Page 63 of Last Man Standing

Lincoln won’t like it. But then again, I don’t think I’ll enjoy it either.

Dashing to my door and running a hand through my hair, I press my ear to the hardwood and listen… To her footsteps on the tile. To her panicked breathing as it flutters in the air.

If I could stop my heart completely, I would. If I could silence the drum of my pulse, I’d make it happen. But I can’t, and she’s too quiet, so I fist the knob and twist it in silence. I crack the door open, just a micro sliver of hallway light cutting across my vision, and for as long as she moves at a snail’s pace along the hall, I watch her.

So fucking slow.

So scared.

So traumatized.

She slows by the kitchen entryway and peeks back this way. Our eyes meet, though I doubt she realizes it, then she turns on her heels and disappears into the unknown.

Or, well, it’s known. That’s my kitchen. But still…

I swing my door wide and move into the hall, my gun in one hand and exhaustion pounding in the back of my skull. I plaster my back to the wall, so even if she peeked back this way, she wouldn’t see me unless she stepped out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

I enjoy the scratch of the brickwork on my back. The scrape of the hardened clay on my skin. Most of all, I thrill in the thick cold steel in my palm, the way it fits exactly against my calluses until I can barely tell where man ends and gun begins.

I hear the soft close of a drawer, and the schwoop of the latch on the coffee machine I bought for my mom two birthdays ago.

She’s making coffee. She’s not starting a mutiny.

Thank fuck.

I stop close by the kitchen door, hidden by the frame, and pressing my shoulders to the brick, I tip my head back and listen to her stilted breath. To her toes sticking and unsticking against the tiles as she moves about.

I know when she’s near. I feel her presence in my blood. Then she’s gone again, prompted by the beep of the coffee machine.

Before I have time to push off the wall, to follow her in, or to crawl my tired ass back to bed, my dad wanders along the hall and flashes a wide grin as our gazes meet. He opens his mouth to speak, to say something dumb to make his firstborn son smile, since that’s who he is beneath the soldier, but I bring a finger up instead and place it in front of my lips.

Curious, his brows jump high and his grin falls away. But he does as he’s told, digs his hands into his pockets, and inches closer. Too fucking close. Because he leans around the doorway and peers into the kitchen like he isn’t afraid of scaring the shit out of her.

Smirking, he spins again, leans against the frame, and does exactly what I knew he would.

He scares her.

“I’m not saying you can’t use that mug, but⁠—”

“Argh!” Scarlett’s fear is palpable and loud. Her face, the one I see in my mind, paling and horrified. Something crashes in the kitchen, her trim body slamming against the counter in terror, then her hiss of pain confirms what I already knew.

I’m tempted to grab my dad by the collar and yank him out of there. To save her from her morning fright. Maybe pull her in like I did yesterday at the gas station. But Dad’s smug grin remains, and with it, his smiling eyes dance.

My mother can be a hard woman when she must. She may possess a sharp tongue and an aversion to trusting. But where she’s hard, Paul Jameson is gentle. Where she insists life is war, he’s more of a ‘life consists of war, but it’s not all war’ kind of guy.

If he’s grinning, she’s okay.

“Sorry.” He looks her up and down with slow sweeps and an appreciative gaze. A perusal I wouldn’t allow with the men in the yard. But when they look, it would be because she’s beautiful. When my dad looks, it’s a matter of simple curiosity. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just saying…” He tips his chin forward. “I’m not saying you can’t use that mug. But it’s my wife’s favorite, so⁠—”

“Jesus!”

I swallow my chuckle when I hear the splash of her coffee, then the spray of water as she flips the tap on.

Poor, scared Scarlett.

Is my mother really in need of shielding from this woman?

Doubt it.