Fierce Protector: Hard to Handle trilogy, Book 1 Read online

  The couple wrote up a shopping list while Eva helped clean up after lunch. “Tyler chooses nice friends, just so you’re not worried that a pickup full of drunk-ass good ol’ boys is on its way,” Trish chuckled. “One of the guys from his last construction job even had a year of college under his belt.”

  Eva whistled sarcastically. “A whole year?”

  “Ladies, please,” interjected Tyler. “These are honest men, god-fearing and clean-shaven. Hell, one of them used to date a pastor’s daughter. It don’t get more wholesome than that.”

  “She was plenty wholesome before he dated her,” whispered Trish. “Not so much after.” This earned Trish a slapped ass – hardly her first of the afternoon, Eva noted with a shiver of guilt – and the two horsed around while Eva finished the chores.

  “Geez, get a room, why don’t ya?” she quipped.

  “Oh that ship well and truly sailed already,” said Trish, laughing. “Right honey?”

  ***

  Tyler was firing up the grill when Eva emerged from another quiet session of writing in her room. It had actually turned into a decent nap, and she felt as good as she had in months. Steaks, franks and salad seemed to be on the menu and Tyler had already popped at least one Bud Light, two cases of which crowded the fridge. Trish busied around the kitchen and living room, straightening up the place.

  “It’s not royalty that’s heading over here, you know,” Tyler called through from the front yard. “Hey, Eva, you think maybe she’s trying to impress these guys with her home-maker credentials? Huh? Looking to upgrade from carpenter to ditch-digger?” Trish took time out of her chores to march up and thwack Tyler’s ass again, and then resumed directing Eva as she tried to help.

  “Upgrade,” she muttered. “Hard to imagine me doing better than him, God preserve us.”

  Eva smiled but kept quiet. She was petrified that something she said, or a glance, or some unknown aspect of her body language might reveal the illicit sensuality she had so enjoyed that afternoon. It was hard to stop her mind from floating languidly back to those moments of greatest pleasure, when she had peeled off her underwear and just gone for it. She’d already caught herself daydreaming about it a half dozen times, and she felt sure it would eventually show, however accepting Trish might prove to be. A little mantra helped assuage her guilt somewhat: a girl’s got to find her fun somewhere, right?

  There was commotion outside. Peeking through the mosquito screen of the front door, Eva spotted two tall men carrying more cases of beer, one of whom chose to break boisterously into song:

  If it hadn’t been for Cotton-Eyed Joe,

  I’d’ve been married a long time ago,

  Where did he come from, where did he go?

  Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?

  Tyler joined in with characteristic verve and the front lawn briefly hosted an animated sing-along. The shorter of the two visitors started dancing a little jig – or something similar, Eva really couldn’t be sure – while the other watched, one hand on his hip and another cradling the twelve-rack of beers on his shoulder. He had the tolerant smile of someone who was very used to these antics, but not yet ready to get involved. Patiently, he waited for Tyler and Mitch to simmer down before being introduced to the proprietor.

  “Good to meet you, buddy. Mitch tells me you’re a lifelong Rangers fan.”

  “Never miss a game unless I’m in jail,” offered the tall, dark man. His voice had that calmly measured tone of someone entirely comfortable with meeting new people. He and Tyler shook hands and then Tyler waved them all into the house.

  “Honey? I want you to meet Mitch Murphy, he’s the guy I told you about from the housing job outside of Stockdale. And this is . . . sorry, buddy, was it Zeke?”

  The stranger laughed, a carefree sound. Eva appeared in the kitchen, drawn by the noise outside and the unfamiliar men’s voices. “Zack,” he reminded Tyler politely. “Zack Norcross, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m Trish and this is Eva.” Trish took Zack’s hand with a cheery smile, and then it was Eva’s turn.

  “Very nice to meet you both,” Zack said. “Eva . . .” He thought for a moment. “Is that short for Evangeline?”

  “Evaline,” she stammered. “But Eva’s just fine.”

