Page 13 of Taming the Wild Mountain Man

"For who?"

"Oh, er…" I scrub a hand down the side of my face. I obviously wasn't expecting her to see this, and I don't go around town telling everyone my personal business. Only my closest buddies know I do this. "For a friend."

She spins on her heel to face me. "Why are you lying?"

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

"For starters, you're a guy. So there's already a high built-in probability of that. But, hello, what sort of friend needs ten beds?"

She's right. It's an obvious, stupid lie. "Fine. It's not a friend. I'm making these beds for a women's shelter in LA."

She was clearly not expecting that, because her expression vacillates between shock and disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"I am." I return to where I was painting, pick up the brush, and continue where I left off.

I need to keep my hands busy, need the distraction. I never realized how much of a private space this shed was for me until someone entered it. And while I'll always jump at the chance to spend time with Tenley, it's a collision of worlds I wasn't expecting.

As if picking up on the change in energy, Tenley makes her way around the shed, not saying a word, like she's giving me some time to adjust to her presence. She eventually ends up standing beside me. Close enough her scent infiltrates my senses, but giving me some space, too.

"Can I ask why you're doing this?"

My chest tightens, and my breathing becomes shallow. No one, apart from my older brother, knows the horror our father put our mother through. All the horrible things we witnessed that no kids should ever see. I've kept my father's abuse a secret for fifty-two years. I can't believe I'm considering opening up to anyone about this. Much less Tenley. But for some reason, it feels right to.

With my gaze pinned to the bed frame right in front of me, I start talking. "My father was a nasty man. An alcoholic. A chronic gambler. And…" I force out a shallow breath. "An abuser." Tenley doesn't say anything, but she inches slightly closer, the warmth of her body radiating off her and seeping into me.

"He'd get drunk and lay into Mom. Physically, I mean. My older brother and I tried to stop him, but we were no match for a grown man. Besides, it only seemed to make things worse for Mom. What could we do?"

"You were just kids," Tenley whispers.

"I know." The familiar shame of being so powerless to protect my own mother sweeps over me. It doesn't matter how many times I've told myself we were kids, there's always going to be a part of me that feels like we, likeI, let my mom down. And then one night…"

My throat clogs, and my stomach twists in revulsion. No, I can't. I can't tell Tenley how my brother and I watched in horror as our father set our house alight. What we didn't know at the time, and only found out later, was that he'd beaten our mother up and left her in the house to burn.

"Where is your Mom now?"

I blow out a long breath. "She's dead."

"Oh." Her face registers the shock, then her eyes widen. "And your father?" There's a note of dread in her voice, as if she already suspects the answer.

"Rotting in jail for her death."

A gasp escapes out of her, and she curls her fingers around my forearm and gives me a tight squeeze. She holds me like that, in silence, for a solid few minutes.

I've carried the burden of guilt and shame my whole life. In a strange way, it feels good to finally share this with someone. "After it happened, our aunt and uncle adopted my brother and me. He coped by putting his head down and studying like crazy. He works for NASA now as a Thermal Operations and Resources Engineer. Don't ask me what that means."

She smiles and slides her fingers down to my hand, nestling perfectly into my palm. I wrap my hand around hers. "I dealt with it by developing a death wish. I enlisted in the military where I got a very rude awakening. I thought I knew what pain was until BUD/S. That's the?—"

"Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training, one of the toughest military training programs in the world. I know. I'm a military brat."

"Oh. Okay." I tighten my hold on her hand. "It gave me the grit I needed to become a SEAL. And I was a damn good one. Over twenty-two years, I rose through the ranks to lead black ops missions."

"And then you went from the SEALs to Hollywood stuntman?"

I glance at her sideways. "How did you know about that?"

"My sources, remember?" She nudges her hip against me.

I tell her about my Hollywood career, how it was basically a way to fuel my need for adrenaline during my forties after having achieved everything I wanted to in the Navy. She asks about some of the big-name movies I performed in. I list a few of them off, deliberately leaving one certain franchise for last. "My last ever stunt job was for a small series. You might know it. Star…Something."

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