Page 79 of Bad Girls Don't Marry Marines (Rock Canyon, Idaho 3)

Smacking his arm, she pushed past him. “You aren’t funny.”

“No, what’s funny is my best friend’s wife screeching at me for not telling her I was seeing you. Now she wants to meet you officially.”

Stephanie Brown wanted to get to know her? “When?”

He helped her up into the truck and squeezed her knee. “I don’t know. There’s no rush, though.”

Twenty minutes later, they pulled off onto the Silvertons’ bumpy dirt road, past the homemade SILVERTON FARMS sign.

“I love this road.”

He laughed. “You do?”

“Yep. When I need to burn off steam or just get some perspective, I go out to the hills across the bridge and do some off-roading.”

“I never would have pegged you for a girl who likes going mudding.”

“I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she teased.

Val hopped out of Justin’s truck when it finally stopped, smiling as she approached the two-story farmhouse. “So, what’s for dinner, anyway?”

Justin came around and took her hand. “Probably meat and potatoes. You know how we men are.”

Val looked out over the acres of farmland from the wraparound porch as he opened the door for her. “This is beautiful.”

“Tell my dad that and he’ll love you forever.”

Val stepped into the parlor and looked over at the walls of pictures, some more than twenty years old.

“Well, hey, there she is.”

Val turned with a smile as Fred came around the corner and gave her a big hug, pulling back just enough to keep his arm around her waist.

“She is such a pretty little thing, Justin. You take care of this one, you hear?”

“Will do, Dad.”

Val raised an eyebrow and mouthed this one?

He made the sign for crazy against the side of his head, and Val let Justin’s dad lead her into the kitchen where Everett stood in front of the stove with a black apron tied around his waist.

“The guest of honor has arrived. Come over here and try my sauce. I made homemade pasta. Tell me what you really think,” Everett said.

Justin shook his head, but she ignored him, breaking his father’s hold to stand next to Everett. Opening her mouth, she tasted the end of the spoon he held out to her, and the tangy tomato sauce made her lick her lips and hum appreciatively.

“That’s delicious. I thought meat and potatoes were on the menu.”

“Nope, we have fresh pasta and salad and garlic bread,” Everett said with a smile.

“Yummy; I’m impressed. Can you make fresh pasta?” Val asked Justin as she picked up a couple of plates from the counter with the intention of setting the table, but Justin grabbed them from her.

“You’re a guest. Go sit down and watch football with Dad while I help out in here,” Justin ordered before kissing her cheek. “And no, I can’t make homemade pasta.”

“Where did you learn how to make it, then?” she asked Everett, wondering why the room had descended into tense silence.

What had she said?

Everett cleared his throat but answered her. “My ex-wife’s family was Italian. She taught me.”

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