Page 38 of Carry Me Home
“We absolutely agree that it won’t work to mix Maya and cowboying,” he said easily.
Too easily.
My eyes narrowed as I studied him. “You realize I’m saying no, right? Why does everything you say sound like you think I’m saying yes?”
He grinned. Smug bastard. He was so damn sure of himself. Truthfully, I envied his confidence. Sure, I was brash, but that was only because I knew the universe would put me in my place either way, so I might as well get a good hit in first. That wasn’t confidence. That was stupidity.
“I can’t be Maya’s nanny and Lodestar’s cowboy at the same time. All right. There’s a solution to that. I’ll quit Lodestar.”
He couldn’t be serious. Quitting his job to be Maya’s summer nanny? That didn’t make a lick of sense.
Or…maybe it did.
He wasn’t happy there. I knew that much. He’d hinted at it without really saying it. On paper, cowboying at Lodestar Ranch seemed like a perfect fit for him. He hadn’t shared why it wasn’t, but it was clear that something was eating at him.
“Are you having a midlife crisis there, buddy?” I asked.
I caught him mid-sip, and he sprayed beer across the bar. “Buddy?” he choked out.
“I thought it would be mean to call you soldier. Like rubbing salt in the wound or something.” I swiped the towel over the beer droplets, cleaning up the mess.
“It was still mean as hell, Ace. I’m not old enough to be having a midlife crisis. Take it back.”
“Could have fooled me with all that gray in your hair.” On impulse, I reached out and stroked his hairline at the temple, where silver strands almost outnumbered the dark brown. I liked it. Older guys had always made my stomach flip, unfortunately. Not that four years was much of a difference. “It suits you, though.”
The way he looked at me…It was almost a kiss, that look. I could feel the warmth of it on my lips.
I pulled my hand back and cleared my throat. “So. Tell me what’s going on at Lodestar.”
“Nothing is going on. It’s fine. They don’t need me. There are a hundred other cowboys looking for work right now who would be more than happy to take my place.” He rolled the beer bottle between his palms. “One cowboy is pretty much the same as any other. I’m replaceable at the ranch. But you need me. Maya needs me.”
The stark vulnerability in his eyes made me pause. Jack had always been like an impenetrable fortress. Nothing could touch him. But it struck me thatthiswas the chink in his armor. It wasn’t enough for him to show up and get work done. He needed to be needed.
I chewed my lip, thinking. Maya wasn’t paying us any attention at all. One hundred percent of her focus was devoted to my drawings. She was a self-motivated kid. It would be easy to look at her entertaining herself and think babysitting her would be a walk in the park. And mostly, it was—well, noteasy, exactly, but it was fun and rewarding.
The hard days, though. The hard days were really fuckinghard.
“Do you have any experience with autistic kids?” I asked dubiously.
“I don’t have experience with kids, period. Tell me what I need to know.”
I didn’t beat around the bush. “Meltdowns. Have you ever seen a toddler having a tantrum at the grocery store? It’s like that, but less crying and more outright shrieking and hitting. There is no reasoning her out of it. It’s like she can’t hear you. And she’s not two anymore, so the looks people will give you are horrible.”
He looked at Maya, head tilted like he was trying to imagine such a quiet kid going apeshit, and then turned back to me. “Okay. So what do I do about it?”
“Grab her,” I said bluntly. “Use your body like a human straitjacket. Maya doesn’t like to be touched, but when she’s sick or stressed out or doesn’t feel safe, it’s exactly what she needs. A weighted blanket will work too, but she prefers something with a heartbeat. You will feel all kinds of wrong at first—like you’re torturing her or something—but it’s the only thing that works. She relaxes almost immediately.”
“Hand-to-hand combat.” He pointed his beer at me. “I’ve been trained for that.”
I pressed my lips together. “I don’t know if I should find that funny or terrifying.”
He stilled. “Are you worried about that?”
“Worried about what?” I asked, not following.
He stared at me for several beats, a steeliness in his watchful gaze. His jaw popped as he finally turned away. “Come on, Janie. I know what people say behind my back. I’m unstable. I have PTSD. I’m going to set something on fire.” He met my gaze head on. “I nearly strangled you in your sleep. If you’re worried I might hurt Maya, we need to talk about that.”
That hadn’t even occurred to me. Other than those fifteen seconds—an admittedly terrifying fifteen seconds—I had never felt anything but completely safe when Jack was around, and not just because he had never threatened me with harm. I felt safebecausehe was around.
