“It was my pleasure.”
“You’re a good guy,” she said.
“I don’t know about that.”
“Trust me,” she said. “You are. I just hope that helping me doesn’t make you the next target of my curse.”
“As I don’t believe in magic, Voodoo, luck or curses, I think I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me. I’m here to take care of you.”
She stared at him for a long moment before she nodded. “Curses can be complicated. I’ll do my best to take care of you as well.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t bother to refute her offer to look out for him. If it made her feel better to think she could help with her belief in Voodoo and magic, it wasn’t up to him to burst her bubble or pooh-pooh her ideology. Instead, he held up his hand for a high-five. “I’ll have your back, and you’ll have mine. Teamwork.”
“Teamwork,” she echoed as she clapped her palm to his. Her brow furrowed. “You’ll be okay on the couch?” Her gaze focused on the small sofa in the cozy but tight living area. “There’s no way you’ll be able to stretch out on that.”
“I’ll be fine,” he insisted. He’d probably have to drape his legs over the armrests, but it was still better than sleeping in a foxhole or nodding off in the back of an armored personnel carrier. “Go to sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
She nodded. “House hunting.”
“Then a visit to the Voodoo queen.”
“And I have to work tomorrow evening,” Holly added.
“I can cancel the house hunting,” he reminded her.
“No. That’s the one thing I’m looking forward to.” She went up another step. “Good night, Simon. Thanks for a memorable evening.”
He gave her a mock salute. “My pleasure.”
Holly disappeared into the loft bedroom.
Simon checked all the windows and the door one more time before he settled on the sofa.
It had been an interesting day, from welding seams on a jon boat to reliving the worst day of his life in Syria, to coming to the rescue of a beautiful woman who believed in magic.
Simon punched the pillow several times, then lay back, his legs hanging over the arms of the sofa. He reminded himself he’d slept in worse places in the many years he’d been a Delta Force soldier. But damn, he wasn’t getting any younger.
Sounds of Holly moving about in the loft bedroom drifted to him.
He didn’t care that he couldn’t get comfortable. The woman in the bed at the top of the stairs had been threatened. Her life could very well be in danger.
Simon was on the hook for seeing to her safety. He couldn’t drop the ball. Couldn’t let anyone get past him to her. He was her last line of defense. He’d failed Johnny back in Syria. He couldn’t fail Holly in Bayou Mambaloa.
Though he closed his eyes and lay his head on the soft pillow, he opened his senses and remained on alert, listening and feeling the motion of the boat. He vowed to himself, and silently to Holly, that he would be ready to defend.
The rustling of bed sheets had him imagining Holly settling into the bed.
“Simon?” her voice called out.
“Yeah.”
“Thank you for making the bed,” she said softly.
He smiled in the darkness. “You’re welcome.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Simon?”
