Page 42 of Rescued by the Single Dad

He grinned. “Exactly like a free-range chicken. No grain-fed, coop-kept chicks on this farm. Their yolks are bright orange.”

She did that sweet giggle again. “I think you’ve mixed up your metaphor, but I get it.”

He smiled and sighed. “I just love that she knows almost everyone on the island, so people are all looking out for her. She’s also growing up with her cousins. This was the kind of life my brothers and I wished we’d had growing up. So when we saw this property for sale, we poured everything we had into it to buy it.”

“Where are you originally from?”

“We moved around a lot. Our father was military, so we bounced around every few years as he rose in the ranks. I was born in Dallas, Texas, though. Then I enrolled in the marines at eighteen. Bennett, Dominic and Wyatt followed. Jagger’s the only one who’s never worn fatigues. He went to school for football. Full scholarship until he tore his ACL in his sophomore year. He finished his degree in psychology, though.”

“So you’re an army brat, and a veteran. Wow, I never would have pegged you for either.” Her smile dropped. “I didn’t mean that as an insult. I hope it didn’t come across like that. It’s just ... you can usually tell when someone has served. They have a way about them, and I don’t really get that from you.”

Clint wasn’t offended. He’d heard some variation of that from more than one person before. Yes, he liked things a certain way, was a bit of a perfectionist and had a healthy ego, but he and his brothers had all been raised by a wonderful mother who made sure they didn’t grow up to be arrogant men.

“There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance,” their mother used to say. “Learn the difference. Notice the difference in other people. Arrogance deters, confidence attracts. Be confident. Know your worth, but remain humble. That is how you will get ahead in the world. Confidence and humility.”

And all five of them carried her words of wisdom with them throughout life.

“I’m not offended,” he finally said. “I get it.”

God, it was so easy talking to her. He’d spilled his guts, and he hadn’t even planned on it. It just happened.

“What about you?” he asked. He’d done a bit of Googling of Brooke Barker since last night, but her Wikipedia page was heavily curated and stuck mainly to her professional career. There was very little in the way of her personal life, besides the fact that she’d been born in Missouri, and dated Flynn Howard until her “death.”

Her throat bobbed on a swallow, and she flashed a fake smile. “Not much to tell. Born and raised in St. Louis. I have a younger brother—Rocco, who lives in Brazil. I dated Flynn Howard. I’m an actor. That’s it.”

She shut him down.

Then she spun away from him to face the television. “Let’s watch some Sherlock Holmes. See if he and Lucy Liu can help us figure out who’s trying to kill me.”

Deflated, curious and confused, Clint nodded and reached for the remote and his phone.

Brooke was hiding something, and she’d hidden it so well, not even the internet knew about it.

Now the big question: was her secret trying to kill her?

CHAPTER EIGHT

After their Funky Peach Summer Sour, Clint opened up a Wild and Light Crisp Apple ale, and they enjoyed that as they devoured episode after episode of Elementary. Then he popped the cap on a Hippy Island Hibiscus IPA, and by that third beer she was in a blissful state of drunk drowsiness. Not that it took much to get her there since she rarely drank more than a glass or two of anything ever.

She was grateful that he didn’t press her about her family or her past life.

Besides her brother, she wasn’t in contact with anyone from St. Louis.

And she preferred it that way.

Her PR team was top-notch at keeping her past out of the tabloids, off the internet, and they squashed anything that even mentioned Brooke’s parents. Several cease and desist letters went out monthly, and so far, they’d worked.

But now that the world thought she was dead, would those letters and her PR team continue to work?

It was nearly midnight when Clint rebandaged her feet, putting the ointment on first, then gallantly carried her up the stairs to bed. He waited for her to brush her teeth, wash her face and use the bathroom, then he set her down as if she were made of porcelain on the guest bed. In her slightly beer-tipsy state, she half expected him to lean down and kiss her forehead. Though she probably would have grabbed him by the collar and brought his mouth to hers instead.

But he didn’t.

He set her down, wished her goodnight, and retreated to his own room. Leaving her in her bed, sexually frustrated, more than a little buzzed and confused about life.

She slept through the Monday morning noise of Talia getting ready for school, and didn’t wake up until she heard Clint climb the stairs. Then, like some kind of invalid, she called out to him.

He knocked on her bedroom door.

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