2. Mia
MIA
David Castille Bennett is incredibly good-looking. Even when he’s scowling. Which he’s been doing a lot since he picked me up tonight.
He’s never scowled at me before.
Of course, he’s never smiled at me before tonight either.
We’ve never made eye contact at all before tonight that I can think of.
If I’ve ever been this close to him, it was years ago, when I was much too young to appreciate it.
But just a couple of weeks ago, I noticed him working with his dad, brothers, and some other guys setting up booths and the dunk tank for our annual summer festival, and even from about fifty yards away, I noted David’s muscles, bronze skin, and tattoos.
And I appreciated the hell out of them.
Just David’s though, interestingly. He wasn’t the only guy there without a shirt on. He wasn’t even the only good-looking guy there. But he was the only one who pulled my gaze.
And now here he is.
Up close.
And scowling.
I tip my head, studying him. His intense brown eyes, his windswept, slightly curly on top and around his ears brown hair, the scruff on his jaw, the hoop earring in his left ear, the bit of ink on his forearms peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt.
I take it all in. I mean, I might not get another chance.
We’ve both lived in Sapphire Falls for twenty years and this is the first time we’ve ever had a one-on-one conversation.
There are several reasons for that. He’s quite a bit older than me, we have absolutely nothing in common other than where we grew up, and maybe most importantly, he and my dad don’t get along.
This means that if David is ever in attendance at any family get-together that includes my parents and his—no, we’re not related but our parents’ friend group acts more like siblings than friends—David and my dad stay far apart.
I don’t know all the details other than David was somewhat of a hellion in high school and his early twenties.
Which means he ran into my dad, the town cop, a few times.
“Hey, Mia,” David finally says. “I didn’t realize it was you.”
He looks, and sounds, less than thrilled. Exactly how a woman wants the hot, rugged man who just rescued her to react to realizing who she is.
“Would you have left me out in the field if you had?” I ask.
“Of course not.” He seems truly offended I even asked that.
I was kidding. Guys like David don’t leave people stranded out in fields. Not late at night, not alone, and certainly not in a storm.
No, I don’t know him well, but he wears a uniform. He’s law enforcement. Sure, it’s adjacent maybe, but he takes care of people and animals for a living.
Do I have a romanticized idea of what his job is?
Maybe. Is it based almost entirely upon my hero worship of my father, a man who also wears a uniform and a badge, who takes care of people and yes, animals at times, for a living?
Yes. Is it also deeply ingrained in me to be drawn to men like that because my father swept into my life and literally rescued me when I was an impressionable young child? Absolutely.
But hey, at least I’m aware of all of that, right?
“I was joking,” I tell David. “I know you wouldn’t have left me out there.”
He’s still glowering at me. “How long were you stuck out there?”
I am not going to tell him it was five hours. Again, I know guys like him. The protective, in charge, take-care-of-everyone-and-everything type. I’ve lived with and looked up to one of those for twenty years now.
Do I think my father walks on water? Pretty much.
I know, rationally, that he’s not perfect. But my instinct, my default setting, my knee-jerk reflex is always to think that Scott Hansen is right.
And honestly, so far, that instinct has served me well.
And even if my dad and David don’t get along for whatever reason, I can already read all of the same things all over David. They might both hate to know that, but they’re kind of the same guy.
And that could end up being a problem for me.
Because I really like guys in uniforms.
And as independent as I try to be, people taking care of me crashes right through my I-don’t-want-to-burden-anyone walls every time.
I really do appreciate when people respect my walls.
They’re thin walls. More decorative than an actual barrier of any kind.
They’re more like those really pretty room dividers made of light wood and paper, to be honest. There to represent that I want to take care of myself and sometimes I need to be given that space.
My friends, my little brother, and my mom are wonderful about not knocking my dividers over.
But then there’s my dad and my sister. They take care of me, running right through those pretty paper screens and…
I don’t hate it. It’s always done with love and sometimes having someone say, “I see your room divider and I understand it, but I just really don’t want anything between us” is nice too.
