“About?”
“Starting a business. I’m terrified. If I think about it too much, I start to doubt myself.” She looked back at him. “My dad took off when I was only a couple of years older than Lillie. He never bothered to stay in touch with me. After he left, it was my mom and me. Then I met Ned and that was a disaster. I was alone and I had Lillie, and my mom invited me back home.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “She was always there for me. The inheritance will help pay the mortgage off. That’s security for both of us. But I have Lillie, and if the coffee shop fails, I will have wasted all that money. Am I being irresponsible, taking on the risk?”
He moved toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. “No. You get to be happy, too.”
“I’m happy working at Chez Julia.”
“Is being a hairstylist your dream?”
“No, but...”
“Is Brew-haha?”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “Yes, but—”
“No buts. You get to have your dream, Patience. You’ve taken care of your mom’s house and your daughter’s college. You get to have a little something for yourself, too.”
“Opening a business isn’t a little thing.”
“You deserve to have one of your dreams come true.”
“What if I fail?”
Her eyes darkened as she said the words, and he knew she’d just spoken her greatest fear. But before he could tell her she wouldn’t and list all the reasons why, someone spoke his name.
“There you are. You’re a very difficult man to find.”
Patience stepped back and he dropped his hands to his sides. The woman walking purposefully toward him was probably close to fifty, with blond hair and a familiar face. He searched his memory and came up with a name.
Denise Hendrix. Ford’s mother.
* * *
PATIENCE WATCHED THE big, bad bodyguard back up when faced with his business partner’s mother. She settled in to watch what she knew would be an excellent show.
Denise Hendrix had six children. Patience was sure she loved them all equally, but five of them were living in town with the sixth risking his life serving his country. Any mother would get a little intense about that.
Denise stopped in front of Justice.
“You’re the reason my son is finally coming home.”
Justice swallowed. Patience would swear something very close to fear invaded his eyes. He held up both hands in a gesture that looked two parts protection, one part surrender.
“I, uh—”
Denise nodded, blinking back tears. “I’ve been praying for this. He was so upset when he left. Of course he was.” She glanced at Patience. “I blame Maeve. I’ve forgiven her, of course. Still, did he have to stay gone? It’s been years and years. I know his work is dangerous—he won’t talk about it. He emails. Because an email is as good as a visit?”
She turned back to Justice. “Then you came here and decided to open your business. I can’t thank you enough.”
“We, uh, thought—”
She nodded and wiped her cheeks. “I know. It wasn’t all you. But I was starting to think he would never come back and now he’ll be here. I have to make sure he never leaves again.”
Poor Ford, Patience thought. She hoped he knew what he was getting into by returning to his hometown.
“Thank you,” Denise said, then lunged forward.
Patience was sure Justice knew a dozen moves to ward off his friend’s mother. But instead of using any of them, he simply endured the long hug.
When he was finally free, he managed a strangled “You’re welcome.”
Denise sniffed. “I remember when you were just a teenager, Justice. You were a good friend to Ford. I’m glad you found your way back here.” She smiled at Patience, waved and left.
Patience turned to Justice. “Always the hero.”
He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Mrs. Hendrix is very enthusiastic.”
“We’re all adults and you just had a significant body press from her. You should probably call her Denise.”
He winced. “I think Mrs. Hendrix is more appropriate.”
She grinned, delighted with his obvious discomfort. She liked knowing the very together and powerful Justice Garrett could be rattled by a middle-aged mother of six. “Uh-huh. She terrifies you.”
“Just a little.”
She started to laugh. “It’s always fun when a tough-guy facade cracks.”
His gaze narrowed. “You know a lot of tough guys?”
“You’re my first, but it’s way more appealing than I thought it would be. Just so you know—later I’m going to ask you to show me how to disarm someone with a Q-tip.”
“Why are you afraid of someone with a Q-tip?”
She crossed to him and put her hands on her hips. “Very funny. You know what I mean.”
“I do and a Q-tip is a pretty silly weapon.”
“A spoon, then.”
“You can do a lot with a spoon.”
As he spoke, he put his hands on her waist, drawing her against him. She went willingly, aware of the sudden interest from her girl parts. She was conscious of the danger, but the possibility of being left seemed less significant now that they were standing so close. And the possibility of him kissing her again seemed so much more important.
They weren’t touching anywhere good. At least not yet. But she was close enough to feel the heat of him.
He was tall and broad and strong and should be someone who made her nervous. Only he didn’t. It was probably their past. Because she’d adored the boy, she trusted the man. She’d been predisposed to like him from the second he’d returned to her life. She could only hope he wouldn’t prove to be yet another romantic mistake.
She gazed into his eyes, noting the various colors of blue that made up his irises. His lashes were slightly darker than his hair. With his chiseled chin and high cheekbones, he was handsome but still masculine. All in all, an impressive package.
“What on earth are you doing in this tiny town?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you have settled down in Paris or New York?”
“My French sucks and Angel hates New York.”
Good information but it didn’t answer the real question. Probably because she hadn’t asked it.
Are you going to break my heart? That’s what she really wanted to know.
Apparently Justice was a mind reader in addition to his other bodyguard-based skills, because his gaze intensified.
“I’m not one of the good guys. You have to know that.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant the information was common knowledge or that it was important for her to realize the fact. In the end, she supposed it didn’t matter.
“Does it occur to you by saying that, you’re proving the opposite?” she asked.
He moved his hands to the bottom of her T-shirt. He pulled on the fabric, studying the design. “Flamingos?”
“They’re fun birds who love a good martini.”
“I can see that.”
His