Chapter 4
HUDSON
It’s five minutes past nine, and men and women in overalls buzz around me, hauling paint and bringing up the supplies they’ll need for today’s tasks.
The fence needs a second coat to withstand the mountain weather. And there’s a layer of mulch to go around the trees.
I flip the page over on my clipboard to the names of the crew, but I don’t need to take roll call to know who’s missing.
I purse my lips and glance around in case I’ve missed her. But there’s no sign of the mouthy brunette with the paint-stained overalls. It’s the third time she’s been late this week.
“She thinks the rules don’t apply to her,” I mutter as I stride down the path to the parking lot. I round the corner and stop in my tracks.
Willow is on the path, speaking to Joel. She has her hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the breeze captures the strands, making them dance on the back of her neck.
Joel says something, and she tilts her head back and laughs.
What the hell have these two got to laugh about? My jaw clenches, and I stalk toward them. “You’re late, again.”
Willow spins slowly to face me with a smile still on her face. “It’s the drill sergeant.”
Joel raises his eyebrows and gives me a WTF look. I’m being irrational, and I know it, but she’s violating the terms of her parole by not showing up on time.
“It’s all right,” Joel interjects. “We were just talking.”
I fold my arms across my chest and look between them. Joel’s good-looking for a man pushing forty. His salt and pepper hair makes him appear distinguished, and the laughter lines around his eyes hint at his good nature.
I can see why she’d be attracted to him.
Not that it should bother me. But if she wants to flirt, it can be done on her own time.
“Janelle needs help getting the paint.” I indicate the workers behind me.
Willow half-laughs before realizing I’m serious. “Yes, sir.” She offers another sloppy salute and grins at Joel. “I better get going before Captain America has an aneurysm. Let’s continue this later.”
Joel chuckles. “Stop by the office when you get a chance. We’ll grab a coffee.”
“Will do.” Willow’s reply is breezy, and she gives him a broad smile. “And don’t worry about Dana. I’m sure her grades will come up.”
Why the fuck is she talking to Joel about his daughter? Logically, I know Willow can have coffee with whomever she wants, but damn, my insides clench thinking about it.
As Willow heads down the path, Joel shakes his head at me, amused. “Go easy on her, Hudson. Go easy on all of them.”
He hums a tune as he heads back into the center, and I’m left wondering why the hell I should care who a small-time criminal with no respect for a schedule has a coffee with.
I jog to catch up with Willow and fall into step next to her. “What were you two talking about?”
She keeps striding toward the work crew. “I gave him my dealer’s number.”
A few days ago, I might have believed her, but her lips quirk up, giving her away.
“You’re fucking with me, right?”
“Yes, Hudson. I’m fucking with you.”
It’s a relief to hear, even if she hasn’t given me a straight answer. “So, what were you talking about?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I offered to paint a mural on one of the center walls.”
I stumble, almost tripping over my feet. That’s not what I expected her to say. “You paint?”
My gaze drops to the colorful splatters on her boots and overalls. Of course she fucking paints.
She stops suddenly and fixes me with a stare. “Yes, Hudson. I’m more than someone who broke the law. I have a life and a passion. I’m a full human being, like everyone here.”
Willow’s eyes flash with anger, and she casts her arm around the work group. Two men talk as they shovel mulch from a wheelbarrow to the garden; a woman laughs at something they say.
I get it; they’re people. They’re not all bad, and maybe I’m being too harsh. But they did break the law. And I don’t need a gabby brunette to remind me where my moral compass is.
“The only thing you’re painting today is fences, so get to it.”
Willow huffs out a breath and shakes her head slowly before turning away. I feel dismissed, like she sized me up and found me lacking. It shouldn’t bother me what she thinks, but it does.
I watch her stalk over to the painting crew. Janelle smiles at her, and they exchange a few brief words. Janelle laughs, and her gaze flicks to me. They’re talking about me, probably about what an uptight ass I am.
I don’t care, I tell myself. My mission is to get this ceremonial space finished before opening, and if I upset a few people in the process, then that’s just life.
I pull my clipboard to my chest and march off to find Joel to give him a progress report.
It’s later that afternoon while I’m helping the team spread the mulch that I hear a familiar giggle.
