Search and Rescue by April Wilson
Bonus 2 – Maggie’s Houseguest
Maggie Emerson
I watch through my kitchen window at the man chopping wood in the backyard. He took off his long-sleeved flannel shirt, leaving himself in just a sleeveless tank top as he brings the ax down on log after log, splitting them in half as easily as if they were made of wet paper. His arm muscles bulge with each swing, his well-defined biceps and triceps standing out in clear relief.
I’ve never seen a man with so many muscles. And I can only imagine what the rest of him looks like—his abdomen, his thighs. His ass.
His hair, long and ash-blond, is tied up in a manbun to keep it out of his way. His focus on his work is laser-like. I wish he’d quit working so hard and come into the house for a while, maybe long enough to get a cold drink or find out what I’m making for dinner.
It’s been years since I had a man sitting at my kitchen table, eating my food. The boys were only six and eight when I divorced their asshole of a father. I’ve been single ever since, going on nine years now. Sure, I dated on and off, but it never amounted to anything serious. I was too focused on my kids. They had to come first, since I was basically both mom and dad now. Their dad hasn’t been a good role model since he was convicted of embezzling and went to prison.
I’ve been burned too many times by the very man who had vowed to honor and love me, in sickness and in health. Too bad he was lying through his teeth when he made those vows. And it’s too bad I didn’t find out the truth about him until after we’d had two kids.
Fortunately, my ex-disaster, Calvin, is still in prison in upstate Colorado, serving a ten-year sentence for embezzling money from the trucking company he was worked for at the time. The damn idiot.
I force thoughts of my ex out of my head and go back to making dinner—a big pot of chicken and dumplings, like my mama taught me to make. And I made a pineapple upside-down cake for dessert.
I hear the front door open and then slam shut. The boys are home from football practice.
“We’re home mom,” Riley yells as he runs upstairs to shower.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” I call up to them. “Don’t take too long.”
I hope Owen will join us for dinner this evening. I’ve invited him before, but he always respectfully declines and takes a plate up to his room. I think he’s afraid his presence here is an imposition, but I don’t see it that way. He’s been kind enough to stay with us while the investigation into the poachers who attacked Hannah McIntyre is underway.
I know I sleep better at night having him under the same roof as me. I saw him in action up in that ravine when we were searching for Hannah, and in the valley where we sheltered overnight during a blizzard. He insisted on staying out in the elements all night long, despite frigid temperatures, just to make sure no one snuck up on the shack where we holed up for the night. That man has serious skills.
I think the boys enjoy having him around, too. They never had much of a father figure to speak of. I want them to have a good role model around to show them what’s what. The best way for boys to learn how to be a good man is to see one in action—and that definitely describes Owen Ramsey. Cal was a lousy role, and as far as I’m concerned, my boys are better off without his influence.
Once dinner’s nearly ready, I wash my hands and dry them on a dishtowel. Then I walk out the back door and down the steps to the yard, where Owen’s chopping logs for the woodstove. He’s only been here a few days, and already we have more wood cut and stacked than we’ve ever had. I can only manage so much chopping at a time before my shoulders give out on me. I’m not as young as I used to be.
When I allow myself to stare at Owen’s shoulders, my belly quivers. It’s been a long time for me. A very long time. And having Owen around gives me thoughts I have no business having.
Hell, I’m not sure how old he is, but I’d be surprised if he’s over thirty-five. I turned forty this past summer.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” I tell him as he’s mid-swing.
I watch his arm muscles flex as he brings the ax down with a solid thunk, splitting a fat log cleanly in half.
His hazel eyes meet mine, and he nods. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” He sinks the ax blade into the chopping block. “I’ll go wash up now.”
I nod. “I hope you’re hungry. I made plenty.”
He nods. “I am. Thank you.”
Owen follows me in through the back kitchen door.
“Something smells mighty good,” he says when he gets a whiff of dinner.
“Chicken and dumplings. Would you like to join us at the table this evening? The boys will be down shortly.”
He glances at the kitchen table, which is covered with a floral tablecloth. “I’d like that, if it’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay. We’d love for you to eat with us.”
He nods toward the front staircase. “I’ll just run upstairs and wash up real quick, and put on a clean shirt.”
As he walks away, I confess I enjoy the view of his tight ass in a pair of well-fitting faded jeans. His scuffed cowboy boots sound good as they strike the wood floorboards.
I busy myself getting everything ready. When Owen appears in the doorway ten minutes later, my mouth goes dry.
Good Lord, save me from temptation.
He’s got a long-sleeved plaid shirt on, open at the collar, and I can see a peek at the ink on his chest, and the strong column of his neck. His hair is freshly brushed and put up in bun, neat and tidy.
“How can I help?” he asks as I’m carrying a heavy serving bowl to the table. “Here, let me.” He takes the bowl from me and sets it on a trivet on the table.
“Thank you,” I say. “Please have a seat.”
But instead of sitting, he follows me into the kitchen. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Well, you could grab four glasses from that cupboard there.”
Riley and Brendan come tearing down the back staircase into the kitchen, both of them talking at once as they claim their seats at the table.
“What’s for dinner?” Riley asks.
“What smells so good?” Brendan asks. “I sure hope you made a lot of it. I’m starving.”
I laugh. “You’re always starving. And yes, there’s plenty,” I tell him. “Don’t worry.”
As Owen sets four glasses on the table, one at each place setting, he eyes the boys, who are seated and anxiously waiting for the food. “Why don’t you boys help set the table? Riley, why don’t you get the plates? And Brendan, you can grab flatware for everyone. I’ll grab us some napkins.”
The boys both look to me, confusion on their faces. It’s quite comical. “You heard the man,” I say. I guess I’m guilty of letting the boys off the hook when it comes to dinner chores. I’ve just found it quicker to do everything myself.