  “A pleasure meeting you,” Zack said courteously. He turned to stow the beers and Eva found herself rather brazenly checking out his figure; it had been some time since she’d looked a man up and down, but this tall, impressively muscular frame seemed to demand it. Of their own accord, her eyes scanned Zack’s torso as he stocked the fridge, noticing how his tight, black t-shirt accentuated what were surely quite spectacular abdominal and pectoral muscles. Less hidden were impressively thick biceps, and sturdy forearms like the low branches of an old oak. Neatly cropped jet-black hair gave him an almost military look, but in comfort-fit dark-blue jeans - and the black t-shirt which he filled out so tantalizingly well - he gave off a pleasantly casual, confident, Friday evening vibe.

  He also smelled absolutely wonderful, smiling as he eased past her into the living room.

  Click. Trish’s fingers snapped right in front of Eva’s nose. “Er, notice that we have guests, did you?”

  “Erm?”

  “You want to finish up that salad and maybe get Tyler a plate for the steaks?” Trish asked. “I’ll get the buns for him to warm.”

  “Buns?”

  Trish stared at her. “Did you leave your brain in your room?”

  “Huh?”

  Trish grabbed Eva’s forearm and placed the bottle of ranch dressing in her hand. “Do me a favor,” she whispered, “and switch your thinking from undressing Zack to dressing this salad, there’s a good girl.” She grinned at her friend and sidled through to the living room. Trish was extremely proud of her slender, tanned legs, which today were wonderfully shown off by the tiniest jean shorts she dared to wear.

  Eva focused and got the sides ready, bringing everything through and taking a seat in their little living room. The TV was a second-hand 36-inch which was flanked by an armchair on each side and a big three-seater sofa in the middle; they had found it almost for free right after they moved in, and considered it their luckiest find. Tyler took his customary seat on the right of the TV while Trish very deliberately took the left, leaving Mitch and Zack to figure out who might sit next to Eva on the couch. The taller, incredibly more muscular man seemed to win the ensuing, silent argument in about a second.

  The game had not started well. Oakland’s at-bat had already produced a base hit and a walk, each roundly criticized by Tyler and Mitch. Zack remained unmoved, reminding them, “it’s a long way to the bottom of the ninth,” a sentiment which fell on almost completely deaf ears. Then Cespedes powered a hit way long, left of center field, and the three men watched despairingly as it careered over the boundary for a two-run homer.

  “Son of a bitch!” yelled Tyler.

  “God damn it all to hell!” spat Mitch.

  “Well, that’s unfortunate,” said Zack mildly. Trish turned to see Eva gazing, half-melted, at the even-tempered man next to her on the couch. “Pitcher needs to mix it up more,” he diagnosed, taking a small sip of beer. Eva noticed that he drank not the cans of Bud Light his friends were plowing through, but a bottle of IPA from a local brewery.

  “You don’t like Bud?” Trish asked, certain that Eva was, as yet, too shy to ask.

  “Well,” Zack said thoughtfully, glancing at the label, “I only ever have one or two, so I like to try something different.”

  “Driving, are you?” Trish inquired.

  “By default, I guess,” he replied as they watched Mitch pop his third Bud, “but I never was much of a drinker. The docs say I should take it easy, and I’ve learned that if I do what they say, things work out better.”

  With two walks, the Athletics’ pitcher had started badly. Tyler hollered as Adrian Beltre got an RBI, and again a minute later as the Rangers scored again, prompting a general high-five and a mo
re confident vibe to the room. Mitch loved to applaud each good play, his resonating claps providing a rhythm to the game, a counterpoint to the regular calls for more beer.

  “Do you play sports much?” It took Eva a second to realize that this question was for her.

  “Er, well . . .” Get it together, girl, said Trish’s imploring facial expression. “I played volleyball at high school, and I like to run.”

  “That’s good,” said Zack. Norris stole second, to the loud consternation of the others. Zack added quietly, “You do look to be in good shape.” He then joined in the applause as the pitcher wrapped up the inning without the Athletics extending their 3-2 lead.

