Chapter 3 #2
“He comes in with your mother sometimes.” Bree’s mouth curved. “Your parents have a lot to say about you and Ari, given the opportunity. Did you know you were briefly obsessed with birdhouses at age nine?”
“That’s classified information.”
“Herman Rojas is not a classified information kind of man.” She set the empty box aside and turned to face him properly. “He misses you when you’re gone. I know they both do. More than they let on.”
He knew that. He’d always known that. Hearing it from her, though, landed differently than knowing it abstractly.
“We send money,” he said, because it was the main reason they’d left in the first place.
His family, and the Clan as a whole, didn’t have much.
Isolated as the town was, there hadn’t been a lot of opportunity for the twins with their basic skills.
The one thing they had going for them was their size and the special abilities gifted them by being shifters.
That had been all the Navy had needed to take them and train them up, paying them well in return.
The twins had sent a large portion of their salaries home, and it had helped both their family and their Clan, but they’d stayed away too long and their family missed them.
“I think they’d rather have you than the money at this point.
” She held up a hand before he could respond.
“I’m not criticizing. I know it’s more complicated than that.
I know you send money because your people need it and because you’ve been doing the only work you knew how to do after the SEALs.
I’m just saying—” she shrugged. “They’d rather have you. ”
Pax stood in the calmness of the store, surrounded by the smell of sawdust and metal and the peace of this place, and didn’t reply.
He heard the truth in her words and he heard more than she’d actually said.
Unless he wasn’t much mistaken, she would rather have him home, too.
That thought made his breath catch, though he didn’t otherwise show how deeply that idea touched him.
Bree, characteristically, didn’t wait for him to say more. She just moved back toward the counter. “Come on. I’ve got the rope set aside that your dad wanted.”
He followed her, and the moment passed. He was grateful for her calm manner and the fact that she’d never tried to interrogate him to get answers he wasn’t able, or willing, to give. She was the perfect woman, and he didn’t know why he’d never really grasped that before.
Saturday morning arrived bright and crisp. There was a lovely clear blue sky, long shadows, and the smell of desert sage in the air.
Eight young men from the Clan showed up at Leeland’s Hardware at nine o’clock sharp.
Tomás, who had taken to the store and to Mr. Leeland especially, had spread the word through his friends and their families.
The eight ranged in age from fourteen to eighteen.
They were all really big. The blood of that single Samoan ancestor ran strong in the Clan.
The eight were all polite to Mr. Leeland, believing him to be an elder human who didn’t know what they were.
After watching Mr. Leeland for a while, Pax wasn’t so sure.
Mr. Leeland met them at the back entrance, took stock of them with a single sweeping look, and said, “Good. You’ve all got hands. That’s the important part.” That broke the ice as the young men laughed and followed Mr. Leeland inside.
The next three hours were something Pax had not anticipated.
He’d expected to manage the youngsters and keep them from breaking things.
He thought he’d be translating between their boisterous energy and Mr. Leeland’s patient teaching style.
What he found instead was that he had almost nothing to manage.
Mr. Leeland ran the session methodically, with high expectations and real praise when it was earned.
He also made the assumption that the people in front of him were capable of learning if they paid attention.
So the kids paid attention. They paid the kind of attention Pax associated with young military recruits.
They listened to Mr. Leeland like he and Ari had listened to their instructors, only with a lot less fear.
Mr. Leeland didn’t bark at anyone who got things wrong.
His patience was almost legendary and he had a way of explaining things so even the ones who were lost could find their way back to the point.
Pax stood back and watched, letting it all unfold. At some point Bree materialized beside him.
“Well?” she asked softly.
“It’s going better than I expected,” he replied.
They stood side by side watching her father explain the difference between a load-bearing wall and a partition, using a piece of salvaged lumber and a model he’d built at some point specifically for this purpose.
One of the older boys, Emilio, whose grandfather had been one of the men lost to the cartels years ago, was asking questions like he’d just been waiting for exactly this opportunity.
“Dad’s been doing this his whole life,” Bree said. “Teaching people. He taught every kid on this street how to change a tire and fix a leaky faucet. It’s the thing he loves most.” She paused. “He just ran out of students because the town is so small.”
Pax was struck by how beautiful her profile was in the morning light. There was a slight softness around her eyes when she watched her father. She loved that old man with an uncomplicated, practical devotion that asked nothing and gave everything.
“Thank you for suggesting this,” he said gently.
She glanced at him, then looked back at her father. “I think he’ll be the one thanking you. He loves teaching the younger generation.”
Pax stood close enough to her that their arms were almost touching and didn’t move away.
When she shifted her weight, the backs of their hands brushed, warm skin against warm skin, and neither of them pulled back from the contact.
He counted three full heartbeats that way and gave serious thought to catching those clever, work-roughened fingers in his own.
He didn’t. Not yet. There was a right order to things, and he’d only just come home. But low in his chest, his jaguar started up a soft, contented rumble, and for once Pax didn’t have the heart to tell the cat to knock it off.
Bree stayed exactly where she was, her hand resting a breath from his, and he chose to take that as a very good sign.