dollars an hour. I’m not going to charge you that much to sit on my butt and watch your cute kid.”
Rome snorted. “I don’t care what I have to pay. Matias has talked about you on and off since you started cleaning for Tara. I only realized who, exactly, he was talking about just last night.”
I felt something warm slide through my chest again.
“Do you want me to start this Friday or wait?” I questioned as I started down the stairs.
He followed behind me, his silent steps like a hunting cat’s as he ghosted quietly down the stairs. In comparison, I sounded like a herd of buffalo running from that hunting cat.
“Not tomorrow, no,” he said. “I have a few days off still. I’ll get the new schedule set up on Monday after I talk to my boss.”
“That won’t be a problem?” I inquired.
I was practically my own boss, and even I didn’t make changes like that to my schedule without first consulting a few people.
“My boss is the warden of the prison.” He paused. “And he’s also the Bear Bottoms MC president. I’m fairly sure Bayou won’t care.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that. I knew who Bayou was. I also saw him every Wednesday during visiting hours—though he likely didn’t know who I was. But everyone knew Bayou—it was hard not to know who Bayou was.
He was a very distinctive man.
Big, burly, hard inside and out, and he had curly brown hair that didn’t detract from his scariness in the least. He wasn’t huge or anything, just a little over six foot two or three, but he had this air about him that clearly said ‘don’t fuck with me.’ And no one did.
I guess he’d have to be that way if he was a prison warden—a prison that housed some of the worst criminals in Texas.
