Mystery Man (Dream Man #1)(15)

Who had a name like Hawk?

I opened my mouth to confirm that his name was indeed Hawk then instantly remembered Lawson was there and I didn’t want him to know I didn’t know MM’s (or Hawk’s) name so I snapped my mouth closed right when I heard my father’s voice.

“Where’s my daughter?”

Yay! Saved by my Dad.

I leaned forward and to the side in front of my no longer so mysterious mystery man, Hawk and looked around Lawson to see my Dad and Meredith coming through the opened kitchen door. I’d called them when I’d seen my window busted out. I didn’t want to but I did for two reasons. One, they’d find out eventually and sooner was always better than later when it came to Dad and Meredith. I’d learned that the hard way. And two, I needed a place to sleep because I sure as heck wasn’t sleeping here and I knew I was too freaked out to drive myself but what was further, Dad would lecture me if he knew I drove freaked out. I’d also learned the hard way to avoid giving Dad (too many) opportunities to lecture me. He was good at it because with two daughters, and those daughters being Ginger and me, he had lots of practice.

“Gwen,” Dad murmured when he hit the room, I squeezed between the two angry hot guys that were pinning me in, half-walked, half-ran to my Dad and threw myself in his arms.

Whether I threw myself in them, walked into them or leaned into them, my Dad’s arms always did the same thing. They closed around me tight.

Suddenly I didn’t feel so freaked out anymore.

I wrapped my arms around him just as tight, felt his familiar solidness and I was even less freaked out.

“Gwen,” he whispered into the top of my hair.

Back in the day, my Dad was hot. He was almost as hot as the two men standing in my kitchen but I suspected the “almost” part of that had a lot to do with the fact that he was my Dad. He was big and broad and had dark hair (now with a lot of silver in it) and hazel eyes and he was lean and fit and strong. He’d always be lean and fit and strong because he was always doing something that involved carrying something, hammering something, dragging something, lifting something or sawing something.

That was, when he wasn’t watching the Broncos.

And I had to admit, most of the time he was doing all of that he was in my house.

“I’m okay, Dad, just a little freaked,” I said into his chest.

“Honey,” Dad said into my hair.

Then I felt his lips leave my hair and I looked up at him to see he was looking over my head at Hawk and Lawson. He moved me to his side, his arm clamped around my shoulders and Meredith got close. She took my hand, I squeezed hers and she squeezed back as I looked to see her give me one of her small, sweet, everything-is-gonna-be-okay smiles.

Then I heard Dad say, “Are you the police?”

He was asking this into the room, his question aimed at both Hawk and Lawson.

“Yes sir, Detective Mitch Lawson,” Lawson replied, stepping forward.

Dad let me go to shake his hand then let it go and clamped his arm around me again, tugging me into his side in a way that my body jolted and then collided with his body.

Hmm. Seemed I wasn’t the only one who was freaked.

“And you?” Dad asked and his eyes were on Hawk.

I looked at Hawk as Lawson took a step away, his face studiously blank, his eyes alert, taking in everything, namely the fact it was clear my family had no idea who Hawk was.

“Hawk,” Hawk said, his hand extended, Dad let me go again, took it and Hawk went on. “Gwen’s man.”

I felt and saw Dad’s body jerk in surprise as Meredith whispered, “Gwen’s man?”

I had no reaction. I was too busy staring at Hawk with my mouth hanging open.

“Honey, you have a man?” Meredith asked and I knew this question was directed at me but I was still too busy standing, staring at Hawk with my mouth hanging open to respond.

“Hawk?” Dad asked, his gaze never leaving Hawk.

“Flew Black Hawks when I was in the Army,” Hawk stated, giving me the third piece of information about him, the first being he was great in bed, something I’d known for a year and a half, and the second being what was apparently his nickname, something I’d known for approximately three minutes.

But this was not what I was focused on. I was focused on the very small piece of information he’d relayed and what it meant for me. And that was that I was f**ked.

I knew this was true when my father stated in a surprised yet clearly elated voice, “You’re an Army man?”

Shit!

Dad was an Army man. He served four years in the Army before he got out and went into construction. There was a reason why Dad married Mom; he was a wild child like her. He credited the Army with sorting his shit out and saving his life. Problem for my Mom was, she didn’t sort her shit out when she was a soldier’s wife. Dad would have stayed in the Army but being in the Army often meant being away and Mom had me and Dad knew Mom couldn’t be trusted alone with me so he got out to make sure I was raised right.

But Dad still loved the Army. Dad bought olive-drab t-shirts with the word “ARMY” on the front of them and wore them all the time. And Dad formed instant, unshakable bonds with any of his Army brethren. He did it all the time, when we were on vacation, when he was at the hardware store, when he was standing in line to buy a bucket of chicken. He had a sixth Army sense and if he got a whiff of Army, bonding ensued.