Page 24 of Cowboy SEAL Homecoming

“I’ll be right back out with that.”

“Excellent.” There was something predatory in Sandra’s expression that continued to poke at Alex’s unease. “Let’s sit, gentlemen.”

He exchanged a look with Gabe, who didn’t look quite so amused as he had five minutes ago. Yeah, this was weird.

Sandra settled herself on a chair, and he and Gabe sat on the couch, with Jack in the chair across from Sandra. “The three of you are living in a house with my daughter. I think that gives us much to discuss.” Though she spoke to the three of them, her gaze honed in on Alex.

“Only until we get the bunkhouse settled,” he returned coolly and evenly.

“And when will that be?”

“As soon as we’re able. But regardless of the time it takes, there’s certainly nothing for you to be concerned about.”

“Nothing to be concerned about?” Sandra made a sound, something like a laugh or a scoff that rubbed Alex the wrong way. “My daughter is an innocent, sheltered young woman. Alex, I know you’re a good man. I wouldn’t have agreed to give Becca her living space if I didn’t believe that. So I need you to understand I’m entrusting you to make sure nothing hurts my daughter.”

“I have no intention of hurting your daughter.”

“Burt had no intention of leaving us, but things happen. I don’t care about intentions. I care about results. But above all else, I care about my daughter. Her safety and well-being and health. I want make sure all three of you understand I hold you personally responsible for anything that happens to Becca while you are living under the same roof.”

Alex had a few retorts for that, but he tried to keep them to himself. This was Becca’s mother and his father’s widow, and it would be best and fairest if he bit back his irritation. Still, Becca was a grown woman, in charge of her own well-being and happiness. Didn’t he have enough to worry about with Gabe and Jack and this business? Becca was not his responsibility.

He’d been telling himself that for days now, and he wouldn’t let Sandra derail his determination not to take another person under his care.

So as kindly as he could manage, Alex smiled. “Noted.”

Becca returned and everything about Sandra’s posture and expression softened. Alex didn’t understand this dynamic at all. He didn’t care for that feeling of being out of the loop.

He looked at Becca, who was timidly serving them all lemonade, and it bothered him—no matter how much he didn’t want it to—that her shy discomfort was back.

She wasn’t his responsibility—she wasn’t—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to figure this whole thing out.

* * *

Dinner was exhausting. Becca had known it would be, but it was even worse than she’d anticipated. Trying to lead her mother away from comments about her health or her ability to take care of herself required second-to-second diligence.

Then there was dealing with three men she didn’t know all that well interacting with her mother, on top of getting used to interacting with them herself. Becca didn’t know how to navigate those waters. This was all so much.

By the time she ushered her mom to her car and watched her drive away, it was nearly ten o’clock and Becca was completely and utterly beat.

But as she walked back up to the porch, she didn’t immediately head inside. She sank into the little rocking chair her mother had always used in the evenings. Burt and her mom would sit out here every night that was warm enough and watch the sunset, talking comfortably, happily—always after her mom had told her to go inside and stay warm.

Becca missed those days acutely. She’d always wondered if she’d ever have anything like that. She still did.

She rocked back and forth, watching the big, starry sky above. She could have drifted off right here, even though it was freezing. Instead, she eyed the moon, counted the stars, breathed in the icy spring night.

When the door opened and Alex stepped out, she didn’t have the energy to be surprised or uncomfortable.

“That was quite an evening,” he offered into the quiet night.

“I told you it would be.”

“That you did.” He sank into his father’s chair. Not a cushioned rocking chair like hers, but a hard, straight-backed wooden piece. It had been a surprise to her over the course of living here that a man like Burt, hard and tough in everything he did down to the chair he sat on, had so much softness inside of him. She wondered if Alex might have the same thing. Which shouldn’t—didn’t—matter one way or another.

“Your mother is a little different than I remembered.”

“You were never around much.”

“True, but as I was sitting at that table with the both of you, I realized neither were you. Whenever I was home, you were scarce.”

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