Page 24 of Welker

Well shit.

She crossed her eyes. Apparently, her coat of steel had dropped, and she’d have a hard time stuffing her armored-identity back in. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing, but…

“Welk? I, uh, think you ought to get the door.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Welker snapped himself out of his trance.

Moira. Laughing.

She’d been good looking before; sour-pussed, in uniform, with her regulation braid firmly in place. But when she’d appeared in his kitchen with her hair down and swinging delightfully around her face, her body hugged by the clothing he’d given her, she’d taken her beauty to a new level. Nothing, however, had prepared him for how fucking gorgeous she was with all her barriers down, laughing.

“Uh, Vestore?” Moira prodded, coming to her feet, first. “The door?”

“Oh. Right,” he stated, but how could he simply walk away from this Moira? What if he came back, and she’d returned to the reticent woman with whom he’d become familiar? What if this Moira never showed herself again?

His feet refused to move as he stared at her.

But she suddenly looked…confused. “How did whoever is at the door get past your security measures?” she asked. “Welker?” she prodded again, clearly attempting to jolt him back into his right head.

Welker mentally shook himself; then gave his sorry ass a quick, internal pep-talk.

He had days and days with Moira to make her laugh again; untold hours to break down any doors she slammed closed. If he could get her to loosen up once, he’d be able to do it again. Right now, however…

“It has to be my sister. She has all the override codes and apps on her phone since she owns half the property,” Welker finally managed, slowly rising. “She and Sabira come here on the weekends to keep the projects moving. When I talked to her this morning, I told her to give us until later in the day, since we’d had a long night.”

The doorbell rang again, and Welker could almost hear the impatience in it.

“She’s, uh, a little excited to meet you, since she’s heard about you and the rest of the team, ad nauseum.” Welker wouldn’t let on that Moira’s name entered their conversations more often than any other. TMI.

Moira shook her head, losing some of her good humor. “You told her why I’m here, right?”

“Uh, she woke me up from a sound sleep,” he demurred. “I didn’t have the brainpower to explain.”

Moira rolled her eyes, then took the bull by the horns.

She left him stammering, strode through the kitchen and past the island which separated it from the living room, headed for the front door. Welker didn’t stop her. It was her funeral, and the sooner they got the introductions out of the way, the faster Callie’s nosiness could be assuaged.

Moira made fast work of the locks, and Welker wasn’t surprised. Even though she’d been dead tired and out-of-it when they’d come in last night, the canny woman had memorized his codes.

The door swung open to his smirking sister. Sabira, always the more reserved of the two, stood a few steps behind, looking apologetic.

“Hi,” Callie said brightly, her eyes taking Moira in from head to toe, obviously approving of what she saw. “I’m Callie Vestore, and this is my wife, Sabira.” She turned and drew the reluctant woman forward.

Moira stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Moira.”

“What a pretty name.” Callie took her hand and pumped it enthusiastically, as did Sabira, in turn.

Right, Welker scoffed. Be a suck-up, Callie. But what did he know? Maybe this new version of Moira liked being complimented, because Callie’s words had brought another real smile to his houseguest’s face.

“So, where’s that brother of mine?” Callie asked.

“Right here,” Welker called out, not moving from the kitchen. He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to see how Moira continued to fare with his outspoken sibling. “I was just making us breakfast.”

“At one in the afternoon?” Callie’s brows went up.

Welker grumbled. “I told you we had a long night, and didn’t get much sleep…” As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how they could be construed. “I mean… We were… It was…”

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