Page 15 of His Wounded Heart

Shoot!

I stare at it. My mind wanders to the contents of my freezer. It would be so much easier to decide if I need more ice cream.

I highlight the damn thing and press delete.

Enough is enough.

I start to scroll down through my other emails, but it’s no use. My work brain is shot for the night. I shut down my computer and head for bed, checking on Bella on my way to my room.

Doing my normal nightly prep, I scowl in the mirror after I wash my face and slather on my moisturizer. According to Maddie, the stuff from the drugstore was just as good as the department store, but I’m not too sure. I lean in closer to the mirror and I definitely see crow’s feet. Why did they always look so good on a man, but not so good on a woman?

Now the commander? The lines on his face are sexy as hell. You can tell that he’s walked through the fire.

Haven’t you?

I think about growing up in the Avery household with my sperm and egg donors, which is how I think of my parents. Yeah, there had been more than a bit of brimstone in that house. I lean in even closer and examine my eyes. They’re Norville Avery’s eyes. All of us kids have them, of course. Having our mother’s blue eyes would have been just as bad.

How could I have been a product of such evil people? Will I one day turn on Bella? I drop my forehead against the mirror and suck down tears. No, I would never hurt my baby, but God knows I’ve proven to be dumber than a box of rocks, just like Wanda. Yep, trusting the wrong man, believing his lies. But then again, Wanda was an evil liar herself, so why am I worrying? I realize that email shook me more than I thought.

Pushing against the sink top, I pull myself upright. I take another look in the mirror.

Cut yourself some slack, Trenda. You were young. Starving for male attention.

Brantley Harris saw me coming a mile away. Heck, it was probably tattooed on my forehead in special ink for men like him to see. I had been ripe for the picking. I so desperately wanted the happily ever after that I used to read about.

Turning away from the mirror, I go down the hall to my bedroom and slip into my oversized Bon Jovi t-shirt and climb into bed. I try desperately to think of something else besides Nashville. Anything else besides my f-up’d past.

Then there he is. The Commander. My last thought is of gray eyes.

Chapter Five

If I hadn’t talked to my landlord, Bernie Faulks, twice on the phone already, I’d swear he was a ghost. I’ve been trying for the last week to get ahold of him, but he doesn’t pick up his phone, and he doesn’t have it set up to take voicemail. At no time have I been given an email address for the man, and I don’t know where he lives. But there is one housekeeping item I want to discuss with him, and another thing I think he can help me out with—finding a Navy SEAL’s little brother. The way it has been explained to me over at the gas station, Bernie, is one of the mountain folk, and they all stuck together. Therefore, he’ll know if Renzo is up on the mountain.

Because this is a favor to one of Kostya’s men, and Kostya and his woman did me a solid by helping pack up my things, I need to get some answers, even if it means dealing with people. I’d gone into town and had a couple of beers at the tavern, and asked if anyone had noticed a new guy in town. When that didn’t garner any results, I went to Pearl’s diner, which was apparently gossip central. I’d even talked to Pearl herself to find out if she’d heard anything, and she hadn’t. Hell, I’d even asked Roger at the grocery store if he knew about anyone new who’d come to town, and I’d come up with another big ‘no.’”

But all of them had said that he was probably up in the mountains, which were really just hills. Mountains are what you see in Afghanistan or the Rockies, not these low, forested, rolling hills. All of them said to talk to Bernie. Which I would gladly do, except he doesn’t answer his damned phone.

Finally, I remember that Bernie called Trenda Avery when he’d wanted a reference. Maybe she would know how to track down the slippery old bastard. Her card is resting on the windowsill above my kitchen sink, so I take it down and made the call.

“Hello, this is Trenda Avery.”

She answers so smoothly, it takes a moment for me to realize it is actually her and not her voicemail greeting.

“Hi Trenda, this is Simon Clark. I’m wondering if you might be able to help me.”

“If you need a website built, I’m your girl. When do you need it by?” she teased. I can hear the laughter in her voice; it is almost lyrical and it makes me smile.

“So, you’re a smartass, huh?”

“Yep, one smartass at your service. Now I can only say that word while Bella’s at school, you understand that, right?”

I laughed. “Your kid is a stick of dynamite. It must be tough to ride herd on her.”

“The toughest times are when she tries to be the mother, then we get into some sticky situations.”

“I can imagine.” The girl was the spitting image of her mother. I would love to see her bossing her mother around.

“Now, what can I help you with, Simon?”