SINGULAR FOCUS.
That was what made a man a hunter.
Every sense was attuned to the prey. You smelled it, you felt it, you heard it, you breathed it. Then you tasted it. Victory had many flavors.
Obsession had one.
Angel.
I’d read stories of men going mad. I’d lived my whole life witnessing it. Growing up on River Ranch with River Stephens as my father, mentor, trustee and confidant, I’d learned two things. Trust no one and believe what your senses tell you.
River Stephens was a madman. After I’d ended his life and told every brother and sister in the compound that they were free, not one had chosen to stay.
Now I was alone.
Until last night.
When a brunette opened a door I did not think would ever open.
I had work to do. I had compound land to sell, assets to transfer, and bank accounts to close. Saying nothing unless spoken to had inadvertently served me well. River Stephens had mistaken my silence for loyalty and had made me his sole heir. I needed to tie up loose ends, but I was forsaking responsibility in the name of an angel.
An angel who had woken before sunrise and showered and moved to the kitchen of her small apartment. As I sat in my truck watching her, I wondered how alike I was to a dead madman, but I did not have time to contemplate the thought. Her lights went out, and I moved.
I was out of the truck and next to her vehicle as the first rays of the sun broke the horizon. Unaware of her surroundings, she kept her head down as she locked her door and made her way across the parking lot. The soft sway of her hips spoke to my needs like the intelligence in her eyes drew my curiosity.
I waited until she put her key in the car door. “You should never dismiss your surroundings.”
Frightened, she jumped. “What the…?” She turned as her hand went to her chest. “Oh my God, Callan. Have you been here all night?”
“No.” I cast my gaze to the hand between her breasts and waited.
Her buds hardened and her fingers curled into a fist, clutching her shirt. “What are you doing here?” The curiosity in her tone from last night returned, and none of her words were said in anger.
Unlike every female I grew up with, she wore fitted clothes that showed every curve made to taunt a man. “Where are you going?” I had not decided if I liked denim on a woman.
She dropped her hand to her side. “Work?”
The single word was spoken as a question, and I heard the distinctive tone in her voice I’d only ever encountered outside the compound.
Pity.
I kept my expression blank. “Do you think I am ignorant?”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Um, no. Not at all.”
“Then do not presume I am unaware of how society works.”
Her shoulders dropped and her hand went up in a stop motion. “Okay, listen. You show up at the crack of dawn, you hide in the shadows and then you ask where I’m going first thing in the morning, like you have no idea that people work to pay the bills. Forgive me for being… presumptuous.”
Her honesty defused my irritation, and I gave her a truth. “I’ve only known one other female who was honest.”
She bit her bottom lip, then her finger popped up. “Okay, one, that was a loaded statement. One day I would love to decipher it, but two”—she held a second finger up—“and more important, you have to know that saying female isn’t going to win you any popularity contests.”
I had no desire to be popular, only to be in her favor. “Noted.”
She blew out a breath. “Good. So…” She lifted an eyebrow. “Who was she?”
“My charge.”
“Your what?”
I did not use her language on purpose. “A woman I tended to.” She did not need to know I tended to Decima for years.
“Right, okay then.” Even in the half light, I saw the color heat her cheeks. “I need to get to work. Nice, ah, seeing you again.” She opened her car door with a brisk, uncoordinated movement.
“You are jealous.” The realization should not have been a boost to my ego, but an affront to my honor.
“Oh.” She laughed nervously. “I’m not anything.”
She was many things, not the least of which was intriguing. “You are hungry. I will take you to breakfast. This was why I asked where you were going. I did not know what time you watched the child.”
She paused, one leg in the car. Then she got all the way in and looked up at me. “I’m out of time. I need to get to work.”
“You did not eat.”
She stared at me a moment. “How do you know that?”
She was not in her kitchen long enough. “Instinct.”
“Mm-hm. And what else does your instinct tell you?” Her hand went up again. “Wait. You know what? Forget it. Forget I asked.”
The tilt of her head, the exasperation in her tone, the way she put up no pretense, it should not have made me want to smile. “What time are you due at work?”
She sighed. “Five minutes ago.”
“Retrieve the boy. We will all go to eat.”
She stared straight ahead for a moment then looked back up at me. “You know what I am?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Crazy. That’s the only reason I can possibly think of for still being here, contemplating your offer.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “You are not contemplating anything. You will go.” I named a diner close by. “How far away is your work?” I did not say nanny. Words that ended in y did not feel right on the tongue.
