Welcoming the Bad Boy: A Hero's Welcome Novel (6 page)

He shrugged. “We could come up with a new name for her. No respectable dog goes by a name like that.”

Val swept an unruly lock of her hair behind her ear. “Maybe we could call her Sweetie, for short. So she doesn’t get too confused.”

“You see?” He pointed at her. “You do know a little about dogs. They get attached to their names. It’s their identity.”

Val’s body oozed with gooey, mushy feelings. Best to continue toward the kitchen, toss the trash, and put as much space between her and Griffin as possible.

Griffin had “the dog” in his lap, tucked into the crook of his arm, and Trooper was curled up on the floor underneath him.

Val had gone into her bedroom to change clothes and for the life of him he couldn’t stop thinking about what was going on in there. Discarding clothes. Looking for new clothes. Panties. Bras.

As he waited, he tried to force his thoughts onto something else, like how he was going to help his mother get better. Alzheimer’s was incurable, but people did improve, right? He’d read studies about it. His mother was the most overachieving person he knew. If someone would’ve told her she couldn’t, she would’ve been the first one to find the cure.

That was then, though. This was now. Now she needed his help. He’d left her alone for too many years. Alone to think he hated her for hiding his identity from him. He didn’t hate her. She’d done the best she could, and he knew that now. Now he was going to do the best he could for her.

Griffin tapped his fingers, listening to the sound of Val’s buzzing refrigerator. Then the little dog in his lap coughed and…

“Ugh!” He rolled quickly away from the dog and off the couch. “Gross, dude,” he said, looking at the large, wet puke stain on his shirt. He quickly assessed whether or not the puppy was dying. He wasn’t, so Griffin felt free to scowl. “I hope you feel better now.”

The dog’s tail thumped softly on the couch.

“Good.” He smiled despite himself. Then he began to peel off his puke-covered shirt.

Val’s bedroom door opened just as he balled up the shirt in his hands. She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze moving down the length of him. “What happened?”

“Sweet…uh, Sweetie…dog threw up. On my shirt.”

Val’s gaze fell to the wadded shirt in his hands, then moved back up to his chest and stayed there. It made his body come alive.
Every
part of his body.

Damn. Preacher’s daughter, my ass.

“She’s fine. Her tail wagged a little bit, so I think she’s actually feeling a little bit better.”

“That’s good.” Val nodded, finally looking at his face.

“Is it okay if I rinse my shirt in your sink?”

She stepped toward him. He noticed now that she was wearing thin pajamas. The satin fabric shimmered in the dim moonlight cascading through the window. “I’ll rinse it and throw it in the washing machine for you. Then I’ll drop it by to you tomorrow.” She reached out her hand and he placed the shirt there, trying not to notice her wandering gaze along his bare chest. He was flattered. Turned on, if he were honest.

He preferred lying to himself, though. At least when it came to women that he was attracted to. “Thanks.”

She took the shirt and walked toward the laundry room. He tried, and failed, not to check out her backside as she left. Getting to sleep tonight was going to be impossible, he suspected, thanks to Sweet Thing 1.

And Sweet Thing 2.

The next morning, Val parked and started unloading the groceries she’d purchased. Cooking dinner for the Martins today wasn’t just time-consuming, it also took effort to go get the supplies and money to buy them. Balancing one bag on each hip, she headed toward the door and unlocked it. Her breath caught in her chest as she stepped inside and saw the blow-up man from the corner of her eye. Sweet Cheeks was curled in his lap. The little dog lifted her eyes to acknowledge Val’s presence, but her usual spunkiness was still at bay as she recovered from her ice cream overdose.

Val shut the door with her foot and continued toward the kitchen. After unloading her bags, she laid a small chicken in the refrigerator to cook after book club today. She’d also purchased vegetables to stir-fry with rice for the Martins. It was an easy favorite. “There.” With a glance backward at the blow-up doll again, she laughed, heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. Even though she hadn’t liked the idea of reading one of her Sophie Evans books to the ladies in book club at first, she’d warmed up to the idea. She rarely did book signings or readings, so it’d be great to see people’s real-life reactions to what she’d written.