“Uncle Hudson!”
I spin around to find my nephew toddling toward me, his chubby hands outstretched. My heart softens at the sight of the little guy, and I scoop him into my arms.
“You stinky,” he declares, scrunching up his nose.
“I’m spreading mulch. It gets stinky.”
“It’s too thick in this area.” Paige, my sister, moves around the garden in her heavy boots, her critical eye scanning everything.
She designed the gardens in the entire center and has given hours of her time to be here. But as her business has grown over the past few months, she’s been around less and less.
Ryan stands with his hands on his hips, inspecting. It’s still a jolt for me to see my best friend with my little sister.
He nods in greeting, and I return it. Then he grabs a rake that’s propped up against the wall and walks into the garden bed to help move mulch around.
If he’s unbalanced on his prosthetic, it doesn’t show.
He moves with agility and speed I never thought possible when I dragged his sorry ass out of the veteran’s hospital in Louisville and brought him here.
Paige glances up at him, and they share a private smile. I have to admit, my sister seems happier with Ryan around. She smiles more and has less of an attitude.
“Are you protecting or are you burying that tree?” she barks at Ryan.
I see she hasn’t completely lost her attitude.
His eyes dance, and he lunges at her with his rake. She squeals and steps out of the way. Noah squirms in my arms, and I let him down. He runs to join his parents, who are laughing as they battle each other with garden implements.
My chest squeezes at the ease with which they are together. I spent so long looking out for my sister, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have someone to laugh with.
I steal a glance at Willow. There’s no denying she’s attractive, with her full figure and easy smile.
But she’s not smiling now. She’s staring at her phone, and her usually rosy cheeks are pale.
I stride over, and she’s still frozen in place when I reach her.
“What’s wrong?”
The words seem to penetrate, and she shakes her head as if shaking off a bad dream.
“Nothing. Just some bad news,” she replies, pocketing her phone.
Her eyes lack their usual spark, and I’d give anything for her to give me a dressing-down right now. I like that better than the pale woman before me.
She doesn’t expound on the news, and despite wanting to push, I know it’s none of my business.
“Do you need a break?”
She shakes her head and tries for a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” She takes up her brush. “Boss wants this section done by the end of the day.”
The joke falls flat, and she turns to the fence. I barely know the woman, but I know when someone’s lying to me.
I lean in so only she can hear, and my lips are almost touching her ear. I catch the floral tones of her shampoo and the acrylic paint.
“If you’re in any trouble …”
She barks out a clipped laugh. “We’re all in trouble, Hudson.” She indicates the group of men and women. “That’s why we’re here.”
I run a hand through my hair. She’s right. I shouldn’t get involved. Her file, which Marcus and his team at Bedrock Security pulled for me, says she’s involved with the Street Kings, a small-time street gang in Charlotte.
Whatever she’s into, it’s her own life choices that put her here. Yet I can’t align this bubbly woman, who’s offering to paint a mural at the veteran’s center, with a street gang.
“Maybe I can help?” The words slip out before I can think too hard about what I’m saying.
The last thing I want to do is help a lawbreaker.
I watch the paintbrush as she moves it up and down.
There’s brown paint on her hands and colorful paint under her chipped fingernails.
On her pinky finger, she wears a silver ring with a looped design.
Willow stops her painting and turns to look at me. “You’re the last person I’d turn to for help, Sergeant Major.” She huffs a laugh. “You’d have us all in a military prison if you could. Locked in solitary confinement to work off our punishments.”
Her words sting, and I draw back. Do I really come across as that unapproachable?
“I’m not a sergeant or a major,” I mutter.
She tilts head, looking generally interested. “What were you, then?”
I don’t go advertising the fact that I was special forces, least of all a SEAL. “I was a sailor.” I sit back on my haunches. “Just a sailor in the Navy.”
She laughs again. “I doubt you were just anything.”
I’m not sure if it’s a compliment, but at least she’s smiling. Whatever news she got on her phone is forgotten.
I leave her to the painting, but her words play over in my head. “You’re the last person I’d turn to for help.”
Is that how she sees me? I have integrity and values, and I served my country. I’m one of the good guys. Aren’t I?