Page 20 of Guarded from Sabotage

Once the last bandage is applied, I sit back and give my attempt at first aid a critical look. It looks much better than before, but I still hate what the crisp white bandages are covering.

It never should have happened. Sarah should have been able to walk safely to her car. She should be home, snuggled on her couch reading or watching a movie.

Did I make a huge mistake by assuming she wasn’t in danger? We discussed it as a team, and nothing indicated a physical risk. Not like this.

It could be random. A terrible coincidence. A would-be criminal passes by, sees a woman alone, seemingly distracted, and he decides she’s an easy target. Sarah would have been flustered by the disappearance of her car and not fully aware of her surroundings.

But what if it wasn’t random?

I have to talk to the team about it. We need to decide what other precautions to take. Extra security at her apartment, an escort to work and back, possibly a pair of earrings with trackers in them…

“Dante?”

“Yeah?” Tucking those thoughts away for a later time, I meet Sarah’s questioning gaze. “What is it?”

“Well.” A touch of color pinks her cheeks. “You mentioned something about food? And I didn’t think I could eat before, but maybe… if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Absolutely.” Smiling at her, I rise to my feet. “I can absolutely make something to eat. What would you like?”

“Anything would be good. Just something simple. Or if you don’t want to cook, I could…” Sarah trails off and glances down at her bandaged hands. “I could heat up soup,” she offers. “Or make sandwiches.”

“Soup? Sandwiches?” I shake my head at her in mock-admonition. “As if I’d let you cook when you’re hurt. And the least I can do is make you something good. I can whip up a quick Bolognese, or stuffed manicotti, or if you really want soup, I can throw together a pasta fagioli. Does any of that sound good to you?”

“Dante!” A smile brightens her face, chasing away some of the lingering shadows of pain and fear. “Those sound amazing. But you don’t have to make some big thing…”

“It’s not. I promise. Remember, I like cooking. And nothing would make me happier than making you something you’ll enjoy.” Gesturing across the open living room towards the kitchen with my chin, I add, “I can cook while you relax on the couch with some ice packs. And you can tell me about those sappy books and movies you mentioned at the wedding. I still don’t quite understand why people want to read something that makes them cry. But maybe if you explain it to me… How does that sound?”

Her eyes fill with emotion, but it’s not sadness this time. The look she gives me is soft and full of affection. “I’d love that, Dante. It sounds perfect.”

And it does feel pretty damn perfect.

Well, aside from having to swallow my anger again when I saw the large boot print on the back of her shirt. But once I gave her one of my old Army T-shirts to wear, she looked so cute in it, it was impossible to stay mad. She came out of the bathroom laughing, saying it looked more like a dress than a shirt, but honestly, I think she looks great in it.

Then, while I chopped the vegetables and Sarah iced her knees, we talked about those sappy books and movies she likes so much. I remember her telling me about them at the wedding, and how Hanna thought she was crazy forwantingto cry.

“It’s not like that,” Sarah explained earnestly, her eyes following my movements as she watched me from the couch. “It’s more like… if I cry at a book or movie, it really meant something to me. And it doesn’t have to be sad. A lot of times, I cry at the end of a book because I’m happy.”

I’m still not sure I understand, but if Sarah likes it, who am I to argue?

Once I moved on to browning the beef, she started asking me about all the decorations she could see—the throw pillows and hand-poured candles and the framed photos of my family and friends. I told Sarah how my mom sent me something new every month, insisting that even if I was single, my apartment needed a woman’s touch.

“It looks nice,” Sarah said thoughtfully. “Really cozy. I like it a lot.”

I hadn’t really thought about the decor much before, but now? I think I owe my mom a big thanks.

Over dinner, we talked about some of the artifacts I have displayed around the living room—small cannonballs and bullet molds and even a bayonet—all from famous battle locations like Saratoga and Fort William Henry.

“It was something I got into with my dad,” I explained. “We’d drive upstate and meet with sellers who had found items on their private property. If it was an actual battle site, the items were protected. But a lot of stuff was found in the surrounding areas, and that’s what we’d collect.”

“Do you still?” Sarah asked, leaning forward across the dining room table, her hazel eyes wide with interest. “Growing up in Lake George, I always heard about the battles, but I haveto admit I never visited Fort William Henry. I should go, though. Next time I’m in New York.”

I almost said we should go together, but that would be crazy.

Still, I like the idea of it. Visiting Lake George with Sarah, seeing all the places she used to spend time growing up, and touring the fort together.

I’ve never felt this drawn to someone before. It’s like there was a tiny flame of interest when I met her, but I had to stifle it. No matter how much I liked Sarah, she was taken.

Now that she’s single; not just single, but trusting me to take care of her, eating dinner with me in my apartment, wearing my shirt, gifting me with genuine smiles after such a terrible experience…

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