Worth Fighting For

Had Kelly taken a ton of pictures and placed them throughout her house, too? Probably.

Brett put the photograph back, grabbed the deck of cards off the coffee table and began to shuffle them over and over, just for something to do.

When Caitlin returned, she took a seat in the easy chair that rested by the fireplace.

Good move. It saved them both from feeling awkward. Well, it had saved him, anyway. Caitlin hadn’t given him much indication that she found him as attractive as he found her. And that was a good thing. It made keeping his distance easier.

“Do you have any idea how long your motorcycle will be out of commission?” she asked.

“Not long,” he lied. The mechanic from Hog Specialists said it would take a month or so, since the parts had to be ordered and weren’t always easy to get. But he didn’t want Caitlin feeling any guiltier over that damned accident than she already appeared to. “I’ll probably rent a car anyway.”

A look of remorse settled over her pretty face, and he wanted to see it lift. The accident had been mostly his fault, no matter what she thought.

“I’ve been wanting to buy an SUV,” he said, “so this is the perfect opportunity to try one out before I fork over the cash.”

She nodded, then managed a half smile. “I’d be happy to give you a ride to the rental place, if you need one.”

That would be great. He didn’t like being grounded. And being stranded was even worse. “Maybe, if you have some free time, we could go tomorrow.”

“I have to work in the afternoon, but I can take you in the morning.”

“Thanks.” He studied his motorcycle boots for a moment, thinking about how tough it must be to raise a kid alone, to have to worry about babysitting and child care. Then he looked up and caught her eye. “Who watches Emily for you, while you work?”

“Gerald and Mary Blackstone, the retired couple who live in the end unit. They’ve become surrogate grandparents.”

He didn’t know why he asked. Curiosity, he supposed. “What about her father?”

Caitlin paused, then blew out a whispery breath. “Emily doesn’t know her father. He hasn’t been a part of her life.”

Brett sat up straight, suddenly interested in Caitlin’s past. In the man who’d walked away from Emily.

It wasn’t any of his business, and he shouldn’t ask, but he wanted to know more. “Does he, Emily’s dad, pay child support?” Somehow it mattered a lot. Brett wanted to know the man was doing right by the little girl and looking out for her the best way he knew how.

“No,” Caitlin said. “He doesn’t pay anything.”

Brett couldn’t leave it alone. “Does he contact her at all?”

“No.” Caitlin stood and walked toward the window, looked out upon the darkened complex lit by Tiki-style lamps. “But he wants to.”

“And that bothers you?” Something twisted in Brett’s gut. He sensed trouble coming down the pike. Hadn’t he experienced enough domestic squabbles of his own?

His mom and dad had spent years in court fighting over every damn thing imaginable, while their son got caught in the crossfire until he rebelled the only way an angry teenager knew how.

“Yes, it does bother me. The idea of her father popping into her life tears me up inside. She doesn’t even know him.”

Brett figured Kelly would probably feel the same way, if he contacted her now and said he wanted to have a relationship with Justin. Call it an experiment, but getting a handle on Caitlin’s feelings seemed like a good way to gauge how things would pan out if he approached his ex.

Caitlin had grown quiet, solemn, as though she was still hurting from the divorce.

Or maybe from her ex-husband’s desertion.

Like a hound closing in on a buried bone, Brett couldn’t seem to let it go. “Maybe Emily’s dad had a good reason for not sticking around.”

Did it tear the man up inside to walk away from his kid, like it had Brett? Did he get an ache in his chest each time he saw a child about the same age as his own?

Brett had to stop beating himself up. According to Harry Logan, the retired detective who’d managed to stop Brett’s downhill slide into the juvenile justice system, Justin was happy.

And if anyone knew what made a boy tick, it was the guy who’d helped a dozen or more delinquents get their lives back on track. A guy who’d put his heart where his mouth was, opening his arms, his home and his family to boys with nowhere else to turn. And Brett was happy to count himself as one of the bad-boys-turned-good-guys.

According to Harry, who’d done a little investigating, Justin’s stepfather was good to him. Maybe not better than Brett would have been, but at least David was home every night and not deployed to the far side of the earth flying a Sea Hawk and risking his life.

Hell, as a Navy helicopter pilot, Brett was away the better part of the year. What kind of husband or father could he ever hope to be?

“So tell me about you,” Caitlin said, doing them both a favor and diverting the conversation to something more pleasant. “How did you meet Greg?”

“We met during a bar fight at a seedy joint in downtown San Diego. And we’ve been watching each other’s backs ever since.”

“Greg was involved in a bar fight?” Her brows lifted and her eyes widened. “I can’t imagine it. He’s so sweet and gentle.”

Were they talking about the same guy? That knockdown drag-out hadn’t been the first for Greg, who became a superhero whenever he’d had too much to drink.

Brett grinned as the memory surfaced. “Greg saw a couple of the local boys harassing the female bartender and decided to step in and correct the situation.”

“Now that sounds like the Greg I know.”

Brett couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well the lady bartender stood over six feet tall and had forearms the size of Popeye’s. I might have been a bit snockered myself, but her afternoon shadow suggested she—or rather he—could hold his own.”

“So Greg stepped in?”

“And about got his head knocked in with a chair, until I jumped in to help. And just as the fight turned into a rip-roaring free-for-all, the bartender pulled a gun and settled it.”

“Was anyone shot?”

“Just the ceiling. But Greg and I limped out of there with our share of cuts and bruises. We’ve been buddies ever since.”

She smiled, then glanced at his bad hand. “Speaking of cuts and bruises, I nearly forgot to fix that bandage for you. I’ll be right back.”

When she returned with the first-aid kit, she took a seat next to him on the sofa.

He caught a faint whiff of a tropical breeze, felt the sultry heat as she touched his arm. Was she feeling it, too? The attraction that seemed to grow stronger each time their gazes met?

As she removed the tape and gauze from his hand, her knee brushed against his thigh, sending a shimmy of heat through his blood. He watched her hair sweep along her shoulder and fought the urge to touch the golden strands, to see if they felt as silky as they looked.

Instead, as she rewrapped his hand and fastened the tape, he tried to waylay the flicker of desire that taunted his better judgment. “Let me know what the bodywork on your car is going to cost.”

“I’ll take it in for an estimate, but I still feel as though that accident was my fault.” She looked up from her work, then furrowed her brow when the scrape on his chin caught her eye. She probed around it lightly. Her soft, gentle fingers lingered on his jaw.

When she looked into his eyes, he was swept into that sea-blue gaze. Her tropical scent swirled around them, making him envision an evening luau for two on a deserted beach.