  Eva’s whole body was quivering slightly. Did he just say that? Did he really? Trish’s open-mouthed shock confirmed it: this extraordinarily sexy man had praised Eva’s figure, right there to her face. She wouldn’t have believed it possible, but apparently Eva could become instantly tingly – and, she could feel, a little moist between her legs - simply from something Zack said.

  Be cool, said Trish’s imploring face. “Thanks,” Eva said. “I don’t know how often you’re in the gym, but it seems to be doing you some good.” Waiting until the men were engrossed in the next play, Trish mimed generous applause to her friend, silently mouthing ‘you go, girl!’. Eva felt a growing sense of confidence, either from spending more time with this personable, easygoing guy, or from the two beers she’d fairly swiftly dispatched.

  “Hey, how’s about we eat during the seventh inning stretch?” suggested Tyler, always the one to combine sporting enthusiasm with thoughtful party planning. “You’ll have to holler the play-by-play through the window.”

  “I’ll get it, Tyler, don’t worry,” said Zack, rising to his feet.

  “You sure?” Tyler asked, more than prepared to take his usual role as grill meister.

  “I know one end of a barbeque from another,” Zack assured him.

  Mitch chimed in, “Dude, the man can handle anti-tank missiles and scuba gear,” he announced, rather artlessly. “I don’t think grilling will stretch his capabilities.”

  Zack gave his old friend a stern look but decided – guest in a new friend’s home as he was – to let it go. “I’ll help,” said Eva with a measured enthusiasm she hoped wouldn’t betray just how critically urgent it was that she hang out with Zack. “Want another of those funny bottles?” she asked cheekily.

  “Not just now,” he chuckled, as she followed him out to the grill. “Do you cook much?”

  They found the grill nicely hot and began planning the little feast. “I actually work at Cheryl’s as a part-time baker,” Eva told him.

  “No way! I love that place. Best coffee and cake in the state. I stop in there sometimes after the gym, even if it means driving ten miles out of my way.”

  Zack brandished tongs and got the steaks sizzling promisingly on the grill. “So how do you know these two?” he asked, thumb pointing back at the house, from which noisy complaint greeted Josh Donaldson’s home run.

  Eva unpacked the franks and laid them out, ready for grilling. “Trish and I were at girl scout camp together when we were 13,” she recalled. “It turned out we were actually at the same high school. We were inseparable for years.”

  “Important to have friends like that,” Zack said. “I’ve known Mitch in there,” he thumbed back at the living room once more, “and my buddy Flynn for twenty years, nearly.” He paused. “Wow, that made me feel old!”

  “You don’t look a day over twenty-six,” Eva said, not stretching the truth at all but bringing a hearty laugh from the grill chef. “What? I’m serious!”

  “I’m thirty-one just before Christmas,” Zack confessed. “And you don’t need to flatter me. I spent damned near two years in scuba gear, and the mask does nothing for wrinkles.”

  “Yeah, I heard Mitch mention that. What did you do?”

  Zack flipped the steaks with practiced ease, thoroughly impressing Eva both with the neatness of his movements and the obvious, understated strength of his forearms. They really were something. “I was in the Navy,” he said simply.

  “A sailor?” she asked, extremely curious but trying not to show it. Zack shook his head. “Submarines?”

  He closed the grill and looked at her. “Don’t get too hot under the collar or anything,” he warned, “but I was a Navy SEAL.”

  Slack-jawed amazement was not an unusual female reaction, so Zack was used to it, but Eva was thunderstruck. “Wow, that explains the muscles,” she said sotto voce.

  “Huh?”

  “Erm . . . did you train in the jungles?” she asked, feeling the bucket of embarrassment being tipped over her head.

  “I was in a few different places,” Zack replied with a gracious smile, not fooled in the least. “There was a lot of time away, training and on operations.”

  Eva adopted a more serious tone. “So, you were . . . over there?”

  The first set of steaks were ready, he judged. “Four times, all to Afghanistan. They must have thought I loved the place.”

  “And did you?” she asked, her stomach fluttering at her own sudden audacity. Oh God, please don’t be offended.

