Defending Harlow (Mountain Mercenaries #4)(5)

“You have a date?” Harlow asked, her brows shooting up in surprise, ignoring everything else she’d said. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Loretta could or should date; the other woman was beautiful and had a heart the size of Texas. But she hadn’t heard of any particular man in her life.

Loretta’s lips quirked. “I’m too old to date, but yes. Edward wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’s taking me out for dinner.”

Harlow knew who Loretta was talking about. Edward O’Connor. He was an Irishman who owned a bakery on the other end of the street from the shelter. He frequently brought over day-old sweets and bread that would normally be thrown away. Harlow could bake, but having the sweets delivered made her life a lot easier in the mornings. She liked the older man and was tickled pink that he’d asked Loretta out.

“I once went on a date where the guy kept leaning over the table and taking food off my plate. He’d use his fork to spear a piece of shrimp, saying”—Harlow lowered her voice—“‘You don’t mind if I have a taste, do you?’ And without waiting for me to say yes or no, he’d just take my food.”

Loretta smiled. “You and your bad luck, child. I can’t believe some of the stories you’ve told me about your dates. Are you sure you aren’t stretching the truth a wee bit?”

Harlow returned the smile. “Absolutely not. Every single thing I’ve told you has happened to me when I’ve been out with a guy.”

“When the right man comes along, you’ll change your mind.”

“No, I don’t think so. Remember Charles?”

Loretta rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, but I must. He ordered for me, and I thought it was sweet, like he was trying to be gentlemanly. That is, until he ordered me a Diet Coke, quizzed the waitress on how many calories were in the meals, and ultimately chose the baked chicken with a side of vegetables—with no butter—for me.”

Loretta groaned and shook her head. “So he was a jerk. Just because you aren’t a skinny-mini doesn’t mean you’re fat or that you have to lose weight.”

“I know,” Harlow said. And she did. She was happy with her size. She liked to eat—she was a chef, for God’s sake. She was never going to be a size two. Or ten, for that matter, but she wasn’t obese, liked to go for walks, and did try to watch what she ate. But needless to say, that had been her last date with Charles.

She’d had so many bad dates in the past that she’d made the decision to put off dating for a while, focusing on work instead. She’d stuck to her guns for almost a year now.

“Seriously, when the right man comes along, you’ll know it. You’ll see,” Loretta said.

Harlow shook her head but didn’t respond. She’d been around the older woman enough to know that she wasn’t going to change her mind. Loretta was stubborn. Extremely stubborn. So Harlow did what she knew was the best way to take Loretta’s mind off whatever topic she was digging in her heels about—she changed the subject.

“Anyway, Lowell said he’d be here in an hour”—she looked at her watch—“about thirty minutes ago. He’ll want to talk to you about everyone’s exes, I’m sure. But he said that he’d help us.”

“Thank goodness,” Loretta said. “You know what Black does, right?”

Harlow knew his nickname was Black, but because she’d known him in high school as Lowell, it was what she called him. She tilted her head at Loretta’s question. “You mean about the gun-safety classes at the range he owns?”

“No, dear. I’m going to tell you something that isn’t exactly public knowledge. I only know because I’ve helped them out in the past, and I’m telling you because I trust you, and you have a history with Black. He and his friends are a group called the Mountain Mercenaries.”

Harlow gasped. “People hire them to kill others?”

Loretta barked out a laugh. “No, child. Lord. They’re hired to find and liberate kidnapped women and children. Their services don’t come cheap, and those who hire them have connections. It’s not like you can just look up Rex, the leader, and his crew on the internet and email them. They take the most desperate cases: women who have disappeared into the sex-trafficking racket, kids who’ve been taken by noncustodial parents . . . they even assist in abuse cases now and then.”

Harlow was confused. “But I thought mercenaries were motivated by money?”

Loretta shrugged. “I don’t know or care how they came up with their name, and while I’m sure they have to be bringing in good cash for doing what they do, the main thing Rex and his team are motivated by is justice. They don’t like to see women or children abused by others—men or women. They’re all former Special Forces of one sort or another. They have the training that’s needed to slip into foreign countries and rescue people without detection. Or stay right here in our own country to find and rescue a woman or child in need.”

“How do you know all this?” Harlow asked. On the one hand, she was shocked, but on the other, it made sense. She could tell just by looking at Lowell that he was the kind of man who could be relied on. He was strong and compassionate, but he had a look in his eyes that clearly communicated he wasn’t a man to be messed with. That was one of the main reasons she’d finally caved and called him.