Page 13 of The Widow's Dom

“I thought you did other things there.”

“I was a soldier for six years, and then I went private sector.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

He paused for a moment. “It’s when we get supplies that men and women need and help train the people to use certain weapons and defend themselves.”

“Were you ever hurt?” she asked softly.

“A few times but nothing serious enough to send me back to the States.”

The thought of him in pain made her feel ill.

“I should leave,” he said.

As much as she wanted him to stay, it was too early for that. She nodded.

He kissed the back of her head, squeezed her hand, and released her. “Thank you for the meal. It was wonderful.”

She turned when he was at the door. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Where’s your phone?”

Her brows pinched together. “Why?”

“I want to put my number in it, so if you need anything, you’ll be able to call me. I know your son is close, but still too far to hear you if you scream.”

“I’m fine. I’ve got my guard dog and my nine-millimeter gun.”

She could tell he didn’t like that answer when he stiffened.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Of course. I taught myself because I wanted to be able to defend my family.”

His brows rose. “What did your husband think of that?” Nick asked.

“He was fine. He liked the idea of one of us knowing how to use it, and he was afraid of them.” She lifted her chin when he shook his head. “Not your problem, Nick.”

He smirked. “I think we’re both aware I want to make you my problem, little squirrel.”

“That doesn’t mean I agree.”

“We’ll work on that. Lock the door behind me.”

She almost rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

He grinned at her. “You have no idea how much I like hearing that from you.” He closed the door and walked away.

She watched out the window as he got in his truck and drove away. She locked the door, grabbed her wineglass and bottle, and took it into the family room. She got comfortable on the sofa with her blanket over her lap and a glass of wine in her hand.

Janessa wanted to question why she felt lonelier at that moment than after her husband died. It’s a question she would ask herself a few times and not get an answer.

She pulled the phone out of her pocket when it beeped telling her she had a text.

It was Nick:I got your number from your son. Now you have mine. Goodnight, little squirrel.

Tears filled her eyes. Here was this man she hardly knew, and he worried about her and cared for her better than anyone else ever had. It made her feel a little overwhelmed. The only word she could think of to describe it was “cherished.”

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