Chapter Eight
Delilah could not get the image of Zero’s bare skin out of her brain. She tried a lot of things, too: reading a pile of mind-numbing textbooks full of dry prose about art theory, binge-watching a new series about Picasso on her phone’s TV app, taking a shower cold enough to freeze an Eskimo.
That one only made it worse, because it took place at the scene of the crime.
The man’s body would make angels cry, but only because so much perfection had been marred by scars too fascinating to be ugly and too numerous to be ignored.
The result of being in battle? Some possibly from growing up around barbed wire and farm animals?
She itched to find out and, more to the point, had a strong desire to be counted among those close enough to Zero to be in the know.
And some small part of her still lingered over the lovely fantasy she’d developed a second and a half after opening that door and registering exactly what lay on the other side.
In said fantasy, she had the liberty to trace a fingertip through the particularly angry channel that sliced across his shoulder as she learned what had made the mark.
Instead, she carried that secret longing with her as she levered up the bar that held the gate shut over the front of Captain Jack’s stall the next morning.
She’d separated the brothers after they’d figured out how to open the gate, still a little surprised they hadn’t continued the streak of bad behavior.
They mostly did what they were supposed to, in keeping with the trend of all four dogs who demonstrated some prior training.
But the Captains had a particularly naughty streak that made an appearance at inopportune times, like when Zero had shown up to check on her progress.
That couldn’t be allowed to happen again.
That’s why she’d shifted gears from spending the bulk of her time figuring out how to train an emotional support dog to working with the Captains to at least ensure they knew how to act civilized around the boss.
Captain Jack Sparrow shot out of his stall like he’d been poised for her to remove the restrictive barrier. Probably he’d crouched at the entrance the moment he’d heard her enter the barn.
“Jack,” she snapped, too intent on curbing his behavior to spit out his full name. “Sit.”
The dog immediately threw down his haunches, practically skidding to a halt, nails scratching on the concrete. She threw him a treat, careful with her aim because she didn’t want him to have to reach for it.
The Australian Shepherds had twice the energy of Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner, which meant she could never work with both of them at the same time.
It wasn’t a perfect strategy, because she’d have preferred that they learn to be civilized together—they had a tendency to egg each other on—but it would have to do.
The day stretched out, long but productive, with no visitors of the grumpy eye-candy variety or the small, adorable variety, either. At least she had dinner to look forward to.
But when she got back to the house at the perfectly reasonable time of five forty-five in anticipation of dinner at six, a feat she was particularly proud of given her allergies to schedules, the kitchen sat empty.
Curious and maybe a bit concerned, she followed the sound of voices into the living room, one of her favorite rooms in the house due to all the wonderful antiques.
Sheridan and Tag stood near the fireplace chatting about something in tones too low to hear, while Zero haunted the back of the room, probably contemplating all the ways he planned to grade her on her progress with the dogs today— assuming he intended to ask her about it.
Honestly, she’d hoped he’d come by to check on her at least once during the day, but probably he’d been busy with other things.
Their gazes met across the room as he noted her arrival, and something sparked between them.
His expression darkened, and she had the distinct impression he was remembering the bathroom incident as clearly as she was.
The space at the small of her back heated. Oh, man, she did not have the bandwidth to deal with the draw between them ratcheting up to this level.
She tore her gaze away from him, focusing on Hunter, who sat on the couch and was so visibly excited he practically vibrated out of his skin.
“Delilah’s here,” he practically crowed. “Now can we go?”
“Were you waiting on me?” she asked, wondering if she’d missed a company memo or something. “What’s going on?”
“I got a hundred on my spelling test today,” Hunter announced proudly. “So I get a reward. Dairy Queen for dinner.”
“Oh, that’s fabulous, Buddy,” Delilah told him earnestly, ruffling him on the head. “You have a great time.”
“You’re invited, too,” Sheridan threw in quickly before Delilah could back out of the room. “We’d like it if you’d join us.”
Oh. That was unexpected and also really sweet.