“Fifteen minutes.”
“See you in forty-five.” I shut her door and walked toward my truck.
Same as last night, her vehicle’s engine did not catch at first turn. Then with a lag that should be fixed, it turned over. “Callan,” she called to me after her vehicle sputtered, “I didn’t say I was going.”
She would. “Forty-five minutes,” I repeated. Not waiting for her to change her mind, I got in my truck and went to an auto parts store to get her a new starter.
Thirty minutes later, I was in a diner I’d been to once before. It was only the third time I’d eaten in a restaurant. The first time was what people outside the compound referred to as fast food. The parking lot had been full, and I had been curious. The food was inedible. My second meal out had been this diner. The food was more tolerable.
An older waitress who had waited on me before brought coffee. “Hey, handsome, nice to see you again.” She didn’t ask if I wanted the coffee, she simply poured it. “Double breakfast, right?”
“I am waiting to order.”
Her wrinkled face lit up with a smile. “I knew you were too handsome to be single. She pretty?” Her laugh was deep like a man’s. “I guess I’m about to find out.” She patted my shoulder. “You just let me know when you’re ready. I’ll bring menus.” She moved to the next customer.
Thirty minutes and two cups of coffee later, I fluctuated between concern and anger.
The older waitress set the coffeepot on the table and sat down across from me. She sighed and rubbed her knee as her shrewd eyes met mine. “You want my advice, sugar?”
“About?” I glanced out the window.
“Ain’t no woman worth being stood up for. Not for a man like you.”
I looked back at her. She was two generations older than me. Elders on the compound were respected. “I did not say I was meeting a woman.”
She smirked. “You didn’t have to.” She pointed at me. “I know that look. Even seen it directed at me back in the day.”
I finished the last of my coffee. “What kind of man do you think I am?” I was fortunate. My identity had been kept out of the news when the media got wind of River Stephens’s death. The FBI had kept silent, the local police had deferred to the FBI and all the media knew was speculation. But without names or identities of any of the compound members going public, no one was identified in the news.
The waitress refilled my coffee cup. “You really want me to answer that?”
“I asked.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You ain’t looked once at any woman in here, neither time you been here, but you watch everything. And I do mean everything. You don’t waste words, you’re built like you’re ready to fight your way outta hell and…” She paused, making sure I was paying attention. “You’re polite.”
I took a sip of hot coffee that was better than what I made for myself, but I did not say anything.
“See?” She pointed at me again. “That’s it, right there. You’re listening, you’re watching, you’re waiting. You’re a fighter, MMA or some shit like that, or a soldier, or hell, maybe just a really good hunter, but you’re looking for something, someone.” She stood with effort. “That’s how I knew you were waiting for a woman. Ain’t no one to fight, kill or hunt in here, so yep.” She smiled like she was proud of herself. “A woman.” She narrowed her eyes again. “But she’s not worth it. I been working this gig for thirty years, and trust me when I tell you I know people. You’re a good one. She ain’t.”
Just then the door burst open and my gas station angel practically fell through with a squirming toddler in her arms. A large bag over her shoulder, her eyes red rimmed, she looked at me and her shoulders dropped.
“Well, I’ll be….” The waitress trailed off. “If that’s your kid, then strike everything I just said. You step up and make damn sure—”
“He is not mine.” I stood, reaching for the bag on Angel’s shoulder as the waitress moved out of her way.
“Truck!” The toddler thrust a yellow toy truck in my face.
“Ethan,” Angel scolded. “We say hi when we meet people.”
I tossed the bag into the booth.
She sank to the seat just as the toddler arched his back and violently twisted in her arms. “Ethan.”
It was instinct. I reached across the table and plucked the toddler up, saving her from a dislocated shoulder or worse.
Her eyes went wide. “Oh my God, Ethan. What did I tell you about getting down? You have to ask.”
Two big brown eyes looked at me, and a toothy smile spread across the boy’s face. “Pee!”
“Shit,” Angel muttered, getting up. “We’ll be right back.” She reached for the boy.
The boy leaned close to me, put two grimy little hands on my face and stage whispered, “Shit.”
“Oh my God.” Angel shook her head.
The waitress laughed behind us. “They pick up everything at that age. Coffee?”
