Three Little Words (Fool's Gold #12)

“You can’t. That’s what I came to tell you. I’m sorry about what happened at the festival. I did want to go to the concert. I wanted to a lot, but I didn’t know how.”


He frowned slightly. “Concerts aren’t usually tough. You, uh, sit and listen to music. There’s not a lot of interaction. Sometimes during the ballads you hold up your phone like a light. My mom swears that when she was a teenager, people held up lighters and lit matches. Sounds like a fire hazard to me.”

Despite everything, she started to laugh; then the laugh broke off into silence and she was fighting tears.

What the f**k? She didn’t cry. She mocked the criers. She was tough. She was—

Strong arms came around her and pulled her close. She found herself held. Gently, without force. She could have broken free easily. A soft, low voice promised everything would be fine.

Large hands stroked her back, but in a comforting way. He didn’t try to touch her butt or cop a feel. Instead Kent was, once again, the perfect gentleman.

She jerked free and glared at him. “I’m not like other women you’ve dated.”

One eyebrow rose. “Which ones?”

“Anyone. Pick one. I’m not like them, those women out there.” She pointed to the windows. “I’m not from here.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “By ‘here’ I assume you mean Fool’s Gold. Or the suburbs. As opposed to, say, earth.”

She wiped her cheeks. “I’m not a space alien.”

“Good, because I’m not a fan of interspecies dating.”

“How can you want to go out with me?” she demanded. “I’m a mess. I’m doing it wrong.” She remembered all the reasons men usually wanted to spend time with her. “Unless this is about getting laid.”

“It’s not.”

She stared at him, wanting to believe.

He gave her a rueful smile. “It’s not just about that. Because, hey, what guy wouldn’t want you?”

“Do you know what I did in the military?” she asked, then kept talking because she had to tell him now while she had the courage. “I killed people. I wasn’t a sniper, Kent. There were no long-range rifles. When I did it, it was personal. Up close.” She felt her hands curling into fists.

“You don’t need this mess,” she told him quietly. “I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say. I’m sorry. You must know that it’s a good idea for you to stay away from me.”

His dark gaze never strayed from her face. “Have you talked to anyone?” he asked gently. “A counselor?”

Her chin shot up. “You think there’s something wrong with me?”

“I think you’re in a lot of pain.”

Words she’d heard before in the safe confines of a therapist’s office. “I see someone,” she said. “Once a week, in Sacramento.” She managed a slight smile. “I’m getting better. Imagine if we’d met six months ago.”

“I still would have asked you to that concert.”

“I probably would have gutted you like a fish.”

“Police Chief Alice Barns doesn’t take kindly to that sort of thing.”

“I’m more afraid of you.”

Words she hadn’t meant to say, but it was too late to call them back now.

“I don’t scare anyone.”

“You do me. You’re nice.”

He winced. “Great.”

“No, I mean it. You’re kind and funny and a good dad. Jeez, Kent, why are you bothering with me?”

“You have attitude. Reese likes you and he’s a good judge of character. You frighten my brother.” One corner of his mouth turned up. “And yes, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Guys are visual—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She liked that he found her attractive. At least that was something. “I’d really like to go to a concert with you.”

“Sorry, but the band is gone. Would you settle for dinner?”

She nodded.

“At my house,” he continued. “Reese will be there. It’s not a date. It’s me inviting my son’s martial arts instructor over. We’ll never be alone. How does that sound?”

“Nice,” she said.

He grimaced. “I’m cursed.”

“Don’t say that. You’re the dream.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

He didn’t believe her, which was okay. She knew it was true.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AS ISABEL UNPACKED dresses and hung them, she thought about what Ford had claimed. That he’d never been in love. The idea seemed impossible. He was so charming and fun—women must have fallen for him. Which was what he’d said. But he’d never reciprocated their feelings.

Not to fall in love. How sad, she thought, only she wasn’t sure she was any different. Look at her disaster of a marriage. Was that romantic love? Certainly not on Eric’s side and she was having doubts about her own feelings.

Isabel shook off the thoughts and finished unpacking the dresses. There were six in all. Two samples and four orders. She would let the dresses hang out overnight, then start pressing them in the morning.