“Agreed. But you want to protect her.”
“It might be better if I have time to make plans with Ruth, without Pixie getting too involved. Not saying I’ll take off. I won’t—unless it’s necessary, and I’d tell Pixie first. I meant what I said about wanting Shayna to have family.”
The glow of the porch light didn’t reach the back of his car, so he couldn’t read Cort’s expression. Actually, he didn’t need to. He sensed that Cort was about to impose his will. As the owner of the lake house, and one of Pixie’s closest friends, he had rights, and he was the type of man who wouldn’t retreat.
“Good decision,” Cort said. “Because now that she’s been introduced, Shayna has family, whether you deem it so or not.”
It was a challenge, plain and simple, but damned if it didn’t make Brogan grin. “Excellent.”
Cort released a smile, too. “Go easy with Pixie. She can handle herself, but right now, I’m not sure either of you know what you want.”
As he hitched the strap of the sleeping bag over his shoulder and locked the car, Brogan watched Cort walk away. He was wrong—at least where Brogan was concerned. He knew exactly what he wanted.
With fireflies all around him, he started back around the house to the kitchen entrance.
Pixie opened the door just as he reached it, proving she’d been watching for him. There were questions in her eyes and uncertainty in her smile, but she opened the door and welcomed him.
Yeah, he knew what he wanted, all right.
Just as he knew he had no right to it. That kind of happiness wasn’t for him. He hadn’t expected it. Had known it was out of reach.
And then he’d met Pixie Nolan, and everything he’d ever known was somehow different now.
CHAPTER11
Three days passed, and Pixie was surprised at how seamlessly the new arrangement worked. Brogan truly seemed no worse off for sleeping on the floor. In fact, he seemed comfortable there.
Not that she snuck into the room to peek at him or anything, but the first morning she’d awakened before him, and when she’d glanced—strictly to check that he and Shayna were doing all right—she’d found him still tucked into his sleeping bag, those impressive arms folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. His biceps were … Well, she had a difficult time looking away.
Apparently, the man slept shirtless, even though the nights were cool.
Did he have on any kind of pants? Or shorts?
Or did he sleep in his underwear?
Her mouth had gone a little dry while her blood seemed to heat and hurry through her veins.
Soft music played from a small device to help drown out unfamiliar noises. The first rays of dawn filtered through the many windows. Despite the lingering shadows, Pixie saw part of his trident tattoo, as well as several scars, including the top edge of the long slash that cut over his ribs. Seeing all those injuriesreminded her that Brogan had been badly hurt—not just emotionally, but physically, too.
However she could, she wanted to help him heal.
Before she could tiptoe away, he’d said in a soft but gravelly voice, “Good morning, Pixie.”
That sleep-rough tone sank into her, and then he lifted himself to one forearm, staring at her, and for some insane reason she felt naked. “Morning,” she croaked back. For the longest time, they just looked at each other, until mounting tension threatened to snap. What would happen then, she didn’t know. “I can put on coffee.”
“Thanks.”
She’d hurried out and hadn’t peeked in on him again, but that exchange started a morning routine that she already cherished.
Whoever woke first would get the coffee started. Once the kids woke up, there was little time for quiet conversation, but before they did—the morning was theirs. Drowsy, intimate chats at the kitchen table were the perfect way to get a day off to a good start. Neither of them was a caffeine junkie, so a cup each was all they needed, and often all they had time for.
Another new routine she loved was Andy’s excitement when he woke up and remembered their guests. He’d sleepily open his eyes, cuddle with her a moment, let her change his diaper, then suddenly recall that Brogan and Shayna were in the house, and he’d race out of the room. At first, she had to remind him to be quiet, in case Shayna was still sleeping. He was quick to learn, maybe because he adored the baby so much.
Now, on the fourth morning, he warned her, “Shh”; then he dramatically snuck into the kitchen—every movement exaggerated—to find Brogan grinning at him. As Andy did each morning, he ran into Brogan’s arms, where he was scooped up and hugged … much as a father might have hugged his own son.
Except that Andy didn’t have a father.
It put tears in her eyes. Every. Single. Time. The way Andy clung to the big man. The gentle expression on Brogan’s face as skinny arms squeezed his neck and a wet kiss was pressed to his jaw. She couldn’t imagine anything more moving.
