Page 12 of Keeping Guard
“Not likely. Why don’t you take a shower while I’m gone? I’ll give you a clean T-shirt to put on.”
“Thank you, that would be really nice.” She was past ready to get the stupid corset off.
“What would you like for dinner?”
“I’m not picky. Anything you feel like having. Something easy like sandwiches, maybe?”
“Copy that,” he said, then disappeared down the hallway. A few minutes later, he returned. “I put some stuff on the bathroom counter for you to wear. I’ll pick you up a toothbrush. Anything else you need?”
A whole list of things—including some clean underwear—but she didn’t think he’d be appreciative of that request. She narrowed it down to the two most important. “A brush and deodorant. Any feminine brand is fine.”
He nodded, then headed for the door.
“Noah.”
“Yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Thank you. For everything.”
He dipped his chin, then as he left, she could have sworn he muttered something about remembering the glue.
“Well, Lucky, it’s just you and me now. What’s your story?” The dog gave her a pitiful look, then went to the door Noah had walked out of and stared at it as if willing the man to return. “He does kind of grow on you, doesn’t he?”
Since Lucky refused to tell her Noah’s secrets, she headed for the bathroom. Noah’s duffel bag was still open on the bed. She was sorely tempted to peek at the contents, see if there were clues to the man. “You will not snoop,” she admonished herself.
In the bathroom, she found the T-shirt he’d said he’d left her, along with a pair of sweatpants. The man was a mystery, all right. She’d been wallowing in her own misery and buzzing on champagne, and she hadn’t paid all that much attention when he’d revealed some things about him that she’d wager he hadn’t meant to.
As she showered, she tried to remember their conversation, and she sucked in a breath as his words came back to her. He’d said his father had killed his mother, right? He must have. That wasn’t something she could make up off the top of her head.
How old had he been? Surely, his father had gone to prison for that. What had happened to Noah? She wanted to know everything about him, but she sensed that it would be easier to pull his teeth out than to get him to share his life story.
She dried off, glared at the corset that she’d hoped would make Dalton—no, make Dumb Groom look at her as if she was the most desirable woman he’d ever seen. That had been a foolish longing. She knew that now.
“There. That’s where you belong, you piece of cow dung.” She dropped the hated corset in the wastebasket, along with her dreams.
If she let herself think about the one thing she’d lost that did matter, she’d crumple to the floor, so she took Noah’s advice and sucked it up. Maybe she’d find a job with a competitive brewery. Wouldn’t that get her father’s goat?
She pulled Noah’s sweatpants up to her waist. When she let go, they fell down. Maybe he had a belt in his duffel bag. He would understand her rifling through his stuff to find something that would keep her from flashing her bottom, wouldn’t he?
She found a belt, and she also found a small framed photo of a pretty woman and a boy she guessed was around seven or eight. She recognized the boy right away.Oh, Noah. What a cutie you were.
“Can I help you find something?”
Startled, she dropped the photo, then faced Noah. He stood in the middle of the doorway, his hands stuffed inside his jeans pockets. A storm brewed in his eyes as his gaze shifted from her to the photo that had landed on the bed instead of in his duffel bag and then his gaze settled back on her.
“Um...” She grabbed the waist of the sweatpants that had already drooped halfway down her bottom and pulled them back up. “I wasn’t snooping. I swear.” Okay, maybe a little. She glanced down. “They won’t stay up, so I thought maybe you had a belt I could borrow.”
And how old were you when you lost your mother? What happened to you after that? Oh, and one last question. I could use a hero. Will you accept the job?
Without a word, he strode to the bed, snatched his bag and the photo away from her prying eyes. He reached into the duffel bag, pulled out a belt, handed it to her, tossed his bag into the closet, and then shut the door. The photo he kept clutched in his hand.
Message received. Don’t snoop. What she would never tell him was that her heart was breaking for the boy who’d lost his mother in the most horrible way. She had only known him for one day, but what she did know was that he’d hate her pity.
He left, again without a word, and when he returned, she was still frozen in place, wishing with all her heart that she hadn’t abused his trust. Because she had. Her excuse of looking for a belt was merely to give her permission to snoop through his belongings.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Not replying, he tossed a plastic bag on the bed, then left again, Lucky trailing in his wake. Even the dog had given her a look of disappointment. She wished she could hide, but that would just make her a coward, so she pulled up the sweatpants, and as she put on the belt, she realized that they had a drawstring, and she didn’t need a belt. That only made her feel worse.
