Page 42 of Lock ’N’ Load

Quietly, he stepped out of the truck and nudged the door shut. The air was cooler than it had been earlier in the week, a sign that fall would soon arrive. He went around to get Trista, but with her head leaning against the window, he didn’t dare open the door or risk her falling onto the pavement. Gently, he tapped twice on the window. She didn’t move. He tapped again, with more force this time, and her body jerked upright.

He opened the door and waited a few seconds for her to wake fully. “Home sweet home.”

She looked up at his house, her eyes groggy. “Where are we?”

“Like I said, home.”

Her green eyes widened. “This is your house?”

“Yup.” The cab of the truck was high off the ground, so he held out his hand to assist her. “I’ve got eight bedrooms. Plenty of space for you and Poofy.”

Looking over his shoulder, she asked, “Who do all the other trucks belong to?”

“Friends. K-9 officers working pre-election events in the D.C. area over the next couple months.” Matt watched her gaze travel down the row of Explorers.

“There are six of them? Six men plus their dogs? And yours?”

He understood her wariness. Rooming with seven men would be intimidating to any woman. “They—and their dogs—are all highly trained officers. You have nothing to worry about. I trust them with my life, and yours. They’ll be here for at least the next two months, backing me up. If anything happens, they’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

Her face paled. “The dogs,” she whispered. “Where will the d-dogs be?”

As expected, her innate fear of all things canine was at the crux of the matter, not him or his friends. “See that building?” He tipped his head toward the main house’s addition. “It’s a kennel. Enough for a dozen dogs. Occasionally, we let them into the house, but I promise…as long as you and Poofy are here, no dog will be allowed inside.”

Furrowing her brows, she looked cute as ever, but worried. He’d seen that look before on people who’d been terrorized by dogs, and he’d noticed it on her face during her encounters with Sheba. Something had definitely happened to make her believe canines were the devil. Maybe, since they’d be stuck here for at least the next thirty days, he’d work on getting her over that fear.

“You p-promise?” She glared at him, clearly trying to give him her most intimidating look. On her, it was cute.

“Cross my heart.” He grinned, doing just that.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, then with Poofy still clutched to her chest, she placed her free hand in his.

When their fingers touched, he heard her quick intake of breath, felt the softness of her fingers, along with an awareness he hadn’t expected. There was something sizzling between them, and she felt it, too. It was there in her eyes, just as he knew it was in his. She was a beautiful woman, one he might one day be interested in pursuing. If my head wasn’t so fucked up. For now, he’d settle for protecting her, and he gladly accepted that responsibility.

He unlocked the door to his house and stood aside for her to enter. The alarm pad beeped, and as soon as he’d closed the door behind them, he entered the four-digit code and reset the alarm for what was left of the night.

As he led the way up the wide staircase to the room that would be Trista and Poofy’s, he flipped on various lights. With the brand-new runner he’d installed on the stairs, their footsteps were quiet, which was a good thing, since everyone else was still asleep. Sure enough, before they even reached the top of the stairs, the sound of deep snoring came to his ears.

At the top landing, the faint, lingering smell of freshly painted walls pervaded the air, and he thanked whatever had driven him to bust his ass the past few weekends to complete all the interior painting before his friends arrived.

He led the way to the only vacant bedroom in the house. Unfortunately, it was directly opposite the master bedroom. His bedroom. If his friends hadn’t been bunking with him for the next two months, he would have put her in the bedroom on the third floor. For safety’s sake. Higher level rooms were inherently safer from break-ins. Yeah, that’s why. Again, not because he’d kissed her and she’d kissed him back with enough passion to knock his fucking socks off.

Reaching inside the open door, he flipped on the light switch, illuminating the cream-colored walls and the newly refinished four-poster bed with its rich red brocade duvet cover. When he glanced back, Trista was busy taking in the whole room. A faint look of surprise lit her features.

“Like it?”

With her eyes wide, she gently lowered Poofy to the floor, whereupon the cat began inspecting and sniffing the antique rug. “It’s beautiful. I had no idea.”

The appreciative look on her face tweaked his sense of pride. He’d been renovating the old Colonial for two years, and he was finally finished. The place did look damn good.

“I’ll give you the grand tour after we get some shut-eye. There are fresh towels and toiletries in the bathroom. I’ll get you something to sleep in, and a litter box and water for Poofy.” Rather than give in to his urge to take her in his arms and hold her tightly, he left to go gather up the items he’d promised.

When he returned to Trista’s room, the door was almost closed, but not quite, reminding him it was still in need of repair. Through the opening, he glimpsed her sitting on the bed with her back to him, still wearing the overly long scrub pants, but she’d tossed his jacket on a chair. Poofy stalked back and forth across the duvet with his tail held high in that regal, self-important way all cats had. A sooty towel had been draped over a chair, and the cat’s fur was nearly all white again.

She pulled her hair to one side of her neck and began speaking to Poofy in a gentle, soothing tone. He couldn’t hear what she said, but it seemed to ease the animal’s anxiety because it lay down, tucking its feet beneath it, gazing up at her as if he were soaking in every word she said.

Matt didn’t know much about cats, having preferred dogs at a very early age. He supposed cats could just as easily be attuned to their owners as dogs. Maybe it was their inherent aloofness that made him think cats didn’t give a shit about anything except themselves. Contrarily, dogs were all about pleasing their masters. Yup, he’d take a dog any day over a cat.

He tapped twice softly on the door, doing his best not to startle her. God knew she’d been through enough for one night—hell, for one week—and the last thing he wanted to do was to scare her. When she turned at the sound of his voice, his attention was first drawn to how smooth and graceful her bared neck and shoulders were. Then he noticed the dull, sleep-deprived look in her eyes and felt guilty for ogling her. He was used to going without much sleep—he’d been that way since the Marines—but she’d probably need to sleep half the day away.