Page 8 of Cowboy SEAL Homecoming

Chapter 3

After dinner Becca insisted on cleaning up. She’d shooed the three of them out of the kitchen, and now Alex stood in the living room of his youth at a loss.

It was an incredibly surreal thing to have eaten dinner at the kitchen table of his childhood and not have his father there. It was beyond awkward to have a woman he barely knew doing their dinner dishes in the place his mother had once stood.

Even after dinner, he didn’t have a better read on Becca. She was skittish, that was for sure, and maybe that was reasonable, but it seemed…over the top. He stared at her back, trying to work through the puzzle as she washed.

But no matter that his mother had once done the same thing in the same place—he only saw Becca. She had a slim frame and her hair was a riot of different shades of brown and red all braided together. She had her shoulders hunched over the sink as if she could block out the world.

If only he could figure out why.

He blew out a breath and turned his attention to Gabe and Jack. They were sprawled out in the living room, Jack flipping through the channels on the TV and Gabe scrolling through something on his phone. The dogs curled up on the rugs on the floor, seemingly happy with a little company.

Alex had enough responsibility to deal with before he figured Becca out, so that’s what he needed to focus on.

He strode back to the entryway where he’d left his bag. Though he’d instructed Gabe and Jack on what rooms to take, he hadn’t ventured to his own room yet. He’d needed some time to gear up to stepping foot into his childhood bedroom. He needed time to brace himself for the onslaught of memories that would be found there.

Alex grabbed his binder that kept his meticulously organized business notes and returned to the living room. The room was different than he remembered. He had memories of clean, gleaming dark woods and furniture and blankets in shades of tan and brown.

Now, it was colorful and cluttered, two things his father had never cared for. Even when his mother had been alive, there hadn’t been knickknacks or stained glass or vases littering every surface.

Which meant this was likely Becca’s mother’s influence on the house, or maybe even Becca’s.

He’d have been lying if he’d pretended it didn’t bother him a little bit. It shouldn’t have—he knew it shouldn’t have. Still, it grated along his nerves.

Another thing to shove away for the time being. He had a foundation to get off the ground.

Alex plopped himself onto the couch and the binder onto the coffee table in front of him.

“Please, God, no,” Gabe said, pretending to recoil from the sight.

“Tomorrow is the first day of this new venture. We need to go over the plan.”

“Isn’t the plan to figure out what the hell we need to do to get the bunkhouse hospitable? That’s hardly binder worthy.”

Alex flipped to the schedules tab. “I’ve created a five-step plan for determining our next course of action with the bunkhouse.”

“Christ,” Jack muttered. “You’ve lost it, Maguire.”

Alex ignored the bubbling urge to refute Jack’s claim. An argument would hardly prove his point. He was fine. Being organized and prepared for each next step was hardly a reason for censure or concern.

“Alex. Just this one time—one time—couldn’t we play it by ear?”

Alex hated when Gabe used that reasonable, careful tone with him. Alex had been the first one to heal, which meant he was the one most removed from the accident and the lingering effects of it. Gabe didn’t have a right to be careful with him.

“You know as well as I do what playing it by ear gets you.”

“Hardly going to die here,” Jack returned, an edge to his voice Alex recognized. It was half of why Alex and Gabe had worked so hard to get Jack on board with their venture. Jack needed an extra dose of healing, but he was never going to take it.

Not unless it was under the guise of work.

“I think we need a plan.” Alex glanced back toward the kitchen. “Becca? When you’re done in there, can you come in here?”

There was a long pause before she offered an okay.

“She’s a jumpy little thing, isn’t she?” Gabe murmured. “What’s the story there?”

“Hell if I know,” Alex returned, his voice just as low so Becca couldn’t hear it in the kitchen. Alex focused on his binder. He’d spent the past year collecting information, making timetables, estimating cost and labor. Gabe and Jack had both been irritated with him for doing it in such detail, and for being so high-handed as to do it all himself.

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