“I’ve got a few more things to do,” he muttered even though he didn’t. He turned for the porch steps and listened to the screen door thump shut behind him, followed by the wooden front door that kept out the cold, leaving him alone.
He climbed in his truck parked in front of the duplex for his first watch.
The night grew cold fast as the sun slipped behind the mountains for the night. Wyoming springs liked to pretend winter was leaving but winter told it where to go every night, bringing a chill that kept their furnaces running.
He settled behind the wheel, his jacket zipped to the neck and the camera feed open on his phone. The windows of the duplex glowed from Summer’s side, and Granny’s too.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought about Granny’s protectiveness, but his smile dimmed at the thought of Summer needing protection at all.
He stared at the windows until the yellow light smeared in his vision, but no amount of racking his brain gave him answers about who was behind the gifts she’d received.
He thought of her coworkers at the Stockyard—cooks, waitresses and bartenders. Some single and a few with families. The bartender was an older lady, one of those lifers who kept the tips coming from years of practice talking to strangers who sat at her bar. She might have seen Summer’s struggle and stepped in to help but didn’t want Summer to feel she needed to repay her kindness.
The tire…now that was different.
That was a fucking threat.
His back started to ache and he shifted to get more comfortable, hunching into his coat.
He turned the heater on for a few minutes just to take the edge off before turning it off again. Idling for long would only waste gas. Besides, getting too warm would make him sleepy, which he had no intention of doing.
He scanned the neighborhood as the hours crawled by in silence. A rabbit hopped beneath one of the bushes near the neighboring house before disappearing into the darkness. A few minutes later—or maybe it was longer—a cat slunk along the edge of a fence like it owned the place. One by one, lights around the street blinked off as people settled into bed.
A television flickered blue behind someone’s curtains across the street. A truck drove past slow, and he watched it before it turned into a driveway at the end of the street. The garage door opened, and the truck drove in.
The lack of any suspicious activity should have relaxed him but it didn’t.
One curtain inside Summer’s house flicked aside briefly before swinging shut again. From the times he’d been inside the house, he guessed it was Ben’s room.
He leaned back, shifting his shoulders to ease the tension pulling between them, watching the house as his thoughts drifted where he didn’t want them going.
He knew almost nothing about the kid except his name was Ben and he was seven years old. He spent some of his school breaks with his grandparents, which helped take pressure off Summer and gave her small stretches where she wasn’t carrying single motherhood completely alone.
Pope didn’t know where Ben’s father was. Didn’t know if the man vanished, cheated, died or just turned out to be another disappointment.
He never asked.
Most nights with Summer hadn’t involved much talking once clothes started coming off.
And now he wished to hell he’d taken time to know her better. If he had, maybe things would be different.
Maybe she’d understand he actually cared. Because he did. Way more than he should.
So fucking much.
Suddenly, a sliver of light escaped through a crack in the front door. His body reacted before his brain caught up. He shoved the truck door open and stepped out, sweeping the area for danger first before his gaze landed on Summer crossing the porch.
His gut cramped as worst-case scenarios jumped into his head—Summer receiving threatening texts, a broken window he missed when he checked out the house, a strange noise.
But she only pulled her hoodie tighter around herself and walked toward him in pajama pants and slippers he knew were fake suede.
She deserved real suede, dammit.
He met her in the middle of the sidewalk. “What’s wrong?” His voice was gritty.
She shoved her hands into the hoodie pocket. “Ben woke up a little bit ago.”
His muscles locked one by one until he felt his back go ramrod straight.
