Page 6 of Defending What is Mine

Maybe.

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Sam: Then—August

I wake up early, as per my routine, and slip downstairs to start a pot of coffee brewing. Before my foot lands on the first step, the heavenly aroma of caffeinated goodness wafts up from the kitchen, catching my attention by the nose.

The sun is barely up, who on earth would be awake already? And with enough time to make coffee?

I tiptoe downstairs and discover a still steaming, almost full pot and three freshly washed mugs set upside down to dry on a towel beside the coffee maker.

I happily pour myself a cup and check to see if the fridge is cool enough to move the groceries out of the coolers while I try to decide who to thank for their effort.

Mollie?She’s thoughtful enough, but if she doesn’t have the early shift, she’s never up before me.

Hank?Good guy—heart of gold—but nothing about this strikes me as his style.

Jack?Military man, always put together, seems to have his head on straight. I’d say that puts him in the lead.

When I open the door and find the refrigerator fully stocked with our supplies, I know it could only have been Jack. You, sir, just scored major points in my book.

I glance around the cabin. “But where is he?” I whisper to myself.

Coffee in hand, I stroll to the window to check out the view as the morning sun begins to stretch over the horizon. When I look out, I find Jack sitting on the porch, sipping from his cup, also enjoying the view.

I crack the door and poke my head out. “Morning. Thanks so much for the coffee. Would it be a distraction if I join you?”

Jack smiles warmly and nods at the empty chair beside him. “Help yourself.”

I step outside and carefully pull the door closed. I have every intention of remaining quiet as a mouse. Seems like the least I could do…allowing the man space to enjoy his coffee while he eases himself into the day. I do, however, interrupt his peace to thank him—again—for his help with Mollie. And once more to thank him for letting us use the cabin for the weekend. So maybe it’s my fault for breaking the silence, but the second the small talk drifts to what it’s like as an officer in the Army, his eyes light up and he begins chattering away.

“Are you nervous?” I ask. “Knowing you’ll leave again soon. And that you’re going back to a warzone.”

Jack stares at me blankly. “Well, I wasn’t.”

Embarrassment consumes me whole.

“Kidding. Only kidding,” he says with a laugh that brightens the already beautiful morning. “No, to tell the truth, I don’t think much about it. Being there is so different than being here. When I’m home, I take off the uniform and slide on my cowboy boots. After that…the world changes. I fall back into being the second youngest Wilde—or as I like to think of it, the fifth oldest.” Jack leans across the arm of his chair, shrinking the space between us, and hitting me with a whiff of his cologne. Delicious. “If I’m completely honest,” he whispers. “This trip, it’s Colorado that feels foreign.”

As Jack rambles on about his plans for the future, I find myself lost in the sound of his voice. The passion he exudes as he tries to explain how being promoted to Major usually takes ten years and his plan to do it in eight. The way he describes the responsibility he feels for his men as a leader. How he worries about their safety because he’s the one ordering them into danger.

It’s a nice thing, having an adult conversation. I mean, any conversation with an adult feels like a treat at times, but a real, honest, bare your soul to another, kind of talk? It’s how I imagine it must feel when lifelong friends catch up after years apart. There’s no awkward silence, no embarrassment, just good, fluid conversation.

There are so many questions I want to ask. What about settling down? Don’t you see yourself with a family someday? But before I know it an hour has passed and Vanessa’s at the door, rubbing her eyes and asking for breakfast. Thank goodness for that gap-toothed girl. Heaven knows I would’ve made a fool of myself eventually…if I haven’t already.

By the time Vanessa and I reach the kitchen I’m shaking my head, embarrassed for the way I acted with Jack. Did I really have to giggle so much? And my God, why did I touch his leg? I could’ve just laughed at his joke. That would’ve been sufficient. My cheeks burn hot. I will absolutely never be able to look him in the eyes again.

Desperate for a distraction, I turn my attention to Nessa. “What’ll it be, eggs? French toast?”

She looks up with a yawn and then a smile. “Yes, please.”

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