Page 8 of Knocked Up in Alaska

Her full lips pulled into a wince. “My mother—”

“Has no say.” He made a one-handed “runner out” signal for emphasis. “Not her call. The Goose is my place. She can come in for a meal or a drink like always, or not, but that’s her only choice.”

“I don’t want to put you in the middle.”

“I’m volunteering to stand there.” He straightened, patted his chest. “I make a pretty good shield. A pretty good peacekeeper, too. I have experience being both.”

“Yeah, but you were armed to the teeth when you did those things.”

Now he felt his own lips lifting. “True, but I specialized in doing the job without resorting to weapons.”

She patted the side of her face. “My mother has a wicked bitch-slap.”

“Irrelevant in my case.” He skimmed his fingertips over her flawless cheek and wondered if he’d ever shake that sinking sense of helplessness that came from realizing he was too far away to intercede. “Rose is short. She can’t reach my face.”

Lilah’s shapely brows arched. “She might aim lower when it comes to you.”

Because she looked so troubled at the prospect of putting him in Rose’s crosshairs—worrying her lower lip between her teeth and staring up at him with uncertain eyes—he put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her against him. “I have a cup. I’m not afraid to wear it.” A weight in his chest lifted when she rested her head against his shoulder. One kept promise…a shoulder to lean on. “Rose will calm down eventually, and then she’ll need a way back to you. If you stay close, it will be easier for her to open the lines of communication when she’s ready.”

The shift of her head told him she looked at him. “What makes you so sure she’ll want to speak to me again someday? She’s very angry. Very disappointed in me.”

He met her gaze. “She loves you. Once she works through her shock and whatnot, that love will still be there.”

Lilah didn’t seem so sure, but he smiled and went on. “Look, you’ve seen your mom around babies, right? Strangers’ babies, friends’ babies—doesn’t matter. She loses her freaking mind. When her grandchild arrives, her walls will crumble like Jericho after the trumpets.” He had precisely one first-hand experience with this, but between that and his familiarity with Rose, he felt confident.

“You think?” Hope welled in her deep green eyes.

“I do. You know what else?”

“Uh-uh.”

“When you watch her with your kid, you won’t find a trace of the strict, hard-ass who raised you. You’ll ask yourself, ‘Who is this woman that thinks the littlest thing the baby does is genius, and answers even the tiniest, whiniest cry as if it came over the red-phone from the Oval Office, and imposes no discipline whatsoever?’”

Lilah laughed. “That will never happen. Not my mother.”

“I promise it will, provided you do one thing.”

“What thing?”

“Work at The Goose, so she doesn’t have to crawl too far to apologize and make up with you. It’s for Rose’s sake, really, if you think about it.”

She let out a gusty breath, and her shoulders sagged under his arm. Head down, she uttered a defeated, “Okay.”

Well, hell. He squeezed her shoulders again, in a “buck-up” gesture that annoyed him even as he did it and probably made her want to kick his ass. “It’s not forever. Consider it a bridge to keep you on the path you’re meant to travel.” One that might lead her out of Captivity, ultimately, and he’d simply have to deal with that. He’d learned early on not to hold onto things too tightly, and under no circumstances was she his to keep.

Her spine straightened immediately, and her shoulders squared. She looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry. I’m very grateful for the job, the place to stay tonight—everything—and I’m not conveying my gratitude well. My mother would be ashamed of me again. Trace and Izzy or Bridget and Archer would take me in, out of friendship, but also duty, and never mention that I’d be in the way. They’d take me on at the airfield. Charity, basically. You’re offering me a legitimate job, and I truly appreciate it.”

“But?” He heard it, silent and heavy between them.

“But nothing.” She shook her head and stepped back. “I’m thankful. Not sure how I’ll ever repay you.”

Yeah. That. Of all the feelings he might hope to evoke from Delilah Iquat someday, obligation wasn’t one of them. “You don’t owe me any kind of payback.” Fuck it. “I’m paying something forward, actually, by helping you. I’m the grateful one.”

Her expressive mouth turned down into a small frown of confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I know.” How would she? He preferred not to think too much about his past, much less discuss it, but he’d make an exception for her. “Why don’t I explain while I put together a meal?” Her birthday dinner hadn’t exactly panned out.

“I don’t think I could eat,” she demurred, with a hand to her stomach, “but I know my way around a kitchen. I can be useful and prepare something, and I can listen while I do it.”

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