Page 20 of Guarded Secrets
“I was making sure you were safe. Someone vandalized your car, remember? Maybe you were targeted. That means you could be in danger. You can’t fucking leave your house open.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all you have to say?” He was back with the scowls and growls.
“About that? Yes. I should have double-checked that I’d locked up last night. It was late, I was tired, and I must’ve forgotten. I’ll do better.” She took another sip of coffee. “That still doesn’t explain you being in my bedroom.”
“That’s where you were, so that’s where I went.” His expression shifted, and she had zero trouble reading exactly where his thoughts had gone because his eyes smoldered. Yes, smoldered.
Like they’d done when he’d leaned over her, caging her in with his hands fisted in her pillow. She’d open a window to let in the bracing mountain air if it wouldn’t give away that he’d gotten her hot with merely a look. “You have a sex dream about me, princess?”
Holy smokin’ moly. His already low voice had lowered to bedroom voice, the type of bedroom voice that whispered dirty, seductive words in the darkness.
He quirked a brow and she opened her mouth to reply. Reply what? She had no idea. The front door swung open and she was saved from having to answer.
Wearing a Van Morrison t-shirt and flannel pants, Bruce Montaigne walked slowly into the cottage. His hair was mostly gray and curled around his head in a halo. He’d lost the erect posture that’d always made him seem so tall when Keeley was a child.
“Hey, Dad. Where are your shoes?”
Bruce looked down at his feet, seemingly surprised to find them bare. “Breakfast?”
Keeley had noticed her dad not tracking conversations and using shorter sentences, another symptom of his disease. God, she wished she could stop time.
Bruce sat at the table. Before Keeley could push her plate in front of him, Owen was handing him the half of his English muffin he hadn’t eaten.
“Have some breakfast, Bruce.”
“Oorah, Marine.”
“Oorah, brother,” Owen responded.
Keeley grabbed her phone. “I’ll get you some socks.” She rushed to her bedroom. Sometimes her father’s condition hit her harder than others. This was one of those times.
She screwed her eyes tightly closed against the tears, leaning with her back against the wall while drawing in deep, shaky breaths. Wiping her eyes, she texted Abby to let her know Bruce was with her.
Socks in hand, she returned to the table. Owen gave her a searching look. He took the socks and held them up to her dad. “You do these yourself or you need help?”
Bruce raised his bare foot, chewing thoughtfully while Owen pulled the socks on for him, first one foot, then the other.
Damn it. Why did he have to be kind? Why couldn’t he stay grouchy and surly and be generally disagreeable so she could make progress on killing the crush? She needed grumpy Owen back, stat.
“You got back too late, young lady.”
Keeley raised a brow. She hadn’t heard that tone since she was a teenager.
“I’m working at Easy Money now, Dad. It closes at midnight, so I get home late.”
He shook his head. “Clock said two forty-two. I heard the car out front. Had my window open a crack. I like the air. I heard you walking around.”
“I was already home and asleep by two. I wasn’t walking around.”
“I heard you walking around.” Bruce’s tone turned bellicose. “I may be losing my mind, but I know what I heard.”
“It doesn’t matter, Dad.” There were so many things she hated about Alzheimer’s, but Bruce becoming combative was one she hated more than others.
“Bruce, you and I can look around. See if we find any footprints. If Keeley wasn’t walking around, it could’ve been someone else.”
“I’ll get his shoes.”