The back of her throat went a little tight as she contemplated Hunter’s earnest face and Sheridan’s small smile.
Before this moment, she would have guessed Sheridan didn’t like her very much after sending Zero to retrieve her son from the barn the other day.
So it meant a lot to have the invitation extended by her personally.
How did Zero feel about her tagging along? Would it be too much to wish he’d thrown in a plea for her to be included? She sought his gaze again, but his expression had morphed back into the blank wall he normally presented her.
“Hunter refused to leave until you came to the house,” he told her. “So you’re not allowed to say no.”
That counted.
“Then I guess I’m not saying no,” she said with a rueful smile. “Let’s go.”
When they got outside, it became clear they’d have to either stuff themselves into Sheridan’s Lexus or take two cars.
The way Tag edged closer to Sheridan told Delilah a lot about the lay of the land, and she hid a smile as she heard him volunteer to ride with her and Hunter.
So that was a thing. She wondered if Sheridan knew Tag had a crush on her, but it wasn’t Delilah’s place to get in the middle.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t provide him a chance to ride shotgun without Sheridan’s hulking brother in the mix.
“I’ll ride with Zero,” she announced cheerfully and hopped into the front seat of the truck before anyone could argue.
Zero looked like he’d been hit in the face with a horseshoe, but he quickly became the only person standing in the yard once Sheridan, Tag, and Hunter piled into the Lexus, so he couldn’t do anything else but climb in next to her.
Awareness draped over the cab of the truck as if Zero had brought a blanket with him and thrown it around them both. It was cozy and warm at the same time, something she had no experience with, especially after the not-cozy bathroom incident. Maybe it would be best to ignore it.
“It’s okay if you talk to me,” she suggested. “I don’t bite.”
“Why do people say that?” he muttered. “I have never in my life met someone who actually did bite, and I’m pretty sure if there are a few random weirdos, it’s not enough to say so, like I might be confused about which group you fall into.”
“No, Zero, don’t hold back,” she countered drily. “Please tell me what you really think about my sense of humor.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “I didn’t think I was holding back.”
That actually made her laugh. “Are you kidding me right now? Or have you just holed up for so long at your ranch that you’ve lost the ability to communicate with real people?”
“I talk to people all the time,” he argued, still missing her point. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
Okay, so it wasn’t on purpose. He did have a bit of a socially awkward bent. Adorable.
Most men who looked like him cut a wide swath through women.
In fact, she’d known a few who wouldn’t hesitate to use something like war wounds to get a woman sympathetically clucking over the areas in question.
The fact Zero seemed to be the exact opposite of someone who’d use his service to his country to score spoke to her in a big way.
She settled down into the seat, suddenly quite happy with her choice to let Tag have his alone time with Sheridan. It meant she got her own alone time with the Enigma himself, and she planned to make good use of it.
“How long have you been out of the Army?” she asked him.
“We don’t have to chat while I drive,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the road stretching out beyond the windshield. “I’m fine with complete silence.”
“Except you literally just said you were talking to me,” she told him with waggly eyebrows to emphasize the point. “So talk. It’s a long way to Dairy Queen, if I recall.”
“Nineteen miles,” he said with a tinge of resignation that made her smile.
“Even if you drive fast, that means fifteen minutes of silence. Even you couldn’t stand that much quiet.”
“Some people would call that peace.”
Noted. Also a telling point about the Enigma. He liked his solitude, and he had a bit of his own wry humor she appreciated. She couldn’t stand men who kept you guessing about where you stood, and Zero had no problem being blunt and perfectly clear about his thoughts.
“I like you,” she told him, figuring he’d at least respond well to someone else who didn’t pull punches.
His eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think anyone’s told me that since Jenny Fletcher in third grade. I sincerely hope you aren’t about to pass me a note and ask if you can kiss me on the playground.”
Well, that was a fine suggestion if she’d ever heard one. Jenny Fletcher sounded like someone Delilah could be friends with. If nothing else, she had excellent taste in men.