Page 37 of Shielding Instinct

“I’m sure.” Despite being prone to motion sickness (hence that darned medicated patch), Petra was glad she got the seat in the rear. She’d rather keep her eye on this Herb guy rather than have him staring at her head. Something about him was … He seemed like an educated, well-mannered, dadbod, middle-aged man from the suburbs. What was it about him? “I know aromance author who’s an adventure racer. I think that’s right. Long distances on a team where they have to do all kinds of skilled things to get through the different terrain sections of the race, and they have doctors look you over at each check-in to say whether or not you’re allowed to continue?”

“That’s it. That’s what she does. Jenny likes to read romance. She likes it spicy, too. Maybe she’s read your friend’s books.”

“I’ll ask Jenny when we get there. If she has, and even if she hasn’t, I can put them in touch. I mean, how many women in the world are at that level in the sport?”

“Here!” Lucky was pointing at a shack on the side of the road as they drove past. “This is St. Croix’s social club, home of the famous beer-drinking pig. Would you like to hear the story?”

Before she could answer, Lucky swung the steering wheel, and the vehicle crashed off the side of the road onto a hidden path the width of the wheelbase.

“Hands and feet stay inside,” Lucky instructed. “Watch for branches that might hit you in the face and hurt your eyes. We are now in wild St. Croix, and things can get dangerous.”

Chapter Thirteen

Hawkeye

Hawkeye stood on a rough boulder, his gaze tracking down the footpath to the sea.

Men and dogs lay in the sand, relaxing under the bright Caribbean sun.

It was a gorgeous scene right out of a travel brochure, with bright crystalline waters touching a line of turquoise to the sweep of cloudless azure at the horizon.

A white pleasure cruiser bobbed in the distance. A streamer of red flags, standing out in bright contrast to the blues, flapped sharply in the wind.

Hawkeye was walking on air. He felt amazing.

He wanted to remember every moment of this, he thought as he reveled in the warmth of the sun, smelling the salty air.

Today was an excellent day.

He was in the good company of his new band of brothers here in St. Croix, doing his job of teaching Cooper to surf.

It was fascinating to him that this was the way he earned his paycheck.

And most of all, this morning, Petra’s medical mystery seemed to have an explanation. She was seemingly okay and had been okay the whole time.

Petra was better than okay; she was astonishing.

How did he get so lucky as to be sitting next to her on the plane?

Hawkeye wasn’t the only one who thought that. Cooper—who was aloof with strangers—had all but crawled onto her lap.

With Petra, there was none of the warm-up time Cooper needed with all the women Hawkeye had dated in the past. No, “He’ll come around after he gets used to you,” explanation when Cooper would show indifference to their high-pitched baby talk.

Yeah, Cooper’s reaction to Petra from the get-go was telling, wasn’t it? An entire plane filled with the passenger’s explosive reactions and tumult. Cooper wasn’t focused on any of it. His muscles were loose, his attention sleepy. In dog behavior, that meant Cooper felt like things were under control. And the only reason he would think that was Petra.

That Cooper treated her with such relaxed acceptance was unprecedented—that was how Cooper reacted among people he considered part of his pack.

Hawkeye tipped his chin back and filled his lungs with fresh sea air, thinking, “This is amazing. It’s a miracle of a day.”

With a whoop of joy, Hawkeye bolted down the hill over the sandy berm and surface dove into the sea.

The water was luxuriantly warm and shockingly clear.

He took a few strokes out until he could stand chest-deep in the waves, feeling the buoyancy of the salinity as he bobbed with the tide flow.

The strength of the current brushed sand over his feet and dragged his board shorts against his thighs as the water sloshed past him.

Squinting against the sting of sea salt. Hawkeye shook his black hair like a dog to shed the excess water before scanning the beach.

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