Westley was proud of her. His respect and admiration for her had increased tenfold. How could he go from thinking she was annoying to realizing she was so special? Special and beautiful. Kind and smart.
Just because he was noticing her good qualities didn’t mean he had any intention of becoming romantically involved. He wasn’t looking for a romance with the pretty staff sergeant.
In fact, any sort of relationship would only end in disaster. He believed that with his whole being.
He wasn’t cut out for commitment. He wasn’t the kind of guy a woman should pin her hopes on. According to his mother, he had too much of his father in him.
And too much of his mother.
Both were scarred and dysfunctional. Stood to reason that he was damaged goods, too. He’d promised himself long ago he would never saddle another person with his horrible baggage. And the last person he ever wanted to dump his past on was Felicity. She deserved better than the likes of him.
He would protect her with his life.
But he had a sinking feeling protecting his heart wouldn’t be as easy.
In the bright morning light that had her squinting, Felicity followed the smell of brewing coffee and spicy sausage into the kitchen. She halted on the threshold.
Her sleep-fogged brain processed the sight of Dakota lying by the back door. He lifted his head from his chew bone and wagged his tail in greeting, while Westley stood at the stove wearing her father’s black barbecue apron over his battle-ready pants and a white T-shirt that molded to the hard planes and angles of his chest and back. His dark hair was spiky on top and his strong jaw was shadowed by stubble.
The pull of attraction zinged through her veins. Beneath her fresh battle-ready uniform, a blush warmed her skin.
He glanced her way. Appreciation gleamed in his blue eyes and he flashed her a crooked grin. “Hope you like chorizo and eggs. It’s all I could find that was edible in your refrigerator besides salad dressing.”
“Smells delicious.” Stifling the urge to flip back her hair, she walked to the coffeemaker and poured herself a mug before taking a seat at the counter. “I haven’t been shopping in a while.”
“We’ll remedy that today,” he commented as he turned off the flame beneath the fry pan.
Having only seen him eat prepared meals, she said, “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I can on occasion.” He dished out the steaming scrambled eggs and sausage onto two plates.
“My dad taught me the basics, enough that I can get by.” She let out a wry laugh. “I’m still not comfortable with a steak or fish.”
“I can show you how to grill a flawless steak or poach a fish to perfection.”
Somehow his words didn’t strike her as a boast, but were simply a statement of fact. The man knew how to do things.
“That would be great.” The idea of him giving her a cooking lesson thrilled her more than she cared to admit. “Did your mother teach you?”
Westley set a plate in front of her along with a fork and stared at her a moment before replying. “One of my foster mothers was a gourmet chef and she made it a point to teach each kid that came through her home how to cook. She made cooking fun and interesting. She let us experiment with food and spices and such.”
Absorbing his words, Felicity wasn’t sure what to say. Remembering how he’d shut her down yesterday when she’d asked about his father, she hesitated probing further. But then again, he’d volunteered the information. She could hear the fondness in his voice as he spoke of the foster parent who’d taken the time to teach him to cook, but she couldn’t help but hurt for his lack of a normal childhood. “How many foster homes were you in?”
Carrying his plate, he came around the island and sat beside her. “Four.”
Her hurt for him quadrupled. “How old were you when you entered the system?”
“Ten.”
But his father hadn’t passed on until Westley was seventeen, she recalled. Obviously, there was more to the story there. Curiosity drove her to ask another question. “What happened to your parents?”
“Let’s bless this food and eat it before it gets cold,” he said.
She bowed her head. “Dear Lord, bless this food to our bodies and our bodies to Your service. Amen.”
When she raised her gaze, she found Westley staring at her.
“My dad’s blessing,” she explained.
“I like it.” He shoveled a forkful of egg and sausage into his mouth.
He wasn’t going to make it easy to get him to open up. And for the life of her she couldn’t understand why it was so important that he did. Granted, they would be together, close together, for the foreseeable future and she was putting her life in his hands. Trusting him to have her back.
Getting to know each other better seemed logical. Practical. It would deepen the trust between them. But she could be patient. Letting the subject drop for now, she ate, enjoying the heat of the meat-infused eggs.
After her last bite, she sighed with contentment. “My dad would make this combo on Saturday mornings. My mom didn’t like the spiciness. But I love it. Thank you so much.”
“I guessed as much last night when you asked for extra jalapeños in your tacos. And you’re welcome.”
She grinned. “I own stock in antacids.”
His laugh was rich and deep and shuddered through her with a delicious wave of warmth.
His cell phone rang. He set his fork on his empty plate and excused himself to take the call. He opened the back door, letting Dakota outside while he stepped onto the porch. Felicity could hear the low murmur of his voice as she washed their dishes and the frying pan, then set them on the drying rack next to the sink.
Westley returned to the kitchen. “That was Justin. The meeting has been moved up. We need to get to base command pronto.”
“Let me just brush my teeth and I’ll be ready to go.” She hurried upstairs, forcing from her mind all thoughts of cooking lessons, foster homes and delicious male laughter. She needed to stay focused.
After securing her hair into a regulation braid with the ends tucked out of sight under her beret, she finished getting ready. She paused on the landing to the stairs. Below, Westley had squatted down to Dakota and was rubbing him behind the ears. The dog’s eyes practically rolled back into his head with pleasure. Her insides melted a little at the show of affection between dog and man. And some part of her yearned to have that same sort of attention directed to her.
She nearly snorted aloud at the ridiculous thought. Get a grip, she told herself. Just because Westley was being nice to her while he was forced to have her underfoot didn’t mean she had to go all mushy about him. Still, she couldn’t deny the tender feelings growing in her heart. She ached at the thought that he’d grown up in foster care. She wondered why. What had happened to put him in that position?
Patience, she reminded herself. Her father always said she had a gift for getting others to open up. She’d redirected that ability to the dogs while working with them. Eventually,