My sons jump to their feet and carry out Owen’s instructions. If I’d asked them to help out, they’d have lollygagged so long that I’d have ended up doing it all myself just to save time.
Owen has a way with the boys. When he speaks, they listen. When he tells them to do something, they do it. I guess that’s what teenage boys need. Someone to make them listen and take notice.
Pretty soon the table is set, and the boys are seated. Owen carries over a basket of warm dinner rolls, and I bring the green beans and the salad. It’s a simple meal, but filling. There should be enough food here to satisfy these three big appetites.
As the guys dig in, I bring a pitcher of homemade lemonade to the table.
“How was football practice?” I ask the boys.
Riley is a senior this year, and he’s a quarterback. Brendan is a sophomore and plays wide receiver.
Riley swallows a mouthful of food. “Good. Coach said I can start at our first game.”
“That’s fantastic,” I say.
Owen listens but doesn’t say anything. He eats quietly, his sharp gaze taking in every nuance of the conversation.
When everyone’s done eating, I stand to clear the table. “I’ll get dessert.”
Owen quietly says, “Riley, Brendan, your mama worked hard to cook this meal. Why don’t you help out by cleaning the table?”
The boys jump to their feet to do as Owen asked. He’s like a teenage boy whisperer.
While I’m bringing the pineapple upside-down cake to the table, Owen brings four dessert plates and clean forks.
“Thank you for a delicious dinner,” he tells me as I cut into the cake.
After dinner, the boys head upstairs to play video games for a while before they hit the hay. Owen helps me clean up in the kitchen. He washes the dishes, while I dry and put them away. This old farmhouse doesn’t have an automatic dishwasher.
It’s nice having someone to share the work with. It reminds me of what I’m missing. What I’ve been missing for nearly a decade.
I can’t tell if it’s my imagination or not, but sometimes I get the feeling Owen likes it too. When I catch him watching me with a quiet yearning, he looks away. I don’t know if the hunger I see in his eyes is real or just wishful thinking on my part.
Probably wishful thinking.
He sure never acts on it.
Even though I wish he would.
I know I’m too old for him, but just once wouldn’t be too bad, would it? It would be like a friend-with-benefits thing, like you see in rom-coms.
The funny thing is, I know absolutely nothing about him, other than he’s a former Army Ranger and that he lives alone, off the grid, on a mountain in Tennessee. That’s it. That’s all I know.
“Anything else I can help out with before I turn in?” he asks me when the kitchen is spotless, and the trash has been carried out.
He has a nice baritone voice—low, a bit rough, the kind of voice a woman wants to hear whispering in her ear at night. The kind of voice that will give her the most amazing shivers.
“Maggie?”
I shake myself. Jesus, pay attention, Maggie. “Um, no. That’s everything. Thanks for helping me clean up the kitchen. And thanks for chopping more wood. I appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.” He dries his hands on a dishtowel. “I’ll check on the horses before I bed down.”
“Thank you.”
He knows horses. He knows how to wield an ax. And he knows how to use a gun. He’s prepared for anything.
“Night then, ma’am,” he says, standing there in the kitchen in no apparent hurry to leave.
“Why don’t you call me Maggie?” I ask him. “There’s no need to stand on formalities.”
He looks away. “I wouldn’t want to be presumptuous.”
I fight not to smile. Maybe I want him to be presumptuous. “I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”
He grins. “All right, then. Goodnight, Maggie.”
My pulse races as I imagine walking up to him, threading my fingers in his hair, and kissing him like there’s no tomorrow. Would it be so bad for me to make a move on him? Would he be repulsed? Would he think I’m too old for him, the mother of two nearly grown boys?
My courage disintegrates and a sigh slips out. “Goodnight, Owen.”
Two days later, the poachers who were after Maggie are apprehended and arrested. They’re subsequently locked up in the county jail awaiting arraignment. The judge denied them bail on the grounds they were flight risks.
The next morning, without warning, Owen packed up his duffle bag, shook my hand, and said his goodbyes.
“Job’s over,” he says. “I guess I’d better head home.”
“I guess so,” I say in a quiet voice. Please don’t go. “It was nice having you here.”
We stood there staring at each other for the longest time before Owen looked away.
“Thanks for your hospitality, Maggie. I—” And then he shook his head and headed for his rented SUV and left for Denver to catch his flight home.
Owen could have stayed if he’d wanted to. He’s a grown man, capable of making his own decisions.
I spent the rest of the day berating myself for coming right out and asking him to stay a while longer. For not taking a chance. I should have taken a chance. What’s the worst that could have happened? My feelings could have gotten hurt? My self-esteem, which isn’t great to begin with, might have gotten a bit more bruised?
I’ll never know, because I chickened out and didn’t say a word. I let him walk away, climb into the rented SUV, and disappear from my life.
* * *
The next release in the McIntyre Security Search and Rescue series is Maggie and Owen’s book, Lost and Found.
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www.aprilwilsonauthor.com
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Books by April Wilson
McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series:
Vulnerable
Fearless
Shane – a novella
Broken
Shattered
Imperfect
Ruined
Hostage
Redeemed
Marry Me – a novella
Snowbound – a novella
Regret
With This Ring – a novella
Collateral Damage
Special Delivery
Finding Layla
McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series Box Sets:
Box Set 1
Box Set 2
Box Set 3
Box Set 4
McIntyre Search and Rescue:
Search and Rescue
Lost and Found
Tyler Jamison Novels:
Somebody to Love
Somebody to Hold
Somebody to Cherish
The British Billionaires Romance Series:
Charmed
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Audiobooks by April Wilson
For links to my audiobooks, please visit my website:
http://www.aprilwilsonauthor.com/audiobooks
