Page 10 of A Veteran's Desire

HANNAH

Later that night, I’m at the dinner table with Abby to my left, next to Pops, and Sawyer’s empty seat to my right.

“We should have sold the farm while we had the chance.” Rachel hands me the mashed potatoes, and I spoon a portion onto my plate before passing them to Abby.

“We can’t possibly consider selling now. Not now that we’ve been threatened,” I add.

“We don’t know that.” Rachel stabs a sausage with a fork and attacks it with her knife, cutting it into bite-sized pieces.

“Come to the dinner table!” she hollers at her son, then resumes our conversation without missing a beat. “The police report isn’t conclusive. It could have been the storm.”

With Sawyer’s sausage dealt with, she turns to Liam on her other side and spears his sausage.

“No!” Liam pulls a grumpy five-year-old face and grabs the sausage. “I want a hot dog.”

I pass Rachel the plate of bread, and she slaps a slice on Liam’s plate.

“The insurance payout is more straightforward if it’s storm damage. If it was intentional, then they’ll do their own investigation, and if they think one of us did it…”

“What? Why would they think that?” I pour gravy on my potatoes and pass the gravy boat to Abby.

“I’m just saying—Sawyer, dinner, now!—insurance companies will look for any excuse not to pay out. If they think we vandalized our own business, they could deny the claim.” She shrugs. “It sucks, but it happens.”

Sawyer comes barreling into the dining room, his curly hair bouncing wildly.

“There’s a man outside.”

The words steal the air from my lungs. Across the table, Rachel’s face drains of color, mirroring my own fear.

Pops shoves back his chair. “Get the shotgun.”

I grab a rolling pin from the kitchen on my way to the window. My heart’s racing as I lean over the back of the couch and peel the curtain back.

The yard is dark, the only light trickling out from the windows of the house. The kids’ play set casts a deep shadow, big enough for a man to hide behind.

“Where did you see him?” I ask Sawyer.

“In the car.”

My gaze darts to the driveway and sure enough. Parked where the drive curves so it’s parallel to the road is the dark shape of a pickup. In the front seat is the shape of a man, a large man, whose profile I’d recognize anywhere.

“Grant.”

I slide off the couch and put the rolling pin back on the kitchen counter. The kids are peering out the window, and Rachel shoos them back to the table.

“Who’s Grant?” Pops has his shotgun in one hand and a box of shells in the other, which he’s trying to load with shaking fingers.

“He’s my…” bodyguard, hot soldier, the man with the big hands I want to feel on me? “…friend,” I choose.

Rachel snorts and Pops, sharp as ever, glances at her and then to me.

“He your boyfriend?” he asks.

“No.” Heat surges up my neck, and I head to the kitchen for a glass of water so no one sees my blush.

“Then what’s he doing on my property?” Pops finally slides a shell into the chamber, and Abby makes a move to get it off him. He ignores her efforts.

“He’s her bodyguard,” Rachel chimes in. “He’s sworn to protect us all since the cafe got vandalized.”