Page 117 of Defenders of Jawhara

She tipped her head to one side. “You really do have a white knight complex, don’t you? Is that the reason for the help? You’re going to bring in an army of contractors and fix the house? Then an army of doctors to fix Jason? Next, you’ll be fixing me? Is that the idea? And when you’re done, you can ride off into the sunset.”

“Isn’t it cowboys who ride off? Knights hang around for the barbequed dragon before they split.”

Bethany shook her head. “Nice. Make a joke about it. But I’ve got your number, Slade. Your work is your life, and that means a little boy like Jason would get the best money could buy—but forget about giving him your time. That’s another reason for you to be on my side about me adopting him. I’ve structured my work, my life, for him. I’ve been there for him when Tayra wasn’t. I’m Jason’s stability.”

Slade held up his hands. “Whoa, there, now who’s the cowboy? I’m not here to fight you.”

“Really? Then what are you here for?”

Slade pulled in a breath and let it out. He glanced at Bethany. She was staring up at him, her blue eyes bright. She was going to put two and two together, eventually. But he didn’t want to say anything. Not until he was certain. He shook his head and asked, “When’s Jason’s next doctor’s appointment? I’d like to be there to talk to the doc.”

9

Bethany knew when she was being brushed off. The fast change of topics made it clear—Slade didn’t want to talk about his reasons. She had no way to make him talk, so either she accepted the situation, or she threw him out. “Harry’s the local handyman. His number’s by the phone. You can call him to help you with fixing things up, but I’m not looking for a rebuild, so no contractors.” She started for the house. On the porch, she turned back. “Jason’s next appointment is next Thursday.” She headed inside.

She did what she usually did when she was upset—she lost herself in code. When she looked up, the house had gotten dark. She stretched. Her back popped. Shutting down the computer, she blinked. Usually, Jason came to break her out of her work—he knew to come talk to her if he was hungry or needed anything. She headed into the living room and found Slade sitting in front of a flat-screen TV hung on the wall. She blinked at it and at him, and then at the rest of the room.

“What happened to the living room?”

Slade had his bare feet up on a new coffee table made from varnished pine. The thick legs of the table—more pine—gave it a sturdy appeal. The old couch had been replaced by something in chocolate leather. A matching leather chair sat at a ninety-degree angle. The old TV was gone, along with the rest of the mismatched furniture that Tayra had scrounged up for the house.

Slade had been watching a baseball game with the sound turned low. He muted the brand new flat-screen TV and put his feet on the floor. Oh, there was a new throw rug—a nice big one in dark, soothing colors with a curly pattern. Bethany itched to pull off her shoes and dig her toes into it, but she wasn’t going to go for being bought.

She looked at Slade again. “When did this all get here? Did you ever think I might have liked things as they were?”

He didn’t seem at all embarrassed that he’d changed everything. “You like sagging couches? Come on, that was stuff Tayra bought used or found for free, I could tell that from the flowers all over everything. I went ahead and ordered a few things yesterday.”

“I could have done that.” She crossed her arms.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind. I get that.”

“And they got here today?” She groped her way to the overstuffed chair, sank into it, and bit back a groan. The smell of leather rose around her, and the cushions wrapped around her butt like a lover’s embrace. Okay, so she could get used to this. She looked at Slade. Damn him for being right so often.

He drank the last of his bottle of beer. “Yeah, they got here today. By the way, Jason’s in bed. We had the rest of the pizza for dinner, and he rooked me into a bedtime story, so I told him about having to extract a client from a drug lord in Bolivia.”

“What!” Bethany’s mouth dropped open. She snapped it closed.

Slade grinned. “Don’t worry. No shots fired. No one died. Well, if you don’t count the iguana that became dinner one night. It wasn’t a blood and guts story.”

She frowned at him. “Was it a true story?”

“Embellished. I threw in a little lost Incan treasure.”

“Incas? In Bolivia?”

“Yeah, Jason caught me on that one, too. He’s a smart kid.”

Bethany pushed up from the chair. “Did you save me any pizza?”

“One slice and a beer. Both in the fridge.”

She came back with the pizza on a plate, the beer open—a local microbrew she’d had before and liked—and sat on the couch next to Slade. She waved the beer at the TV. “How about a movie? Or are you married to that game?”

He handed her the remote. “You pick.”

She found a movie channel and glanced at Slade. “You installed cable, too?”

“Satellite.” He leaned back on the couch, arms stretched out along the back. He propped his feet back on the table, and she had to look. He had great feet—long and shapely, long toes, too. A white scar ran over the back of one foot. She wanted to ask about that as well as the one on his face, but it seemed like prying to her.

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