but thus far, she was the only one yielding. Jake Cameron had been her world for years, but sometimes lately she felt she barely knew him.
There had to be a road back for them. If she had to fight for him, then she would.
Even if it meant fighting dirty.
Inspiration hit. She raced through the cleanup and headed for her kitchen.
Chrissy couldn’t believe how much more quickly their belongings were unloaded from the trailer and pickup bed than when she’d packed them. Everything she had struggled to carry while her children were sleeping this morning seemed to weigh nothing in this big man’s hands.
Such a strong man should have thick meaty paws, but his were not. They were big, yes—the span of his fingers would wrap around Thad’s little chest—but they were long fingers and wide palms.
She shivered a little looking at them, but not from fear. A man’s hands could be so sexy. Or such a turnoff.
Tank’s were the former—not that it mattered. Even if she were in the market for a man, she’d been warned off this one. She kept a careful eye on him, watching his manner with her children.
He wasn’t comfortable with them, no. He said little to any of them.
But she noticed that he allowed Thad to carry things, seemed to understand that her son wanted to be considered bigger than the skinny little boy he was. Tank gave him no effusive praise, didn’t coddle him. Still, he treated the boy with respect, acting as though of course Thad could carry things, when other men might be shooing him away.
Thad flowered under Tank’s regard.
Becky, while still leery of the big man, also did her share, and he let her. He was gentle with her, but he didn’t belittle her or make her feel useless, either. He was choosing carefully what the children would carry, just as he discouraged Chrissy herself from trying to manage anything too heavy.
But he also didn’t give them token burdens to carry, and once he even allowed Thad to help him move a table that had Thad huffing and straining to do his part. Thad’s glow at the end of it was glorious to see. His pride made Chrissy realize that too often she still babied him. He was her baby, of course, but he yearned to be considered big. Tank wasn’t affectionate, no, but at the same time, he accorded Thad the honor only a man can convey to a boy, that sense of being another man, if an unformed one, something no mother on earth could replicate.
If he said next to nothing to any of them, still she was surprised at how comfortable his presence was. There had never been a man in their little family, not really, and certainly no one half as strong and powerful a presence.
“Anything else I can help with before I go pick up your car?” he asked, clearly ready to go.
“No. Thank you so much.” She hesitated, held back by his reserve. But right was right. “May I fix you supper as a thank you? It’s not enough, but—”
His eyes met hers, clearly hesitating, probably unwilling.
“Never mind. You must have better places to—”
“I’d—that would be nice,” he admitted. “But you don’t have to.” He looked everywhere but at her.
Why did people think he was so hard, so mean? All she could see was an endearing awkwardness.
But she thought she saw interest, too. Maybe he didn’t get many home-cooked meals. She didn’t possess her sister’s genius in the kitchen, but she could manage the basics. Immediately she cast around for what she might have in the ice chest that would satisfy this big man who’d expended so much effort on her today. “I haven’t shopped, so it won’t be fancy. You don’t have to say yes, if you’d rather not.”
He shifted on his feet. “It’s not necessary for you to cook for me.”
“It’s very necessary,” she said firmly. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you. As it is, I have to find a way to return the trailer by morning or I’ll lose my deposit—”
“I’ll take care of that and pick up another serpentine
Learning to Kill: Stories