Page 90 of Tell Me Something True

While she wasn’t sure she’d ever be anything other than broken.

“What are you a guardian of?”

At the question, Tabitha startled and jerked her head around to see Ian staring at her from the other side of the railing. The kid was stealthy, she’d give him that.

Or else she’d just been too wrapped up in her thoughts of Miles to hear the sliding glass door open.

She stood, then crossed to the railing with a smile. Her grin grew as she got closer and noted his messy hair, complete with several blades of grass stuck in the strands above his left ear and the smudge of dirt or chocolate, or a combination of both, on his chin. He wore a different shirt than the one he’d had on earlier, this one proclaiming either he or the shirt or both—it was unclear—as property of The Oklahoma Drillers, and sporting a purple stain mid chest. He had a scrape on his right knee that hadn’t been there at lunch, and for some reason, he was only wearing one sock.

No shoes. Just one bare foot and one socked one.

He must’ve had one heck of a day since she’d seen him at lunch.

“Hello, there,” she said. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your question.”

“I askeded what you’re a guardian of.”

“A guardian?”

“Uncle Miles said you were a guardian, but he didn’t say what you guarded. My dad guards stuff cuz he’s a SEAL. And Uncle Miles guards stuff cuz he’s a police officer. Are you a police officer, too?”

“No,” she said, slowly, still trying to figure out what Miles had said about her and why.

Thinking she might be better off not knowing the answer.

“But I do help police officers help people,” she continued.

A gorgeous brunette a few years younger than Tabitha, and obviously Ian’s mother, stepped onto the deck from her apartment. “Uncle Miles didn’t say she was a guardian.” But even though she was still talking to Ian, she looked at Tabitha when she went on, as if making sure her message was conveyed to the right person. “He said she was guarded.”

Tabitha rubbed a hand over her chest right where it felt like she’d been stabbed with a pointy stick.

Ouch.

“I’m not tired,” Ian blurted out, though no one had asked.

And then he blew his whole charade by yawning so wide and so long, his eyes watered.

“I can see that,” his mom said as Tabitha hid her own yawn behind her hand because those things were contagious. “But you are filthy so I’m going to need you to hop in the shower.”

Scratching at a bug bite on his forearm, he stared up at his mom. “Do I have to wash my hair?”

She reached out and picked the grass from his hair. “Yep.”

“But I just washed it yesterday.”

“You did. And today you somehow got syrup in it even though it’s not even close to your mouth, were rolling around in the grass and, from what I hear, you used some strange dog as a pillow. Not to mention your wrestling match with Bella the moment we got to your uncle’s house. So, you’ll wash it again tonight.”

“Fine,” he said morosely, a boy beaten down by his mother’s unreasonable demands for cleanliness and proper hygiene. “But I won’t like it.”

“Your feelings on the subject have been noted and I appreciate you being honest about them.” She crossed her arms and inclined her head toward the door. “Now go.”

He sighed, then made it two slow, dragging steps away before stopping and blinking up at Tabitha. “Can we play Spit again tomorrow?”

Now it was Tabitha’s turn to shoot a glance at his mother, but she wasn’t giving anything away about how she felt about her new adult neighbor playing cards with her son. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“We could play after you’re done,” he said.

“I’m not sure when that’ll be. Why don’t we play it by ear?”

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