Page 8 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“Oh. Oh god. Why?” Stella appears stricken.
I shrug. “You get used to it in the Marines.”
“Ah. Well, aside from better healthcare, soldiers should also get better coffee from the government, because that’s just abusive.”
I laugh. “You get used to a lot of abuse in the military.”
The pancakes are perfectly delicious, like the bacon, and I am so glad she said no to the diner. I was too sleepy to realize it would have been dumb to take her there. What would Katie say about me bringing a girl there? I’m not thinking straight. She wore me out.
Stella asks, “What do you have on tap for the day?”
I look at the clock on the stove and sigh, “Well, I’m late for work, but it’s a volunteer job, so I doubt they’ll fire me.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a firefighter.”
She bites her bottom lip for a flash, then says, “Oh?”
“Almost since I moved here. When I bought the farm, I found myself with time on my hands. I don’t keep animals, and many of the plants are native to Virginia, so most of what I do is reap the harvest, preserve what I can for winter, and make sure there aren’t any pests or other harmful situations. Sometimes I grow a crop or something, but most of the time, it’s pretty hands—off. I’m not the type to sit around, I like helping folk, and when the fire department asked for volunteers, I stepped up.”
She smiles, then her phone flashes. “God, sorry. I’m so used to eating alone, I have no manners…” Her brow furrows as she reads the text. Stella’s demeanor changes entirely. “You know Wes Jennings?”
Oh, shit. “Yeah, I do.”
“What the hell was this, Jordan? What did you take pity on the poor Witness Protection chick? Was last night a pity fu?—"
“Just wait a minute?—"
“No. Tell me what the hell this was. Am I your assignment, because I gotta say, nailing your assignment is not professional, and I’m going to raise holy hell about this. I will get you fired!”
“Stop, please, just put the phone down.” I gently push her phone hand down, and she lets me. Good sign. “I don’t work for Witness Protection. Wesisa friend of mine. I didn’t know you were one of his assignments until after we kissed last night. When I went to hit the head, I texted him to find out what was going on, because I kept hearing a hum in your house and noticed the cheap surveillance equipment in the cabinet. I knew it couldn’t be your stalker, because of the difference in quality, and that was the only other thing that made any sense.”
Her arms are crossed, and she’s madder than hell, but she says, “So, you were interested in me before you knew?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She slumps into her chair at the table and puts her head in her hands. I walk behind her and pat her back, but she flinches. “Please don’t.”
“Sorry. I don’t know what to do. You’re upset. And it’s my fault.”
“Of course, I’m upset! Jordan, you don’t understand, my life is complete bullshit right now, and it has been for three years. I am constantly stressed out, always afraid, permanently vulnerable, and then last night, I thought, ‘Gee, this hot guy is into me, and dammit, I deserve a treat, it’s been three years!’ and now I find out, I was not only physically naked with you, but you know my trauma too, and I don’t know you well enough to share that with you, so now I feel extra exposed, and I don’t like it!”
I take a deep breath and sit on the other side of the table. “When I was thirteen, I helped some older guys rob a house right before Christmas. We took everything, all their presents. There were little kids in that house, and we stole their Christmas. Every year for the past thirty years, I send those kids, well, now, grown adults, an anonymous present. I don’t know them, or anything like that. But I do keep track of them, so I can do that. I can’t make up for what I did. Every Christmas is special and if you take one away, you can’t get it back. Can’t fix it. Honestly, it eats away at me every year around this time.”
She shakes her head, confused. “Why did you tell me that?”
“Because now you know my worst secret. It seemed only fair.”
Tears well up in her eyes, and she tries to hide them away. “That’s your worst secret? You were a juvenile delinquent?”
“Well, yeah. I went into the Marines right after high school and stayed there until I retired a couple years back.”
Stella’s bitter laugh sends a chill up my back. “God, I wish that was my problem.”
“Wes didn’t tell me what happened to you, and you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. But if you want to unburden yourself, I’m listening.”
She says flatly, “You’re late for work.”