“Yes, please. But can I have it in a to-go cup?” Angel took the boy from me. “Let’s go, Ethan.” She glanced at me apologetically. “Potty training.” Then she slung the boy to her hip like she was his mother and walked off.
The waitress left and came back, setting menus and a Styrofoam cup on the table. She winked at me. “Don’t worry, sugar, it’s easier when they’re yours.” She smiled as my angel came right back out of the restroom carrying the squirming child. “Or not.” The waitress walked off.
Angel set the boy down in front of the booth. “False alarm.”
The boy scrambled up on the seat and ran his truck over the table, making engine noises.
Angel sat down next to him and smiled shyly. “Sorry we were late.”
I took in the red around her eyes. “What happened?”
“Better late than never,” she said breezily, ignoring my question and absently running her hand through the boy’s curls. “You hungry, Ethan?”
He looked up at her and smiled wide. “Pancakes!”
Her lips tipped up, but her eyes remained sad. “Pancakes it is.”
“What happened?” I asked again, this time with more force in my tone.
She picked the menu up and casually held it in front her. “Auntie Emily needs a new J-O-B.” She smiled at the boy. “Somebody’s boss is M-O-V-I-N-G. Took a job in another S-T-A-T-E.”
The waitress showed back up. “What can I get y’all?”
“Pancakes and a side of bacon. And oh, an apple juice in a cup with a straw please.” Emily rattled off the order, looking like she was going to cry.
The waitress glanced at me. “The usual, handsome?”
I nodded.
My gas station angel, forgetting her sorrow for a moment, scowled at the waitress as she walked away.
“This makes you sad, the job.” I filed away the look she gave the waitress.
She looked at me like I was insane. “Of course it does.”
“You will get another job.” It seemed the appropriate thing to say, but having her tend to another man’s offspring did not sit well.
She put her hands over the boy’s ears. “I won’t get another Ethan.”
I watched the boy run his truck over the table, seemingly oblivious to her. “Have your own children.” All the women on the compound had children by a certain age. She was older than that age.
She kept her hands on the boy’s ears. “Okay, I know you grew up… different, but I don’t just decide to have a kid because I’m going to miss this little rug rat, and presto, I become a single mom and everything’s just peachy. It doesn’t work like that.”
“It could.” I would enjoy making her swell with a child.
“Oh,” she snorted. “Let me guess, you’re offering to help…?” Her hand waved over her stomach.
I didn’t answer. I stared.
Bright red hit her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze. “Jesus,” she muttered, picking up her coffee.
“Jesus!” the boy mimicked.
The waitress brought the boy his juice and stole a glance at Emily. “Cute boy you have there.”
“Oh, he’s not mine.” Angel unwrapped the straw for the boy’s drink. “Nanny.”
The boy looked up at Angel. “Em-em my auntie!” His truck forgotten, he grabbed his juice with both hands and took a sip through the straw. “Mm, apple.” He drank more.
The waitress looked at me, winked, then walked off.
Angel followed her departure. “You come here often?”
“Once.”
Her gaze cut back to me. “You’ve been here only once before?”
I nodded, wondering how she would look with her stomach swollen, suddenly acutely aware that I had been the only man on the compound who had never given his seed away. I had never wanted to. Until now.
“And the waitress knows your order?”
I was not naïve, nor ignorant. By accident of birth, I was tall, strong and blond. I was memorable to women. Of all ages. “Yes.” Both on the compound and off, people placed the most value on looks, and ignorantly, strength came in as a distant second.
“Right, okay.” She took a sip of her coffee, and her cell rang. Fishing it out of her pocket, she frowned as she answered. “I don’t have time for this right now, Phoebs… I said no.” She sighed. “I’m having breakfast at the old diner, okay? Anything else you want to grill me about?” She snorted. “Not happening. Goodbye.” She hung up and shoved her phone back in her pocket.
I studied her, waiting to see if she would say anything about the phone call, but she did not. I picked the toy truck up and rolled it toward the boy. “I have a new starter for your car. I will install it today.”
She looked at me and blinked. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know, but I am.”
The boy took the truck from me and smiled. “Vroom.”
“Ted can do that,” she protested. “I can take my car to his shop.”
“Except you have not, and he has not taken care of it.” He should have fixed it. He had heard the same start of the vehicle as I had.
