“You had a nickname for her?”
“Testy Twila, cuz she could be a pain in the ass with her wordiness and nagging. Kind of like you.
“What’s with the fifty questions. I just want to talk to her.”
She closes the door. What the hell?
I hear the chain rattle then the door slowly opens. Illuminated by the setting suns glow is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Taller than most women with a real body and long, dark honey colored hair, like brown sugar. My gaze locks on her full lips. It’s then, I realize she’s talking but I haven’t registered a word. “Stop. Start over. Say all that again.”
“I’m Norah, her granddaughter. She—she’s gone.”
“Figured that. Her car isn’t here. When will she be back?”
“Never. She’ll never come home. She’s dead.” She breaks into gut wrenching sobs and covers her face with her hands.
Fuck! I don’t do this. I’m no good at crying or whining kinds of stuff. Really no good with people. What do I say? Do? Her tears are killing me.
Think. Think. What would the guys do? What would Silk do? Diesel?
Stepping inside I close the door behind me and place a tentative palm on her shoulder. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry, Sugar.”
The tears get harder and keep falling.
“I don’t know what to do. I-hiccup-I miss-hiccup-her so much. She was all-hiccup-I had. Now... now she’s gone.”
I don’t know what to do, either.Damn, she needs something.
“Come here. Let me hold you.” I urge her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her trembling body. “I won’t leave you alone. I’m here now.”
Silently, I hold her as she cries out her heart. Without thought I stroke her back, up and down, like Diesel taught me to do with his little girl. The action seems to ease her. What else, I try to remember.
I lift her with one palm under her ass and she wraps her legs around my waist, her arms around my shoulders. She snuggles her face into the crook of my neck, her tears falling on my shoulder.
“Shush, Sugar. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here. I got you.” Holding her against my chest, I start rocking back and forth.
Her soft, womanly body snuggled against mine feels good. With her height she fits me perfectly. As she starts to truly relax against me and her tears wane to whimpers, my mind kicks into gear. Something ain’t right. I felt it when Twila’s car wasn’t home. Now she says Twila’s dead.
Walking to the kitchen I set Norah on the counter next to the sink and fill a glass with water. “Drink this. Then we’ll talk.”
She drinks it down then sets the glass in the sink.
CHAPTER 2
Norah Barlowe
Oh god, his T-shirt is all wet from me crying. I hope I didn’t snot on him, too. How embarrassing.
Silo is huge. Tall and broad in the chest. Really broad. His muscles stretch his shirt to the bursting point. I’m not a little girl, but I don’t think my fingertips would touch if I tried to wrap both hands around his bicep. His jeans are so tight on his thighs I wonder how he even gets them on or moves in them.
There are calluses on his broad hands, yet his touch is kind and gentle. He palmed my whole butt cheek when he lifted me like I was a five-year-old. I was so embarrassed, but then I felt so safe and cared for. Maybe I don’t have to do this alone. I have someone just for a little while.
Although he’s a bit scary when he scowls, Nana said he’s fully trustworthy and a combo of Rottweiler that acts as a barrier between someone and danger and Doberman that will quickly take down the threat.
“I need you to start at the beginning. How did Twila die?” he asks.
“She had gone into the town of Johnson to talk to her banker and lawyer and pick up supplies. They said she was driving toofast coming home and couldn’t make the turn on the mountain and drove off the road. The car rolled before she hit a tree.”
