CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Angela couldn’t explain the tears. She was far past caring that Paul had cheated on her. She wasn’t surprised that he’d been stupid enough to let one of Pham’s flunkies into his bed and share her location. Learning that had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. Everything had suddenly been too much to keep inside. So embarrassing.
Especially after Sawyer explained Jared’s brilliant idea and how his parents were expecting them later that night. The only reason this crazy notion came to fruition was because Thelma was too cute to say no to.
Thelma’s tiny body and oversized head followed Angela around as soon as Boss Man pointed the pup in her direction. And that was how Angela ended up with a wrinkle-faced bulldog puppy in her lap as she rode southwest from Titan’s headquarters and into hilly rural Virginia.
Thelma squirmed as Sawyer pulled off an old state road onto a gravel driveway. Rocks kicked into the truck’s wheel wells. “When’s the last time you were at home?”
“The holidays. My mom does a whole thing for December.”
“What is she like?”
“Tough as hell. Funny. Tenacious to boot. But incredibly sweet.”
Angela liked how he described his mother—and based on the description, she would like her too. “So she should work for Titan?”
“No, she has a much harder gig. Librarian in an underfunded rural county.” He slowed in front of a modest split-level home with flower boxes at the windows and an oversized covered front porch. “That woman would wrestle a bear for funding if it helped stock her shelves with books and board games.”
Angela’s nerves raced. “What about your dad?”
“Great guy. Coached my football team from peewees through high school. Loves his life. Loves his wife.” He shifted the truck into park and scanned the small front yard that backed into the woods in the distance.
“Wow, Sawyer.” She gazed at their little piece of heaven. “Why would you ever leave this?”
“Seemed like the thing that needed to be done.” Absentmindedly, he drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “I come home from time to time.”
As she watched his face soften, though, Angela could almost hear a wistful but not nearly enough .
Thelma yipped.
He reached over and gave the pup’s head a good scratch. “We’ll stay out of your hair and let you decompress.”
Angela bit her lip. For all her tears and dramatic demands to sit inside a normal, happy home, she didn’t want to be far from Sawyer and didn’t know what his parents would make of her.
The front door opened. His mom and dad walked out and waited.
“They look nice,” Angela said.
He glanced toward the house. “About as nice and normal as you can possibly want.” He gave her a reassuring nod. “Come on.”
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She exited the truck, set Thelma on the ground, and walked with Sawyer up to his front porch.
He wrapped his mom in a bear hug as his dad slapped his back hello. It was quite possibly the most wholesome, most genuine family interaction she’d seen in her life. Emotion caught in her throat.
A moment later, Sawyer pulled her into the conversation. “This is Angela Sorenson.” The puppy yipped for attention. “And my boss’s dog, Thelma. And”—he gestured to his parents—“these good people are Susan and Sam.”
Sawyer’s mother wrapped Angela in a hug almost as fierce as the one she’d given her son. His dad gave Angela a hearty pat on the back at the same time. “Welcome.”
And Angela was done. She’d fallen in love with his family.
Sawyer brought their bags in from the truck and dropped them in the living room. The heavenly smell of a homecooked meal filled the familiar space. He couldn’t help but relax when he was under this roof.
His mom met him by the window overlooking the backyard, where Angela had sat on a lawn chair. She was watching Thelma chase moths, grasshoppers, and whatever could hold the puppy’s attention.
“She seems sweet.”
He nodded, wondering how much his mom would instinctively know or question.
“You want to tell me about this?” She lifted the sleeve of his T-shirt. “I thought I saw a bandage—and I was correct.”
He pulled it up so she could see it wasn’t bad. “Nothing but a little flesh wound.”
“You were shot?”
“Grazed,” he corrected. As she had always reminded him, he reminded her, “The right word’s important.”
She laughed good-naturedly but covered her heart with her hand. “I don’t want to know, do I?”
“I was trying my best to keep her safe.” He pointed his chin toward Angela.
“Looks like you succeeded.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Dinner smells great.”
“Chicken and potatoes. It won’t be ready for another thirty minutes, give or take. But Dad’s out in the garage. He could always use a hand.”
Regardless of what project Dad had going on, he always had a task for Sawyer to do, especially when Sawyer was at odds with himself.
Sawyer made a pit stop in his old bedroom and hooked an old football from a shelf. He gave it a squeeze. The ball hadn’t deflated much from the last time he’d been home. Tossing the ball to himself, he walked out the front door and followed the well-worn path to the old garage. A basketball rim hung without a net. He chucked the football toward the rim. The ball bounced off the backboard and shot to the side.
Dad stepped out. “I could use a hand.”
“That’s what I hear.” Sawyer retrieved the ball. “I’m ready for you to put me to work.”
They walked into the familiar space, with its scent of lawn clippings, motor oil, and wood projects. Tools lined the wall behind a tidy workspace. “What are we working on?” Sawyer asked.
“Your mother wants new shelves for the laundry room.”
“What’s wrong with the old shelves?”
“Exactly.” Dad chuckled. “But a happy wife is a happy life.” He pointed at the ten-foot lengths of white oak. There would be no particleboard in this man’s house, at least not as long as Dad was in charge of its creation. “Mark those for me. I want two five-foot shelves for over the washer and then five three-foot ones to line that little wall that juts out and serves no purpose other than to irritate your mother.”
Sawyer knew exactly the wall he was talking about.
They got to work in silence. Sawyer penciled off the wood. His dad cut them to size with the miter saw. They finished in no time and piled them to the side. “Tomorrow, you want to help me prime and paint them?”
Sawyer tossed the football again. “Nothing else I’d rather do.”
Angela popped her head inside the garage, holding Thelma close to her chest. “I’m supposed to tell you it’s time to wash up for dinner.”
“Thanks,” Dad called, and after Angela turned, he muttered under his breath, “Yup, bet there’s nothing else you’d rather do.”