  Zack stopped grilling for a moment, looked at Eva and said, “It’s a very beautiful country. Especially in the winter. If things were better there,” he said rather heavily, “it would be a tourist hotspot.” More steaks hit the grill with an impressive burst of flame. “With the situation so unstable, it’s hard to see where development money might come from. We’ve certainly thrown enough cash at the place, but it doesn’t seem to have done much good.”

  “Do you think you’ll be going back?” she asked.

  Zack managed to laugh, shaking his head. “Forgive the profanity, Eva, but hell no!” She giggled, finding that her fingertips had landed on his upper arm for some reason. “They’ve had quite enough of me. I left the service at the end of my last tour there, and there ain’t no way they’re pulling me back in,” he said, mimicking Al Pacino’s gathered fists.

  “Trish’s daddy was in the service, back when we were kids,” Eva told him. Aiming for a medium-rare steak this time, Zack flipped the meat a little earlier than before. “They transferred him down here to Laughlin Air Force Base where she says he was helping to train pilots.”

  “Yeah, it’s a big training facility,” Zack remembered. “I think I probably flew in and out of every military base in the country at some point.” He mimed this shuttling back and forth, his face capturing the exasperation - experienced by so many in the armed forces - of ceaseless change and uncertainty. “What about you, how come you’re down here?”

  The steaks were done; Zack threw the remaining franks onto the grill. “Well, I guess I’m just . . .” She paused, looking up at him, willing to tell him about herself after his own openness and honesty, but somehow scared that he’d judge her. It would be easy to sound like a rootless vagrant, but she quickly reminded herself that her life’s journey had, thus far, largely been decided by others. “I was born near Chicago and we lived in different places in Illinois growing up, but in the last couple of years, most of my reasons for being there disappeared.”

  “I know what you mean,” Zack said compassionately. “Sutherland is getting less attractive by the week.”

  Without thinking, Eva said, “You’re not going to up and leave right after I’ve met you, are you?”

  He chuckled, that carefree sound, deep and resonant, like a California redwood laughing. “Not likely,” he explained. “I have friends here, my doctors are all in San Antonio, and I haven’t finished renovating my house.”

  “You don’t look like you need a doctor.”

  Zack raised an eyebrow. Eva immediately loved this curiously amused facial expression; she began to think up ways to provoke it. “If you could see my lungs, you’d think different,” he confided. “I was involved in an explosion, and the pressure wave just beat the hell out of my respiratory system.” Eva was thunderstruck, yet again. “They did som
e repairs and I was very lucky. These days, I run more to exercise my lungs than my legs.”

  “Is that why you left? You were injured?” she asked quietly.

  Zack used tongs to transfer the last franks to the serving plate Eva held for him. “That, and other things. Four combat tours was enough. Plus, I wasn’t sure any more that we were doing the right thing in Afghanistan.” He seemed comfortable enough discussing these things, Eva noted, but she was very wary of opening old wounds, both the psychological and the physical.

  They walked together back into the house, where Tyler was near inconsolable following a calamitous fifth inning. In the kitchen, Eva leaned close and said, “I’m sorry if it upsets you to talk about what happened over there. I don’t mean to.”

  Zack turned, and what Eva saw simply melted her heart. It was the most beautifully serene, compassionately forgiving smile. It seemed to come from deep within, a place which held great patience and love. In one simple smile, he had told her not to worry, that he wasn’t offended, that he enjoyed talking with her, that he liked her. “You’re a sweetheart,” he said simply, and brought a big plate of food into the living room.

  Eva let her head spin for a while and then decided to head to the bathroom and collect herself a little. She breathed deeply and looked at herself in the mirror, trying to will her brain back to reality and away from thoughts of Zack’s muscular arms. How easily, how quickly, she thought to herself, he could have picked her up and pinned her hard against the wall outside while he kissed her . . . Or against the sink she was now leaning on, with her legs wrapped around his waist and his mouth moving hungrily from her lips down to her neck, while his hands slid up under her shirt . . .

  God, girl! Just pee already and get back out there before people start to wonder what on Earth you’re doing in here!