Page 24 of Shielding Instinct

“Tiny then!” Petra wished Cooper were there so she could give him some extra scritches.

“Compared to now, yes. From the get-go, Cooper was an itty-bitty powerhouse of protection, cunning, strength, and fearlessness.”

“Okay, Cooper? Why that name?” Yeah, Petra was pushing herself to have this conversation. She was afraid with the meds in her system that she’d fall asleep, and Hawkeye would feel like he had to scoop her into his arms again. Once a day of the heroine carry was probably a good quota to stick to. While the questions helped her to stay engaged, they were also sapping Petra’s resources. And at the same time, she wanted to know everything about this man. The image of bottom watering a drooping houseplant came to mind. She sighed. Maybe she’d come up with some sexier imagery after some sleep.

“Cooper was the name of the baby he saved.”

“Ah, now, see? I thought it was because your nickname is Hawkeye, and you named him after James Fenimore Cooper and the Leatherstocking tales.”

“My sister, Cora, was named after that, so you aren’t far off the mark.”

“Does your given name have a literary bent, too?”

“My given name is Michael George Kesse. Michael for Crichton and George for Orwell. Mom was a high school English teacher.” Hawkeye pressed the blinker up and then turned right into a parking lot.

“Would you tell me about that?”

“Curious Petra, we’re at the hotel.” He pulled into a spot, put the SUV into park, and turned her way. “The drugs must be wearing off because your mind is picking up speed.” He sent her a grin. “I’ll answer all your questions in a bit. Come on, let’s go see what we can figure out about the room situation.”

Chapter Nine

Hawkeye

The desk staffer stood slack-jawed, staring at Petra. The woman finally coordinated her lips to stammer, “Ma’am, are you all right? Are you aware—” She flipped a hand up by her eye and wiggled her fingers.

Petra cut the woman off by simply raising her arm with the blue plastic hospital band.

“Oh,” the woman clutched her chest. “I—” She gripped both hands in front of her. “I’ve never seen that before.” She cleared her voice. “How can I assist you?”

“I’m Hermione Armstrong. I have a reservation for tonight. It might be listed under Tamika Bradly, my travel companion. But I should be on the reservation as well.”

The staffer tapped the keyboard.

“I was hoping that perhaps you had two adjoining rooms, and you could move my reservation to one and put the other on my card?” Petra pulled a credit card from the back of her phone.

The staffer rolled her mouse and clicked. Rolled and clicked. Rolled and clicked. And Hawkeye knew the woman was buying herself some time before she gave Petra some bad news. Her frown told Hawkeye the staffer didn’t want to add to Petra’s already difficult day.

“I’m so sorry.” Her voice conveyed her sympathy. “But we let your reservation go.”

“Go?” Petra said as if that were a foreign word. She slid her credit card back into its slit.

Hawkeye dragged his phone from his thigh pocket, checked for service, and then texted Reaper.

He was curious as to how Petra would handle the situation. This was a big interpersonal litmus test for him. How people treated others in times of stress – or those with less power every day—was a cheat code that unlocked a view of a person’s true character. A person could have a bad day, that gave them no right to spread the pain.

Hawkeye was pretty invested in Petra.

He’d started thinking of them as having an unspoken understanding. But over time, he’d learned it’s better to pull your foot out of a trap before it can snap.

He was old enough now and had been through enough that if he was going to move forward, he needed to be clear-eyed.

Hawkeye wasn’t off the mark. The receptionist—braced to take a tongue-lashing—was ready to bear the ire if stress had sanded off Petra’s shiny veneer. “We sent you each an email, and texted both Miss Bradley and you, asking if you ran into delays in your travel plans. Our hotel is booked solid, and we have a seven o’clock deadline for check-in unless we know you’ll be late. No one responded.”

Petra fussed with her phone, stared at the black screen, then slid it back into her pocket. “That’s my fault. My phone was out of battery. Thank you for trying to reach us. Well,” she looked around at Hawkeye, “I knew when I got up this morning that today was for the crapper. If you’ll just give me a moment to figure this out.” She turned back to the woman at the desk. “Do you know of any other places on the island that might have openings tonight? I’m not choosy—clean and safe is all I need.”

The staffer looked relieved by Petra’s grace. “I’m so sorry. It’s our busy season in St. Croix. I could make some calls for you.”

Hawkeye leaned in. “No need. Thank you, ma’am.” He touched his hand to Petra’s elbow, and she followed him awayfrom the desk. “I have a room for you at our hotel. It’s not a quarter mile up the road. The Palm.”

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