So, a guy in a uniform who makes a living out of taking care of people coming in to rescue me? Yeah, I’m going to get stupid over that.
And that’s probably going to be a problem.
“I wasn’t out there too long,” I say noncommittally.
He stomps to the refrigerator and jerks the door open. “You didn’t tell your dad you were going out to Bob’s to look for animals?” He comes toward me with a bottle of water. He twists the top off and hands it to me.
I take the water and gratefully gulp down a few swallows. I had water in my car, but not enough for several hours.
“I wasn’t looking for animals. I was looking for animal tracks ,” I tell him after I swallow.
“I was planning to make molds for a display at the library to go with the summer adventure reading program we’re doing with the kids.
We’re studying all about Nebraska. We talked about the settlers for two weeks.
Another week we talked about the rivers and lakes in the state.
Last week was native birds. This week it’s mammals. ” I pause.
I realize I sound very excited about the program.
Because I am. I love this stuff. I love books.
I love research. I love imparting knowledge, even in little bits.
But give me a project , an entire summer of once-a-week activities to create, and a rapt audience of little, open minds to help fill up, and I’m in heaven.
I know the rivers-birds-mammals thing sounds nerdy, but this guy is a conservation officer. This is right up his alley. He could probably teach all of the units without opening a book. Not that I condone not opening books. But this is his day-to-day.
I should ask him to come speak to the kids.
He could come to the library in his uniform. He’d talk for about an hour with that deep gravelly voice.
He’d probably be so cute answering all the questions from the little kids and it would be adorable watching them fawn all over him when they learn that he is outside with wild animals every day.
And I’d be in even bigger trouble because smart guys and guys who are good with kids are also big weaknesses for me.
Okay, so I have a few weaknesses.
Growing up as Scott and Peyton Hansen’s daughter after my very rocky start might have made some of my standards crazy high. It’s not my fault.
I clear my throat as David continues to just stand there watching me. “And I’m thirty years old. I don’t tell my dad where I go.” Okay, I don’t tell my dad where I go all the time .
“Especially when you know damned well he would have told you that was a terrible idea.”
See, David thinks that scowl is intimidating, but I just find it really hot.
“Drink more,” he orders me, looking down at his phone, muttering something under his breath that sounds like ‘of fucking course’, then moving to a cupboard.
“It was for work,” I tell his back. He’s pulling bread, peanut butter, and jelly out of the cupboard, clearly very at home here. “I don’t need to run my work activities past my father .” I cross my arms, trying to look cool and composed. “Or past anyone. Even Nebraska Game and Parks.”
“He would have told you about the incoming storm.” David grabs a plate from another cupboard and opens a drawer to pull out a butter knife. “And that there’s a mountain lion prowling around that area.”
Of course, he would have. But it had been cloudy and mildly windy when I’d gone out there.
I’d fully intended to be back in town before dark.
I should have been cuddled up, safe and sound, on my couch with a book before the storm even blipped on the local radar.
The flat tire wasn’t something I’d planned on, obviously .
But even if I’d thought ‘hey, I might get a flat tire’ I wouldn’t have worried or let that stop me.
I know how to change a stupid tire. My dad made sure of that.
In fact, if I’d called Chief Hansen, and told him I had a flat, the first question he would have asked would have been, “why haven’t you changed it? “
So there was no need to tell my dad about my plans.
As for the…
I feel my eyes widen as the rest of David’s words register. “There’s a mountain lion prowling around out there? “
“Yep.” He turns to me and hands me a plate with a sandwich on it. It’s cut diagonally. And there’s a banana lying next to it.
“Oh.” My voice is soft. I’m distracted. By gruff men making me sandwiches. And mountain lions.
That would have been not a great situation. I think quickly. What would I do if I ran across a mountain lion?
“Yeah, oh,” he says, a smug tone to his voice.
I frown as he turns away and starts across the kitchen.I notice he’s already put all of the sandwich stuff away again.