Page 13 of Keeping Guard
She picked up the plastic bag, and when she saw the contents, tears burned her eyes. Not only had he bought her a brush and deodorant, but also body lotion, socks, and a pair of flip-flops.
“Oh, Noah,” she murmured as she stared at his gifts.
Noah put the photo—the only one he had of his mother—in a kitchen drawer, making a mental note not to forget it was there. Like the dice always in his pocket that reminded him not to be his father, the picture of his mother was always with him, a reminder that there had been a time when someone loved him.
His father had been a man with a temper he couldn’t control, a man who’d killed his wife after he’d gambled away the grocery money and there was nothing in the house to feed their son. It had been the last straw for her, and his father had gone into a rage when she’d told him she was leaving and taking Noah with her.
He’d been nine years old when he lost his mother, the only person in the world who’d loved him. When the cops had arrested his father, they’d searched him, and finding his so-called “lucky dice,” they’d dropped them on the floor.
Noah had snatched them up when they weren’t looking. Not that he’d wanted anything from the man he hated with a bone-deep fury.
After his mother’s death and his father’s arrest, he’d gone to live with his mother’s sister. Although his Aunt Melody and her husband had been both kind and generous in taking him in, they already had five children. He’d been a heartbroken boy lost in the middle of a crowd.
Money had been tight, his aunt and uncle’s attention stretched thin with so many children in the house, and there had been a three-year difference between him and the two children closest to his age. The kids tolerated him, but that was the extent of it.
Because there wasn’t an extra bedroom, a cot had been put in corner of the four-year-old’s bedroom for Noah to sleep on. He’d kept his mother’s photo under his pillow, and the only way he could fall asleep at night was with his fingers wrapped around the frame.
To find Peyton, a woman he barely knew, holding the one thing he owned that mattered to him, had hit him wrong. Even so, he’d overreacted, and he owed her an apology. She couldn’t have known that no one but him had touched his mother’s photo since the day she’d died. Why that mattered, he wasn’t sure, but it did.
“I’m sorry, Noah.”
He turned, then leaned back against the counter. “Apology accepted, but I owe you one, too. I overreacted, and I’m sorry for that.”
“The woman in the picture. She was your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She was very pretty.”
No, she was beautiful, and not just in looks. She was kind and generous. She had a smile for everyone she met. Everyone had loved her. He remembered that.
“Will you tell me about her?”
“No.” He couldn’t talk about her to other people. Had never been able to. The one time he had tried to, when his aunt and uncle’s pastor had attempted to get through to the boy who rarely talked, he’d cried so hard that he’d vomited on the man’s shoes.
That had been the last time. For one thing, she was his and he didn’t want to share her. He was also sure if he did, there would be a repeat performance. It was one thing for a boy to barf on someone, but a man? Not gonna happen.
“I don’t remember much about my mother.” She stared at her foot as she made a circle with her toes. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Mostly, I remember that when she’d have a man come see her, she’d give me a coloring book and crayons and tell me to stay in my room and be quiet.” She shrugged. “I loved coloring, so I was okay with that. She yelled at me a lot, but I don’t remember why.”
At least he’d had a mother who’d loved him unconditionally. It didn’t sound like the princess had a mother or father who gave her that. He didn’t want his heart softening for her, but the damn organ did it anyway. That wasn’t good. He already thought she was gorgeous and sexy as all get-out. Add a soft heart to the mix, and he’d be in trouble with this one.
Trouble was his middle name these days, and the last thing he needed was a woman in his life. Nor did she need a man with his baggage considering what all she was dealing with. Tomorrow he’d take her home, think about her for a few days, then he’d forget about her.
Whoever that was laughing in his head could fuck off.
“So...” she said when he didn’t respond to what she’d said. “We’re good now?”
“We’re good. The grocery store had rotisserie chickens. I got one of those and some stuff from the deli. That sound all right?”
“Yes, that sounds perfect.”
She was wearing the socks he’d bought her, and for some idiotic reason, that pleased him. He also liked her in his clothes. She shouldn’t look sexy in sweatpants that she’d had to roll up the bottoms and in a T-shirt that almost swallowed her, but she did. Definitely trouble.
Tearing his gaze away, he found a knife to carve the chicken. Not having any idea what she liked other than her saying she wasn’t picky, he’d bought mac and cheese, two kinds of pasta salads, and cans of corn and green beans. Then he’d gone a little crazy and decided she might like some ice cream later. And again, not knowing her preference, there were now three pints of assorted flavors in the freezer.
“Beer, wine, water, or green tea with your dinner?” Yep, he’d bought green tea for the first time in his life. He really needed to get her home and out of his life. If not, who knew what he’d be buying next?
“You got me green tea?”
