Page 27 of The Rogue
He chuckles at the nickname. “Dad said you were coming over again. Wanna watch Star Wars?”
I flick my gaze to the screen. It’s some sort of Jedi cartoon series. “I guess. But okay if we sit on the couch? I might hurt my neck watching that close.”
Jackson moves his neck around like he’s feeling for aches. “Good idea.” He stands and settles into the cushions. I scooch in next to him.
“Where is your dad, anyway?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. He was here a minute ago. We just got home.”
I hear the front door swing open with a grunt. “All good, buddy, I’ve got the groceries.”
Jackson hops off the couch. “Oh, right. Sorry, Dad, coming.”
I follow him as Levi sets four paper bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.
“All this for two people?” I ask.
“There’s more in the truck,” he says on an exhale. He’s wearing the same T-shirt from earlier. The one that hugs his puffed chest and muscled biceps so deliciously, it’s a shame. Because guys who are clearly sworn off women like this scorned single dad shouldn’t look this good.
“Need a hand with the rest? Or four?” I lift one of Jackson’s hands.
He winks, and I’m not entirely positive it’s for me. Could just be a habit. “Nah, I’ve got it, thanks. Besides, we don’t let women do our heavy lifting, do we, bud?”
“Nope,” Jackson calls as he races back into the living room in front of the television.
“So I’m suitable to wreck an entire town but not strong enough to lift a grocery bag?”
“Not on my watch,” he mutters without waiting for a response. Then steps out to unload the rest.
I peek out the window at the sunset, imagining this being their daily routine. Just the two of them. Levi running the ranch from dawn to dusk, worrying about Jackson throughout the day. Then spending every moment of the evening giving him as close to normal as he can. When does the man rest?
“I brought your suitcase in earlier, too,” he calls on his way back with two more bags.
I stroll over to the den to take a peek, not seeing my things anywhere. “Thanks…where’d you put it?”
“Upstairs.”
I frown. “Why? There was nothing wrong with the den. I’m only here for one night.”
“Figured you might want some privacy, a good night’s sleep, or…” He scans me. “A shower. But it looks like you took care of that.”
“I took a quick one at Pepper’s.”
He glances toward the cottage from his back porch but doesn’t say anything.
“Can I make dinner?”
“No.” His response is sharp.
“Okay, maybe I can help get Jackson cleaned up or something?”
For fuck’s sake, let someone do something.
He whips out scallions from a paper bag and points them at me. “I don’t need your help, Tessa.”
I hold up my hands. “Okay.”
“This isn’t an extended silent interview. I’m nothiring you. You’re in a jam and I’m helping you out with a place to crash one more night. Nothing more.”