Page 7 of Sobek’s Joy

“Can we have snacks?” Rose asked, because of course she would. The kid had hollow legs.

“I’m sure you just had crackers.”

“But I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving, but I guess that’s a good thing, because it means you’re growing up to be healthy.” Rudy herded them back inside, closing the door against the humid Louisiana air. The living room looked like a war zone. Half the walls were a cheerful buttery yellow, while the other half still the dingy beige that had come with the house. Drop cloths covered the furniture, and paint supplies sat in a chaotic heap near the ladder he’d been using before Timothy had decided to go for an unauthorized swim. Again.

Rudy sighed and headed for the kitchen. “Okay, apple slices and peanut butter. But that’s it until dinner.”

While the kids munched at the kitchen table - Rose getting more peanut butter on her face than in her mouth, Jack carefully arranging his apple slices by size, Timothy eating with the focus of someone twice his age - Rudy cleaned up the coffee mugs and tried not to think about Sobek. He failed spectacularly, naturally.

The man was just so...intense. Those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through him, the way he moved like every step was calculated, that voice that rumbled like distant thunder. And that body - because Rudy had working eyes and a pulse, thank you very much - all hard muscle, that height and those shoulders…

Stop it, Rudy told himself firmly. You’re twenty-eight years old, not a teenager with a crush.

Except, he kind of felt like a teenager with a crush, which was both embarrassing and inconvenient. He’d spent the past three years focused on the kids, on building a safe home for them, on making sure they had everything they needed. Romance hadn’t even been on his radar. Hell, dating hadn’t been on his radar. Between Jack’s nightmares, Rose’s boundless energy, and Timothy’s tendency to wander off toward water, Rudy barely had time to shower some days, let alone think about his love life… Or the lack thereof.

“More apples,” Rose demanded, holding up her empty plate.

“Please,” Rudy corrected automatically.

“More apples, please.”

Rudy cut more apple slices, his mind drifting back to Sobek despite his best efforts. The man had been in his kitchen, drinking terrible coffee and looking completely out of place among the finger paintings on the fridge, the alphabet magnets, and the general mess that came with three small children.

But he hadn’t seemed bothered by it. He hadn’t wrinkled his nose at Rudy’s color choices or made snide comments about Rudy’s parenting or acted like the kids were inconvenient. He’d just...sat there…like a statue…listening. The more Rudy thought about it, the more he was sure those eyes had watched every movement Rudy had made, while keeping track of every word he’d said. Who does that? It wasn’t as if Rudy had been saying anything important, he’d just been rambling about the kids and the house.

He probably thinks I’m completely insane, Rudy thought, scrubbing at a spot of dried pancake batter on the counter. Just some random guy who found three kids and decided to keep them like they were stray puppies.

Except that Sobek hadn’t looked at him like he was insane. He’d looked at him like... Rudy wasn’t sure how to describe that look. Intent, maybe. Focused, definitely. Or maybe that was Sobek’s resting bitch face, and he always looked like that.

“All done,” Rose announced, holding up her empty plate.

“Good girl, that’s awesome. Oh,” Rudy smiled as he noticed Tim and Jack’s plates were empty, too. “You’re all finished. Great job. Now go and play…quietly, please. I need to finish painting the living room.”

The kids scrambled down from the table and scattered - Rose to her toy kitchen in the corner, Jack to his box of dinosaurs, Timothy to the window where he could stare at the pond in the distance. Rudy grabbed the paint roller and got back to work, letting the rhythmic motion settle his thoughts.

Well, that was the plan, but it wasn’t working very well because now his brain was spinning stories, filling in the blanks Sobek hadn’t provided. The man had said he was renting the property next door, that he’d be there for a few weeks, but that was it. No mention of what he did for a living, where he came from, or why he was hiding out in the Louisiana swamps.

Perhaps he’s actually hiding out, as in hiding from someone.

Rudy paused mid-stroke. Could that be it? Sobek had that whole mysterious recluse vibe going on. He drove an expensive car, and Rudy remembered drooling over the type of clothes Sobek wore, similar to the ones he would see when he worked in retail - the clothes he could never afford. But that same person was staying in a rental cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe he was an eccentric millionaire? Some tech genius who’d made his fortune and decided to escape society. Or a business mogul who’d burned out and needed a break from corporate life. Rudy could picture Sobek in some sleek penthouse office, barking orders, making million-dollar deals, and being intimidating and gorgeous all at the same time. That could work.

Hmm. Rudy kept painting as he thought some more. There was a hint of military bearing in the way Sobek moved. No, not so much in the way he walked, but he had an alert watchfulness, like he was constantly assessing threats. Maybe he was ex-special forces or something, retired from some classified government work that he could never talk about.

“So what do you do?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Rudy snorted at his own imagination and rolled more paint onto the wall. You’ll be thinking he’s a secret assassin next. However, and yes, that might have been the worst thought Rudy had, but maybe Sobek was hiding from something. Or someone. The mafia, perhaps. Witness protection? No. Wait. If he were in witness protection, he wouldn’t be driving a car that probably cost six figures and wearing clothes that screamed money, unless that was his disguise - a rich recluse, perfectly normal, nothing to see here.

“Oh, my god,” Rudy muttered. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels.”

“What?” Jack looked up from his dinosaurs.

“Nothing, baby. Just talking to myself.”