DONOVAN (Gray Wolf Security, #1)(29)

I giggled because it just seemed almost comical. “I will.”

“Good.”

Donovan stood and came around to my chair. “I think it’s time to move on now.”

But before we could even leave the kitchen, a tall, shapely blond came falling through the front door, her hand pressed to her head like she’d had a few too many last night.

“Can I help you?” Rose asked.

Kirkland jumped out of his chair, the charm gone from his smile.

“I got it, Rose.”

“I thought Ash told you about bringing your ladies home, Kirkland,” Rose said, disapproval very clear in her glare.

“I know, I know,” he said, taking the girl’s arm and turning her to the door, going back the way she’d just come.

“That happens a lot?” I asked.

“At least twice a week,” David said.

I watched them go through the windows, headed down a narrow trail that snaked around the left side of the house. I almost envied the girl who finally won Kirkland’s heart. He struck me as the kind of the man who would fall hard when he finally allowed himself to fall.

Donovan tugged my hand and led the way through the living room again.

“You should go rest,” Rose said.

“I was going to take her up to one of the spare rooms.”

“Ash said he wanted you to stay with her.” Rose glanced at me, again making me feel as though I was being assessed. Or judged. “You should go to your place. You’d be more comfortable there.”

Donovan nodded. “Okay. You’ll come get us if—”

“You know I will.”

***

Donovan’s house wasn’t even big enough to really call it a house. It was a box with a couple of windows, a door, and less than a thousand feet of living space. There was a small living room where he’d crammed a couch and a recliner in front of a flat-screen television, a kitchenette that was only big enough to hold a full-sized refrigerator, a two-burner stove, and a bar sink. The bedroom and bathroom were tucked into the back. There was a queen-sized bed and a small dresser in the bedroom that you could walk past if you turned sideways. The bathroom was the only truly spacious place in the house with both a shower and a separate tub, but even in there you had to really be conscious of the way you walked around or you’d slam your shin against a bit of porcelain.

“Take the bed,” Donovan practically ordered.

“It’s your bed.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

The way he was looking at me, I knew there was no point in arguing, but some part of me really wanted to. I bit my tongue and settled on the edge of the bed, watching him shove the few discarded items of clothing that had been lying around in their proper places.

“Not as tidy as your bedroom back at your parents’ place.”

“Don’t have a compulsive maid following me around this place.”

“Don’t suppose you have a maid at all.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet and headed for the door.

“I’m here if you need me.”

And then he was gone.

I couldn’t resist walking around, touching small objects that were sitting on the dresser, the side tables, wondering where they’d come from and why they mattered enough to him to keep on display in his private space. Some were pretty easy to deduce. A bullet fragment in a jar probably came from a wound he sustained, or a friend. A framed letter from a general whose name I couldn’t quite read and a shadow box filled with military medals, clearly things that were important to him. Not so obvious was a paperweight from meteor crater in Arizona. A root beer bottle stuffed with what looked like concert and movie tickets. A small, torn rag doll.

Standing there, looking at these things, I realized how little I knew about this person I’d known my entire life. So much had happened to him these last ten years. Would I ever know the full impact of those years and those experiences on his life? Would I ever understand what it was he went through in that time?

My life had been pretty uneventful. I went to college. I got a job. Nothing major or out of the ordinary. I didn’t learn how to shoot people; I didn’t go to a war-torn country and try to aid in keeping the peace. I dated a few *s, but my experiences couldn’t come anywhere close to what he must have gone through.

Was that what caused his nightmares? Was it like that for Ash and Kirkland and the others, too?

I studied his medals, wishing I knew what they were for. I recognized the Purple Heart—and my soul ached. When was he wounded? Where was he wounded? Would anyone have contacted me if he’d died?

It was a sobering thought.

I slipped out of my borrowed jeans and crawled into bed, snuggling down against the pillows where he laid his head at night. How often did he sleep here? Was he off protecting some defenseless woman more than he was here? When he wasn’t doing that, what was he doing? Where did he go? With whom did he spend his time?

All these questions kept swirling around in my head, making it impossible to close my eyes. I wanted to ask him, but then I realized that I’d burned that bridge. When I told him to disappear, I lost any right I might have had to know him, to know what his life was like. And that made something deep inside of me hurt.

I tossed and turned for the better part of an hour. Maybe longer. And then the tiny house was filled with his voice. At first it was just a low groan. And then the groan grew into something like a growl. There were words, words I couldn’t quite make out, and then a bellow.