Page 42 of Nixon’s Promise

We started walking and he gestured for me to precede him up the steps onto the porch.

“Good,” I answered and followed him through the house. “After you left, I showed her how to finish. She bedded the stall and told me she was sorry she hadn’t been taking care of Sally and Goat. Which, I have to say, floored me. But other than that, she didn’t say much.”

“It’s a start,” he noted and pulled out some hamburger patties. “Grab a beer and come outside with me.”

I did as he asked and trailed him out to his back deck. Surprisingly, there was outside furniture—a wicker loveseat, two chairs, and glass table with an ashtray. The wicker had seen better days. I wondered why out of all the furniture in the house, he’d saved this. On a side note, he shouldn’t have. They’d seen better days, like thirty years ago.

While he was manning his grill, I checked out his yard. I hoped he had one of those big zero-turn mowers or he’d be out there for hours cutting his grass. My gaze moved to him, then back to the acre or more of lawn behind his house, and thought better of it. I could picture myself sitting on his back deck, even on the beat-up wicker, with an iced tea in hand, watching him push a mower, shirtless. Watching that would be better than any of my romance novels.

“So how do you know Alec?” I asked, still looking over his yard.

You could tell no woman had ever lived here. There were no flowerbeds, planters, birdfeeders hanging. Just grass and a few large trees. It was sadly boring.

“Alec and I were in the teams together. He got out a few years before me.”

“Oh. A team guy.”

Nixon looked at me and smiled. “Yeah, babe, a team guy.”

“I suppose if I ask you about the job offer, you’re gonna say, if you tell me you’re gonna hafta kill me.”

His smile faded and his features went guarded. I felt like I’d made a mistake joking about the offer.

“Does that bother you?” Nixon’s posture was alert and his gaze assessing. I felt like I needed to choose my words carefully.

My answer mattered to him, though I wasn’t sure why.

“No. I understand. I mean, it’s not the same thing, but I can’t talk about my work, either. I sign all sorts of confidentiality agreements and nondisclosures.”

He closed the lid to his barbeque and turned to face me fully, still holding my eyes.

“There could be times I’ll have to leave and I won’t be able to tell you where I’m going or how long I’ll be gone for.”

“Okay. Do you need me and Zack to come over and take care of stuff around here? Like your mail or something?”

His long strides ate up the distance until he was in front of me.

“No, babe. I don’t need shit taken care of around here. I’m talkin’ about me and you. Would you be okay with me not being able to talk to you about my job?”

“Me? Well, yeah. It’s not my business.”

“What if I wanted it to be your business? If I wanted you to worry about where I was or how long I’d be gone? What if I wanted you to miss me?”

Whoa.

Sweet Jesus.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t miss you or wonder where you were. But I’d understand.”

My heart was pounding in my chest, waiting for him to explain his bizarre reaction. I didn’t know much about the type of work he’d been offered, not that I even knew what he’d been offered. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out his friend who’d rolled up in a very official-looking black Suburban with Washington, DC, plates worked for the government. And I certainly wasn’t stupid, I knew he wouldn’t be able to discuss it with me.

“Will it be dangerous?” I hated that my voice sounded so small. But suddenly I didn’t like the idea of Nixon being put in harm’s way.

“Could be,” he told me, then amended. “Most likely.”

“Right,” I whispered.

“You okay with that?”