After the shower, she coated her skin in lavender-scented lotion, pulled on a pair of soft denim jeans and a flowery cotton top with lace accentuating the scoop neckline. She pulled her dark hair into a low-hanging ponytail and swiped some pink lip gloss over her lips. Then she grabbed her bag with the Sophie Evans book inside and climbed back into her car. Her phone buzzed as she drove to the nursing home.

After checking the ID, Val pulled the phone to her ear and answered with a smile. “You’re so bad,” she told Nikki, laughing softly.

“So you got my present?” Nikki asked. “Did he help?”

“It depends on what you mean by help. My father was conveniently there when I opened the box.”

“Oops.” Nikki’s laugh was one of those low, raspy laughs. Val had never actually met her in person, but she imagined Nikki to look a lot like Jessica Rabbit with curves that made men fall at her feet. She read romance novels for a living, and had the mouth of a sailor and the voice of a sex kitten.

“And then Griffin saw it, too,” Val added, turning onto the road that led to Seaside Harbor.

“Griffin?” Nikki asked. “Who’s he? You’ve never mentioned his name before.”

“Just a guy.”

“Uh-huh. Inspiration-worthy guy?” Nikki asked.

Griffin’s toned arms and bare chest as he stood in her living room last night crossed Val’s mind. Yeah, he was inspiring all right. “Umm.”

“And he was in your house if he saw your doll,” Nikki pointed out.

No way was Val adding that he’d stayed the night, too. “He just came by to check on the dog that I’m caring for right now.”

“You’re a saint. How do you write such sinfully good romances?”

“Good question.” Because Val hadn’t experienced a sinfully good romance of her own in a long, long time. “Thanks for the present, though. Mr. Perfect will keep me company during my long nights of writing over the next few weeks.”

“Or maybe Griffin can keep you company during those long nights,” Nikki teased. “Listen, I have to go. Seriously, get writing. I don’t want to go begging for another deadline extension. Three times in six months doesn’t look good.”

“Agreed.” Even if Val had to produce a shitty first draft, she would write something just as soon as she got home from babysitting at the Martins’.

Ten minutes later, Val sat down with the eight ladies from book club and smiled, breathing easily for the first time that day.

“Did you bring chocolate?” Alma asked.

Val remembered Griffin’s reaction to his mother eating junk food the last time. He didn’t like it and claimed that his mother didn’t, either. “I brought healthy snacks this time,” Val said, pulling cheese sticks from her bag.

“I’m lactose intolerant,” one of the ladies told her.

Val had considered that when she was at the grocery store this morning. She also pulled out little boxes of raisins to pass around.

“Those stick to my dentures,” another woman said.

“Well, you can’t please everyone.” Val shrugged. Then she pulled the Sophie Evans novel into her lap. She loved the cover of this book. She also loved how her pen name was in large block letters. It was something she’d always dreamt about. Except no one recognized her real name, Valerie Hunt. That was okay. She’d decided a long time ago that was for the best.

“Everyone ready?” she asked, looking around at the expectant faces. Seeing several nods, she read the first line. She always suffered over the first line of one of her books. It was meant to draw the readers in and invite them to stay.

Val started to read. “Anything monumental that had ever happened in Alice’s life had happened in a torrential downpour. Alice held up her umbrella and bravely got out of her car, expecting the worst, but hoping for the best.”

Val glanced up quickly to see if the ladies were still interested. Surprisingly, all of the book club’s women were still watching her. None of them were tossing cheese sticks or raisins at her head.

Good. This is good.

Val continued reading. An hour later, she stopped and placed a bookmark to hold their place. “We’ll read some more next time, ladies. Right now I’ve got food to start cooking.”

“Cook?” Alma frowned. “I always hated cooking.”

