Page 9 of Bossy Hero

Passion.

Loyalty.

Regret. A lot of it.

They all blend into a colorful tapestry behind her eyes, only for me to see.

I’m socked in the stomach with more of that fiery need to protect her. It’s an instinct, one I can barely suppress. The intensity is jarring and unnerving. Not only do I see her, but I feel her too. The emotions she’s battling echo in my chest.

I fight the urge to falter a step backward to escape the magnitude of her presence. Yet I hold firm.

Even when my windpipe tightens and I wonder if I’ll have to gasp for air, I simply stand here. Silent. Looking into the soul of a woman I’m never going to get out of my mind.

Never.

Dammit. I did not see this coming.

I can’t predict the future. I’m not a psychic. Well, not in the traditional way.

But I know people. I can see them. Their intentions. Their spirit. And their strength.

This woman—for all she’s suffered—has the strength of a grizzly bear. She just needs someone to set it free.

For some reason I can’t explain, I want to be the one to do it. I wonder if I could. And, more importantly, would she let me?

If not, maybe she’ll at least let me protect her.

Only one way to find out.

Blinking out of our all-consuming connection, I clear my throat and recenter myself with a deep breath. Turning to Leo, I ask, “What’s the plan?”

“She needs a place to hide out for a few days while she makes arrangements for a new place. My father was arrested this time, and she fled the house when she heard he made bail. She needs?—”

Madeline cuts him off with a sharp look. Stepping forward, she angles her head to eye down her son despite being a fraction of his size. “Leo, please don’t talk about me like I’m not here. I may be a wreck right now, but I can still speak for myself.”

There it is. The grizzly dying to break free.

Glancing at me, she turns her face to shield her stitches from my view. “Sir, would it be possible for my son to have a week or so of leave to return to Maine with me to help me get settled?”

“I’ll have to talk to our CO in the morning, but we might be able to get some emergency leave approved. And please, call me Big Al.”

She laughs at that, loud and joyously. Like I told a funny joke. Guess I missed the punch line.

“What’s so funny?” I ask once she grows silent.

“There’s no way I’m calling you that. Not a chance.” Still wearing an enchanting smile, she asks her son, “Alan? Alex? Alfred? What’s Al short for?”

A grimace passes over his face, making me wonder if he ordered the chocolate shake with the spoiled milk. “Ma, I don’t think...” A groan replaces the rest of his sentence when he sees he’s not getting away with a non-answer. “Alan.”

He’s gonna pay for that. The rat.

Not that I can blame him. I strongly suspect it’s hard for most people to deny Madeline Mason.

For fuck’s sake, evenIwas about to confess.

“Alan,” she whispers, mostly to herself, raising her chin with a hint of pride for her slight victory.

She clearly needs a win if getting my real name out of him makes her light up that brightly.

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