Page 91 of A Soldier's Return

Until this week when he’d been forced by circumstance to bring Chloe along, he wasn’t sure he had fully comprehended how much he relied on nannies to take care of details like making sure Chloe was picked up on time. It was all a hell of a lot harder on his own.

He always considered himself a pretty good employer but he was definitely going to make sure he paid the next nanny more.

“You live in the big yellow Victorian down the beach, right?”

“Right. It’s got a wrought-iron fence and a sign above the porch that says Brambleberry House.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He paused. “Thank you again. I owe you.”

“No problem. You can pay me back by taking Conan for another run in the morning.”

Her words conjured up that kiss again, Sage all sleepy and warm and desirable in his arms, and his stomach muscles tightened.

“That’s not much of a punishment. I enjoyed it more than he did,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. He had to hope his sudden hunger didn’t carry through the phone line. “I’ll be glad for the chance to do it again.”

“Don’t speak too quickly. The weather forecast calls for a big storm the rest of tonight and in the morning. You’ll be soaked before you even make it out the front door. I, on the other hand, will be warm and dry and cozy in my bed.”

He didn’t even want to go there. “I still think I’ll be getting the better end of the stick, but you’ve got a deal.”

“We’ll see you in a while, then. And Eben, you really don’t have to rush. Chloe will be fine.”

He severed the connection and sat for a moment in the car, surrounded by lush green foliage in every direction.

He shouldn’t be filled with anticipation at seeing her again. He couldn’t afford the distraction—and even if he could, he shouldn’t want so much to be distracted byher.

What was the point, really? He wasn’t interested in anything short-term. How could he even think about it, with his eight-year-old daughter around? And he certainly wasn’t looking for any kind of longer commitment or if he were, it would never be with a wild, free-spirited woman like Sage.

With a sigh, he put the Jag into gear again and pulled back onto the highway. Best to just work as hard as he could to finalize the deal with the Wus so he could take Chloe back to San Francisco, back to his comfort zone where everything was safe and orderly and predictable.

The storm Sage had mentioned hit just as he reached the outskirts of town. The lights of Brambleberry House gleamed in the pale, watery twilight, a beacon of warm welcome against the vast, dark ocean just beyond it.

The house was a bit more than she described, a rambling Queen Anne Victorian with a wide front porch, elaborate gingerbread trim and a voluptuous tangle of gardens out front. Painted a cheery yellow with multi-colored pastel accents, it looked bright and homey, the kind of place that for some reason always made him picture bread baking and the sweet, embracing scents of home.

He blinked the random image away and hurried through the rain to ring the doorbell, grateful for the wide porch that kept him mostly dry.

Despite the sign above the porch, he thought for a moment he might have come to the wrong house when a stranger answered the door. She had dark hair, solemn eyes, and an air about her of efficient competence.

Her mouth lifted in an impersonal, slightly wary smile. “Yes?”

“Hello. I was certain I was in the right place but now I’m beginning to doubt myself. This is Brambleberry House, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She still kept the door only slightly ajar—probably a smart self-defense move so she could slam it quickly shut if he should try anything threatening.

“I’m Eben Spencer. I believe Sage Benedetto is expecting me.”

She seemed to relax a little and the door opened wider, letting out a bigger slice of light and warmth to fight back the rainy evening. “You must be Chloe’s father.”

He held out a hand and she took it. Again, he gathered the vague impression of competence, though he wasn’t sure what about her spoke so solidly of it.

“I’m Anna Galvez. I live on this floor and Sage is upstairs, all the way at the top.”

“Which means you probably get roped into answering the door for her more often than you’d like.”

Her smile warmed. “I don’t mind, usually, unless I’m in the middle of something. Sage has a separate doorbell to her apartment but it hasn’t been working for awhile. We’re working on it. Sage’s apartment is all the way to the top of the staircase.”

The wide, sweeping staircase was the center core of the magnificent house, he saw, rising straight up from the entry through two other floors. A shame the house had been split into apartments, he thought. It would have made a stunning bed and breakfast, though he supposed it could be converted back if someone had the money, time and energy.

“Thank you,” he said to Anna. “Sorry to bother you.”

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