Page 50 of Colton's Secret Weapon
With tears running down her cheeks, Dove looked over at him through their blur and asked, “Her name was Caroline?”
He nodded.
“My mother’s was, too.”
He nodded again. “I know.”
And she knew, too, right then and there, without a doubt, that she and Mitchell had been meant to connect, for however long either of them needed, and that no matter what happened between them, they’d remain deep, abiding friends for their earthly lifespan—and beyond.
For whatever reason, this uptight man who was nothing at all like her, was a soul mate.
Which meant, to her, he was sacred.
And when the day came that her father got old and passed, she wouldn’t be alone on earth.
Chapter 15
What in the hell was this woman doing to him?
Had he pissed off her angels somehow? Failed to see someone in need, to meet their need, and this was their way of getting even with him?
He’d heard Lakin talk about karma once. Some force of nature that supposedly acted as some kind of supernatural adding machine—keeping track of the good and bad you’d done, and dumping your fullest account on you. If you did good, you got good. If not, then watch out.
Not even wanting to get his temporary housemate started on that one, he kept the fact that he knew the term to himself as he led them both into the house.
But was starting to sweat a little as he was running through a tally of his good deeds and bad as he followed her down the hall to the kitchen.
He hadn’t made it past the time, in third grade, when he’d accidentally knocked a kid’s tooth out with a wildly thrown pitch and then laughed.
He hadn’t known yet that the kid was hurt. Hadn’t thought he’d thrown it that hard.
Third grade and he was already seeing how his account was going to look.
Dove had emptied the bag from lunch that she’d brought in with her and was rinsing the dirty bowls and silverware.
“I’ll get that,” he told her. Expecting an argument. Not sure he’d fight her on it, though he deeply needed his space to himself for the few minutes he was going to get that night.
Which was really why he was sweating.
It was going to be alongsix or eight hours.
“You go do whatever it is you do to get ready for bed, dress in whatever you have that is the most comfortable and nonrevealing, and we can head upstairs.”
Spinning so quickly she splashed water all over the floor, Mitchell had the inane thought that maybe the action was going to be a sin she’d need to pay for, too. “Upstairs?” she asked. And before he could explain added, “This is your way of saying you want to have sex?”
“Hell no!” He spoke with such force he almost spit. “You don’t know how to shoot. I do. There’s a serial killer on the loose. I’m charged with protecting you. You do the math.”
He had math on the brain. Karma addition.
Reasoning calculations.
“You want us to sleep in the same room.”
At least he knew she was good at adding things up. “Yes.”
She turned back to the dishes. Making quick work of them. Not arguing.
He was reassessing his karma situation—only slightly, but the lack of argument was a good thing—when she said, “You have condoms up there, just in case?”