“Are you going back there?” she blurted. “To see him? Your dad, I mean.”
No. “Why?”
Her eyebrows drew together. “He’s your family.”
I’d thought the brothers and sisters on the compound growing up had been my family. I had thought River Stephens had been my father. I had thought Decima was mine. None of it had been true. Theodore had made his choices. I was making mine. “Your mother is his family.”
“Okay, wait.” She held a hand up in a gesture that was becoming familiar. “First you say we’re not family, but then you say Ted is my family?”
“I did not say that.”
“You might as well have. I’m my mother’s daughter. She’s married to him.”
“And I am his biological son.” But none of that meant family. Not in my mind.
“All right, I’m sure this all makes sense to you, but to me, family is family.” She shrugged as if her statement was not meant as an argument.
“Family is a term thrown away on sentiment and misplaced loyalty.”
She glanced at the boy and sadness crept back into her expression. “I’m sure you’re probably right.”
I glanced at the child. “You see him as family?”
“No, no, I don’t. I just….” She rubbed his hair again. “He just worked his way into my heart.” She kissed the top of his head. “Didn’t you, little guy?”
The boy leaned into her. “Lubboo, Auntie Em.”
“I love you too, little man.”
The waitress appeared with plates of food balanced on her arms. “Here we go.” She set the pancakes in front of the child and the rest of the food in front of me.
Angel’s eyes widened as the waitress retreated. “You’re going to eat all that?”
I could eat double the amount placed in front of me. “No.” I pushed the plate with four eggs and potatoes and sausage toward her. “We are. Eat.” I picked up my fork.
The child picked up an entire pancake with his hands.
“Ethan, wait,” Angel scolded. “I’ll cut it up and you can use your fork.”
“He is fine. Let him eat.” I handed her a piece of toast.
The boy smiled at me with a mouthful of food. “Pancake!”
I nodded at his bacon. “And protein. Eat.”
He picked up the bacon while still holding on to the pancake and shoved a bite in.
Angel shook her head. “He’ll choke.”
“He will not.” I had seen children in the compound manage much more food in one bite. I pushed her fork toward her. “Eat.”
Eyeing me, she took the toast and ate a bite. “I think you’re fibbing.”
I forked a whole egg and ate it before answering. “I do not lie.”
She smiled. “You were going to eat this whole plate of food yourself. You’re just being nice by sharing.”
I was not nice. I did not reply. I forked a fried potato and held it out to her.
Pink tinted her cheeks, but she leaned forward and took the bite.
“Me, me, me!” The boy dropped his pancake and waved his arms, his mouth open like a baby bird.
I forked another potato and held it out for him.
He took the bite and chewed. “Mm-mm.”
I wanted to smile.
Angel did smile. “Good, right?” she asked the child.
The boy nodded. “Ketchup!”
“Agree. Ketchup and salt.” Emily reached for the red plastic bottle on the table, but then stopped and looked at me. “Do you mind?”
I had never had ketchup. “No.”
Emily eyed me. “You hesitated. You don’t like ketchup?”
“We did not have condiments on the compound,” I admitted.
“Really? Like at all?”
“No.” Food was food, and you ate what was served by the women in the kitchen.
“What do you put on your French fries?” She squirted a red pile next to the potatoes.
“I did not eat that growing up.” There was no fried food on the compound.
She dunked a potato in the ketchup. “What did you eat?”
“Eggs, game, fish. Vegetables from the gardens. Citrus. Bread.” The same foods were served almost daily, with seasonal rotations on the vegetables.
“Wow.” She smiled. “So no burgers or hotdogs or pizza?”
“No.”
“Pizza!” the boy exclaimed.
The curious look on her face returned. “Is that why you didn’t eat Mom’s dinner last night? You weren’t used to that kind of food?”
I did not eat because I was not breaking bread with a man who had abandoned his parental rights. “No.” I forked a bite of egg and sausage and held the utensil out, enjoying feeding her. “Eat.”
She held my gaze. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“Are you going to answer mine?”
Heat flushed her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do.” I held her stare. “Eat, Angel.”
She took the bite, and her throat moved with a swallow.
Wanting to put my hands and mouth on her, I ate another egg.
She glanced at the boy, who was back to eating his pancake. “I think you have the wrong idea of why I’m here.”
“I know why you are here.” Color in her cheeks, nerves in her gestures—she was not here because she thought of me as her family.