“Me, too,” Val said, nodding. She looked at Helen, who’d been listening to every word she’d said for the last hour. “What about you, Helen? Did you ever like to cook?”

Helen’s brow sank over her hazel eyes. She was younger than the rest of the women. Too young to be suffering from something like Alzheimer’s. Most people her age were still working, or easing into retirement and looking forward to enjoying their golden years with their children and grandchildren.

“I don’t know,” Helen said, looking very confused. “I like chocolate.”

It wasn’t an appropriate answer and Val wondered if Helen even remembered the question. “I like chocolate, too.”

The other women concurred.

“You should bring more of that next time instead of those healthy things you brought today,” Alma said. “We get enough foods like that from the cafeteria.”

“Right. I’ll think about it.” Val stood and pulled her bag over her shoulder. Most of the women could walk or wheel themselves back to their rooms. Helen, however, sat very still, just like she had every time since she’d started coming to the group. One of the nurses had suggested that the activity would be good for her. Helen enjoyed listening to people talk, but she wasn’t great at socializing anymore.

Val walked up behind her wheelchair and started pushing her, knowing she couldn’t remember how to get back to her room on her own. Helen was perfectly capable of walking, but she preferred sitting in a wheelchair. It eased her anxiety over not knowing what to do or where to go. The padded arms hugged her body and offered her a security that her memory was robbing her of these days.

When they got to room 311, Val pushed her chair inside. “Here we are, Helen.”

Helen looked up, her eyes sparkling with moisture. Val wasn’t sure if it was because she was sad or maybe just tired. “You’re welcome,” Helen said.

Val assumed she meant to say “thank you.” “You, too.”

Val started to walk away, but Helen reached for her arm.

“Can I keep that?” Helen asked, pointing to the book in Val’s hand.

“You want to keep the book?”

Helen nodded, smiling at the cover.

Val handed it over. “Sure. You can keep it safe until we read it again in book club. Don’t let any of the other women get ahold of it and read ahead, though. We all read together.”

Helen nodded, but Val wasn’t sure she’d received the message. It was okay.

With a smile and a wave, Val headed out of the room and ran straight into a taller, stronger, darker person, walking alongside a dog. Trooper wagged his tail at the sight of her. Griffin’s expression was unreadable. He looked from Helen to Val, then his gaze fell to the book in Helen’s hand.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at his mother’s lap.

“Book club pick,” Val said, growing nervous at just the thought of someone she knew seeing her beside the book. As if anyone would somehow figure out that she was the one who’d written it. Her back cover biography didn’t even have a picture. It only said that she lived in North Carolina and enjoyed reading and spending time with friends. She also enjoyed going to the beach and collecting shells. That description could’ve been used to describe any thirty-year-old woman in the country.

“A romance?” Griffin asked, looking at his mother again.

Something about the tone of his voice when he said it made Val’s defenses rise. “What’s wrong with romance?” she asked.

“Nothing.” His brow lowered as he looked at her. “Not in my opinion, at least. My mother used to have a different one, though.”

“People change,” Val supplied, relaxing just a little.

“You’re right.” He met her gaze and those little butterflies started stirring around inside her again, fluttering fast and furious.

“I’m surprised Louise let you bring Trooper in this place. I had to go through a million hoops for her to allow me to bring Sweet Cheeks in for a visit.”

Griffin gestured toward Trooper. “Trooper has a job here now. He’s a certified therapy dog.” He looked at her. “I’m taking your advice and working here, too.”

“Really?” The flutters turned to a full-blown hurricane inside her. “That’s great, Griffin.”

“Guess that means we’ll be running into each other a lot more often,” he said, his expression still unreadable.

She tried to keep an even expression also, and suppressed her need to touch him. Seeing him more over the summer sounded perfect to her. Just what her literary agent had ordered.

Griffin was trying to focus on his mother, seated in her wheelchair beside the bed with her hands in her lap. Trying, but failing because he couldn’t take his eyes off Val.

