Page 42 of Securing Samantha
She raised her head, confused by his question. “No. I don’t believe he buys it.”
“I thought so,” Whiskey crossed his arms and chuckled.
“Why do you ask?” she questioned on seeing the amusement on his face.
“My assignment involved kitchen duty this week. When I stood next to him, he asked if I used your face cream. When I said yes, he gave me a hard time. When I stopped by his bunk to ask him to keep an eye on LJ while I took the trash out, he hid the jar sitting on his nightstand,” Whiskey’s eyes narrowed at Shadow’s white lie.
“Technically he didn’t lie. He doesn’t buy it. Taco complained their skin stayed dry after long missions in the desert. I started packing them up with a special cream to keep them from itching plus the smell kept the pesky critters away. I heard some of the barracks became flee infested. I made special soap for the guys to add in the layers of their clothes and to wash with. It kept them from getting eaten alive.”
Whiskey sighed pensively. “I wish I had access to it when I stayed there. My beard itched something awful. After a while, I became like the dogs. It didn’t bother me until Leo and Chase treated my beard and I felt them crawling all over my skin. Doc treated my wounds while we traveled, but Kassie figured out how to heal the raw skin. The cream she used doesn’t hold a candle to yours and doesn’t carry a pleasant smell. When I came to you, I thought somehow the fleas made their way back in. I realize now, the memory makes me itch,” Whiskey told her. “Now when I get the feeling, I add your cream and I feel better.”
Samantha smiled at his compliment.
“I better get inside and help Saint. I open the shop at nine in the morning. If you want to meet around eight for coffee, you can come there,” she added.
“I’ll see you then.” He turned and walked to his truck.
LJ ran outside. “Saint wants to know if you want to stay for supper and Miss Edie left a frozen pie!” he exclaimed before running off.
“Tell him I appreciate the offer. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” Whiskey turned to get back in his vehicle. LJ took off toward the house.
“Maybe we need to start this over, Whiskey. We’ll be in our son’s life forever and I don’t want us to feel awkward every time we meet. Please. Stay for dinner,” she softly requested.
Whiskey ran his hand over his face. “Does this mean I can still come into your shop and buy more of the cream and tea. I swear I think Saint’s drinking my tea. He claims we’re out on the days Miss Bryanna brings over those scones.” She laughed as he complained and told her about life living with the team.
She tucked LJ in bed and kissed his forehead. “It sounds like you and Whiskey got along great.” She picked up the book LJ picked out to read.
Her son yawned, “Yeah, we played with Hope. She’s so pretty, Mom.”
Samantha halted. Who’s Hope? LJ turned over already falling asleep. She turned off the light and closed the door.
The next morning her swollen eyes caught the attention of Saint while he encouraged Nugget to eat her eggs for the millionth time as LJ brought his plate to the sink. He scraped and rinsed it before putting it in the dishwasher. He turned to Saint, “Will you report to Whiskey I did my kitchen duty?”
Samantha covered her mouth as she stifled a giggle. Saint turned his serious gaze upon her son. “Absolutely. I’ll give him a good report as soon as I see how your bed is made.”
LJ took off lickety-split for his room. Whiskey seemed a good influence on her son.
“Don’t you have a coffee date today? I can take LJ with me and Nugget,” Saint offered.
Samantha glanced in Nugget’s direction before she spoke softly to Saint. “Can I ask you something?”
Saint gave her his full attention.
“Who’s Hope?” Samantha wanted to know.
“Kassie introduced her to Whiskey. He and LJ spent the weekend with her. She’s something else, but she managed to give those two something to bond over.” He turned back to the dishes.
Samantha’s feet felt like lead as she climbed the stairs to retrieve her belongings.
She drove to the shop and turned on the workshop lights and began brewing the water and pulled a few varieties of tea as she waited for Whiskey to appear.
Right on time, a soft knock on the back door alerted her of his arrival.
She opened the door as Whiskey held something inside his jacket.
One glimpse of her face alerted him something distressed her. “What’s wrong, lass?” He scanned the shop to determine the cause.
Her stomach churned. Her chest hurt.