Law smiled to himself, guessing the question she wasn’t asking. He could put her mind at rest by saying the woman who called was his sister. But he resisted. No need to change now and confuse everything.
“Law is my first name. Well, my nickname. It’s actually Lauray.” He pronounced it Law-ray. “It’s Cajun. The Battise part is Alabama-Coushatta.”
“Coushatta? What’s that?”
“A Native American tribe.” He slanted a knowing glance her way as he slid on his artificial leg. “You’ve never heard of us?”
“No. Everyone I ever met who claimed to be part Native American said they were Cherokee.”
His lips twitched, a quick uptick of amusement. He was tempted to tell her more. But that would just be pretending they were now going to get to know each other. He needed to get the hell out. And he knew, too easily, how to shut her down.
“How long were you inside?”
Jori flinched. Of course. He was curious about that.
She folded her arms across her chest and jutted out a hip. She had her own way of erecting walls. “Three years, six months, three days, nine hours, and fifteen minutes. More or less.”
Law frowned as she gave him the math. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five or -six? That meant she’d spent the first years of her adulthood behind bars. He hurt for her just thinking about it. But he didn’t want her pain.
He’d seen her in action with the other vets and the service dogs. She had a natural kindness and sympathy for living things. No doubt some bastard had taken advantage of her generous nature and it had gotten her into a world of trouble.
In his experience in law enforcement, misguided loyalty to a douchebag boyfriend accounted for why most women ended up in jail. Didn’t matter if the women were soldiers or civilians. None of his business, of course. The fact that he’d like to pummel the hypothetical bastard who’d ruined Jori’s life made no difference.
Jori finished braiding her hair before she said, “You haven’t asked why.”
He stood and zipped his pants. She sounded defensive, like his opinion mattered.
“A sentence that allowed you out in three and a half years means you probably didn’t kill anyone. Did you try?”
“No.” She sounded horrified by the idea while he’d sounded matter-of-fact.
“Then I don’t need to know.” Don’t want to know.
Law bent to lace up his boot. They’d already said too much. Shared too much. She was in search of bonds, promises, and a future. But he didn’t have any of those things to offer. He should have left her the hell alone.
He glanced in her direction but his gaze snagged on her feet. She wore socks, one blue and one orange. He felt his gut twist. Those damn socks! He’d noticed them when she wrapped her legs around his waist, the first time.
He felt even worse. He should have left it to some upright Dudley-Do-Right type to bring back her sexual nature. Someone with more to offer than Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am. Someone who might want to make those plans she needed.
He looked up, hoping like hell she wouldn’t see in his expression all that was roiling inside him. “Look, I’m not sure—”
A scratch at the door interrupted.
Looking like she needed an escape, Jori hurried to open it.
Sam walked in, her head moving slowly from one to the other, studying the emotional climate of the humans in the room. First, she moved toward Jori and rubbed her curly head against her thigh. Jori reached out to pet her but, after only a few strokes, Sam hurried over and lightly pawed Law’s good foot, a sign she needed to go out.
A moment later, Argyle appeared. Moving like a furry dart, the kitten skipped across the room, bounded up on the bed and onto Law’s chest. Claws out, she raked at his face with both paws several times before leaping off and zigzagged her way back out the door.
Horrified by her pet’s actions, Jori rushed over to Law. “Oh no. Are you hurt?”
Law felt his face. “No. Lucky my beard’s so long and thick.”
“I can’t think why she’d act like that. She’s usually…” Jori’s voice trailed away as she went in search of her cat.
Law knew the answer as he felt his stinging nose. He didn’t need a pocket-sized ninja kitty with an overly developed protective instinct to let him know he was a good-for-nothing rat bastard. The damning evidence was there in Jori’s sexual glow.
He walked into the living area where Jori was petting Argyle. “I’m heading out. You want me to drop you back at work first?”
Jori glanced at her kitchen clock. How was she going to explain a three-and-a-half-hour lunch?
She shook her head. “No, I’m good. It’s only a three-mile walk. I need the exercise.”
Law watched her a moment longer, liking her display of independence, even if it was pitifully obvious she was doing it because she was trying to take him on his own terms.
She followed him to the door, Sam trailing Law.