“How’s, uh, that little dog?” he asked, referring to Sweet Cheeks.

Val smiled, and if possible the blue in her eyes got bluer. “She’s fine. I even took her for a little walk before coming here. She didn’t chase anybody, but I’m sure she’ll be back to her old self by tomorrow.”

“And no more ice cream for her,” he teased.

“Or me, either. I’m sticking to yogurt so that I can fit into my favorite pair of jeans a little bit easier.” She gestured toward the dark denim she was wearing and he dutifully scanned his eyes over her lower half. Big mistake.

“I think you look just fine.” He hadn’t meant for the razor edge in his voice. Clearing his throat, he quickly changed the subject. “This is my first time doing therapy with a dog. I’ve done just about every other thing with a dog.”

Val’s mouth made that soft O.

Griffin laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, if you want my advice.” She waited, probably because he’d been an ass the last time she’d tried to give him advice. But here he was, taking the first advice she’d given him and it was working so far.

“Okay,” he said.

Val searched his eyes. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Just because I’m open to advice doesn’t mean I’ll take it, though.” And that made him sound like an ass again.

She fidgeted with her hands. “Take Trooper to the community room where I do my book club. It’ll be better for”—her gaze flicked to his mother, who was staring off into space at the moment—“everyone,” she supplied. “Some people respond better by seeing other people interacting with something first. Also…” Val chewed her bottom lip.

“Go ahead,” Griffin said.

“Well, I was going to say more, but I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s my first time, remember? Say what you were going to say,” he urged, meaning it.

Val nodded. “I was just going to add that,” she lowered her voice, giving another sideward glance to make sure Helen wasn’t paying attention to them, “your mom might just sit back and watch the first few times. She’s more of an observer with these types of things. You might not want to push her because she clams up.”

His entire body had gone rigid. He didn’t mind advice, but it was hard to be told about his mother by someone who barely knew her. He was supposed to know his mother better than anyone else in the world. She was the woman who’d raised him. Helen had adopted him when his real mother had abandoned him.

And then he’d abandoned Helen.

“I’m sorry,” Val said, watching him. “I’m known for giving advice when it’s not wanted. I butt in. It’s what I do.”

“I told you I wanted the advice, so don’t apologize. But I know my mother better than anyone.” “Anyone” meaning her. He could hear his voice hardening, turning to stone right along with his tightly clenched jaw and the muscles along his back. It wasn’t Val’s fault he’d been a dick when he first discovered the truth about his adoption. So the hell what? Helen Black wasn’t his birth mom. Big fucking deal. Except all those years of struggling to live up to what she wanted suddenly made sense. He couldn’t live up to that. The son of a drug addict couldn’t be a straight-A student at Harvard.

Val’s eyes were wide. “Okay. Well, maybe you’re right.” She pulled her bag farther up on her shoulder. “Good luck.” Glancing back, she forced a smile at his mother, softening her voice the way you would when interacting with a young child. “Bye, Helen. I’ll see you in a few days.”

His mother looked up. This was the first time he’d seen her smile since he’d moved her here. “Don’t leave me,” she said. Her gaze moved to Griffin. “Who are you? Are you Jacob?”

“Jacob?” Griffin shook his head.
Who the hell is Jacob?

Val offered a sympathetic glance at him. “Jacob is the character in my book…um, the book that I’m reading to the group.”

“She thinks I’m a character in a romance novel?” he asked, more than a little concerned, because that was crazy.

“Well, you do fit the description.” Val’s cheeks flared and she looked away quickly. “This is Griffin, Helen. Remember him?”

And now she was introducing him to his own fucking mother. “Of course she remembers me,” he snapped, unable to help himself. Trooper drew closer to his side. There’d been a time when he’d suffered from acute PTSD after coming home from deployment. Trooper had been a therapy dog to him then, for sure. He sensed Griffin’s emotions.