“Do you? Really? Because I’m not sure you understand.”
Humans were not much different than animals. Behavior broadcasted intentions, fear motivated reactions, curiosity caused mistakes. “I am not your family, Angel. You owe me nothing.”
She shoved food around with her fork. “I’m not saying I owe you….” She trailed off.
I put my hand over hers. “We both know why you are here.”
Her eyes cut to my hand on hers. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
It was the third time she had asked that. “You heard me last night.” I was not hiding my intent.
She stared at my hand. “Callan—”
“I do not eat with a woman I have no intentions for,” I clarified.
She lifted her head up, her chest rose with a sharp inhale, and her expression turned to one I did not understand. “So you’re going to what? Take me? I don’t even know what that means. Have me, keep me, take me back to your compound, play with me like I’m a shiny new forbidden toy until you get tired of me?” She tried to pull her hand away.
Frowning, I held on to her. “There is no more compound. I have living quarters.”
“And you’re going to what?” she asked, incredulous. “Take me there?”
“Yes,” I answered calmly. Where else would I take her?
“And then what?” she demanded, anger filtering into her tone.
Not understanding her agitation, I studied her a moment. “Do women not want to be taken care of by a man?”
She jerked her hand back and dropped her fork. “I have to go.” She grabbed a napkin and wiped the child’s mouth, taking the food from his hand. “Come on, Ethan. We’re done. We’re leaving.” She stood.
“No.” The boy started to cry. “Pancake,” he wailed.
“Emily,” I warned, purposely using her given name.
“No,” she whisper-hissed, picking the boy up. “You do not get to say something like that to me.”
“Like what?” I demanded. “That I would like to take care of you?”
“No, no, no.” She snatched her bag.
I stood. Towering over her, taking in her curves, seeing the curls in her hair bounce as she threw her bag over her shoulder to leave, something close to anger made my chest tighten. “You are not leaving.”
“Oh, yes I am,” she spat. Holding the crying child to her chest, she pivoted.
“Stop,” I ordered, taking money from my wallet.
“Screw you, Callan Anders.” She stormed out the door.
I threw bills on the table, but she was already gone. Striding after her, I was forced to halt as the waitress moved in front of me.
“That woman has a child in her arms,” the waitress warned, planting her feet.
“I know.” Moving around her, I shoved out the door.
Her back to me, Emily buckled the boy in the child carrier. “Don’t you dare come up on me,” she warned, throwing the words over her shoulder without looking at me.
I stopped three feet away.
She slammed the boy’s door closed and got in the driver seat. Her hand shaking, she jammed the key in and cranked the engine.
The old car sputtered but did not catch.
Swearing, she tried again.
Nothing.
I walked to my truck, grabbed the starter and a few tools. She was trying for the fourth time to get her car to turn over when I returned.
I opened her door. “Move.”
Tears in her eyes, anger and frustration in her movements, she got out of the vehicle.
I set the emergency brake, popped the hood and then glanced back at the sniffling child. “Everything is all right. Can you sit for a few minutes?”
Solemn, he nodded at me.
“Good.” I got out of the vehicle and lifted the hood. Disconnecting the battery, I jacked the car up, then dropped to my back and inched underneath.
“What are you doing?” She snapped the question at me.
“Fixing your vehicle.” I disconnected the starter and installed the new one. When I got back up, I caught her staring at my thighs.
She quickly averted her gaze. “I could have called Ted.” She threw the sentiment out, but her tone had come down significantly from the inside the diner.
“You could have not run from the meal.” I lowered the jack.
She crossed her arms. “You were way out of line.”
“How?” I reconnected her battery and closed the hood.
Still not looking at me, she studied the pavement. “You know exactly how.”
I did not know how. My hands dirty, I used a knuckle to lift her chin, but she still would not meet my eyes. “Look at me,” I demanded.
Her brown eyes met my gaze.
Six months of solitude reeled through my mind, and for the first time, the thought of going back to my land alone did not appeal. “Tell me you are not interested in me, and I will walk away.” I did not know why she was offended at my statement about caring for her, but she was.
“I don’t—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed. “I don’t get to be interested in my stepbrother.”
She did not pull back. She did not tell me no. She did not deny being attracted me.
Only a fraction, only to make my point, I leaned in. “This is the last time I am going to say this to you.” I held her gaze. “I am not your relation.”