Bonnie Vanak - Navy Seal Protector

“You had your reasons for staying, just as I had mine for leaving.” Nick stood and went to his pack, then unzipped it. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

Dan started for the door. “Like Felicity said, it’s your home, too. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Make sure to lock your window before you go to sleep.”

Lock his window on the second floor? Nick looked up, but his cousin was gone.

Nick went to the closet and opened the door. A black silk suit hung there, the dry-cleaning plastic still encasing it. He tore off the plastic and then tried on the suit. A little tight around the shoulders, but it would suffice.

He hung it up and then went into the adjoining bathroom to shower. When he emerged, in clean jeans and a gray T-shirt, the two boys stood in the doorway. Nick waved them in. They entered, their big blue eyes wide.

They watched him as he unpacked and rummaged through his clothing.

“Daddy says you’re a hero. You’re a Navy SEAL,” Mason said.

Hero? The thought soured him, even as he appreciated his cousin’s compliment.

“I was a Navy SEAL.” Nick hung a hat on the bed’s post.

“Mommy doesn’t like hats on the bed,” Miles informed him.

Wonder if Mommy likes anything on the bed, he thought, and sighed. The boys stood opposite him, so stiff that they resembled wooden bookends.

He wasn’t good with kids, except his best friend Cooper’s family, and these boys looked too wary, too uncertain of this stranger in their home.

Their home, not his.

Nick dug into his knapsack. He removed his one good white shirt, wondering if Felicity had an iron he could borrow. Judging from the woman’s attitude, she probably kept a dozen.

The gun case was stashed at the bottom. He removed it and stared at the pistol encased within.

He’d have to keep his SIG Sauer locked up and wondered if Silas still kept his shotguns and rifles in the downstairs study. Ah, hell.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he felt a bout of piercing grief at what had been lost between himself and the old man. Silas had taught him how to shoot when Nick was ten. Took him hunting in the mountains, and had pride in his first kill.

The old man showed him how to be an expert marksman. Insisted he take care of his weapons, clean them and make sure they were locked up, away from curious fingers.

It was one of the few areas they had in common and didn’t clash about.

“Is that a gun?” Miles asked.

Nick nodded, replaced his sidearm in the backpack.

“Can we see it?” Mason said, his voice growing excited.

Giving his cousin’s son a long look, Nick shook his head. “Hands off. I never let another man handle my sidearm.”

The boy pouted a little until hearing the word man.

“Dad wants to take me hunting, but Mommy says guns are dangerous,” Mason said.

“They are, if you don’t know how to use them. Maybe your dad can convince your mom to let you go hunting next year, when you’re a little older.”

“Daddy keeps a gun under his pillow,” Miles told him, but clammed up when Mason frowned at him.

Odd. Dan had always been a bit squeamish around guns. Necessary on a ranch, but his cousin let Silas do the shooting. Why would he feel the need for home protection with a gun, especially with vulnerable children living here?

Next he removed a small black velvet box and opened it, studying the gold winking in the lamplight.

“What is that?” Mason asked.

Nick removed the pin and showed them. “That’s my Budweiser, my Navy SEAL pin. Only real Navy SEALs get these.”

The boys examined the pin with avid interest while Nick went to the window. He lifted the curtains with the back of one hand, peering into the darkness at the twin carriage lights on the garage. Shelby lived out there. Cute, curvy Shelby, who had turned his world upside down ten years ago with that killer kiss...

“If you’re sleeping here tonight, make sure to lock your window. We all have to make sure the house is locked tight before we go to bed,” Mason told him.

Nick recoiled. He glanced down at the ground two stories below. “Why?”

“So no one breaks in, like they did last month.”

Crime, here at Belle Creek? “What happened?”

“Someone went into Mommy and Daddy’s bedroom.” Mason looked troubled.

Nick squatted down by the solemn little boy. “What happened?”

“Daddy says not to talk about it outside the family,” Miles told him.

Nick smiled. “I’m family. You can tell me.”

Miles seemed to consider. “Someone stole Mommy’s favorite pen.”

“Pin,” Mason amended. “They went into our parents’ bedroom and took Mom’s jewelry. Her favorite pin. It had a silver horse with emerald eyes. It was right after that when Readalot died—”

“Daddy was real upset,” Miles interrupted.

“I’ll tell it, Miles.” Mason looked at Nick. “Readalot was our champion jumper. He won lots of competitions. Shelby went into the stables and Readalot was dead in his stall. He was our champion jumper. Hank, the ranch hand, say the horse was healthy as an ox. Someone killed him.”

He needed to find out what the hell was going on around here. Then he remembered he didn’t live here anymore.

Nick ruffled the boys’ hair. “Don’t worry about it. Do as your mom and dad tell you. I’m sure things will be fine.”

But they stared at him with those big eyes. “Will you stay here? Maybe if we have a real Navy SEAL stay here, the bad things won’t happen.”

Tightness formed in his chest. Bad things happened all the time, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to prevent them. But these were young, innocent kids, and while they didn’t deserve lies, they also didn’t deserve adult worries. “We’ll see,” he said vaguely. “I’ll do everything I can while I’m here, okay?”

The words were more BS than the droppings in the pasture, but both boys looked relieved.

“Now, go downstairs to your mom. I’m sure she’s worried about you being up here with big, bad cousin Nick.” He winked at them and they grinned in pure male camaraderie of doing something they shouldn’t.

When the boys left, Nick fingered his SEAL pin. Hell of a price paid for getting it, but not as much as his brothers in arms, who had paid the ultimate price with their lives. The pin meant everything to him. But he’d left the teams after his hospital discharge, when he knew he couldn’t perform up to par, knew he would never be at the top of his game again.

And now he felt more lost than when he’d stormed away from the ranch and Silas’s iron grip when he was nineteen, never looking back.

No reason for him to stay now. But as he gazed out the window, he saw a car pull into the driveway by the garage. Light from the dual carriage lamps showcased a woman climbing out—a woman with dark hair and a gentle sway to her hips.

Shelby. The mouth-watering, kissable Shelby.

He watched her walk across the drive toward the house. Nick checked his appearance in the mirror, finger-combed his hair and went downstairs as the doorbell rang.

Miss Shelby Stillwater. His blood surged, hot and thick. He thought of that kiss and how it had made every cell inside him alive and aware.

Maybe it was time to stay. At least until he could figure out what the hell was going on around here.

Chapter 3

The funeral had been a quiet, dignified affair. No one shed a tear, except her.

But as she’d stood by the graveside, watching the others throw flowers on the casket, she saw Nick rub his eyes. Maybe he and Silas had been on bad terms, but the man was his father.

Shelby had sidled over to Nick, who was standing alone and looking lost, and clasped his hand. He’d looked startled, and then a little grateful.