Angel Falling (Falling #1)(51)

“I’m guessing you’re responsible for this?” He gestured to his mom while I tried and failed to contain my hysterics.

“That one’s a hair trigger,” she shrugged, smiling.

“In more ways than one,” he whispered sexily in my ear, which only brought on a new bout of tears and snorts.

Hank lifted me up from my bent over position. His hand landed on my waist, the other on my neck. “Better, Darlin’?” he asked, wiping away the errant tears. I nodded. “You’re so purdy when you cry.” He kissed me full on the mouth in front of his mother. He pulled back and searched my face. “Also real purdy when you blush.” He smirked and winked, then let me go to pull out three mugs.

“No need to be embarrassed, Pen. You both are adults. Ain’t no judgment here. I just love seein’ my boy smile.”

I looked over at Hank. He was leaning his large form against the counter, absently strumming his fingers against the granite, waiting for the coffee to finish dripping. His chest shone bright with a sprinkling of hair that I loved to scratch my nails through.

Without realizing it, I had reached over and ran my hand down his chest and back up to inspect his scar from the surgery. I leaned my lips against the puckered flesh and gave it a soft kiss. Loving this scar, kissing it was now part of my daily routine. He walked around bare-chested and I looked and touched my fill.

Each morning it was my duty to bathe his scar with kisses sending up a silent prayer to God for his sacrifice. His groan at the feel of my lips against his skin was matched by a gasp from behind us. I ventured a look over at his mother. Her eyes were pooling with unshed tears.

“I’m okay, Mom, really.”

“I can see that. It’s just I’ve waited for a long time to see this.” Her statement made absolutely no sense to me, but Hank smiled and pulled me closer.

The day continued on just like that, except Hank’s mother doted on him all day. Jumped up every chance she could to get him drinks, or a snack. He was eating it up, literally and figuratively. She rehashed old stories of Hank growing up. I paid close attention to the tales of him hiding girls in the barn and sneaking out after dark.

Laughed so hard I cried when she told the story of Hank making out with a girl in his dad’s old Chevy. Things had gotten a little heated with the girl and they knocked the gear shift and the truck backed into a ditch. Of course Hank tried to recant her version of the story and said it was an accident. They weren’t making out like lovesick teenagers.

“That was little Susie Q, right? Your high school sweetheart?” his mother asked.

“It was,” Hank stopped talking and looked introspective for a moment.

“Oh, Hank was so smitten with Susie Shoemaker. I was convinced you two were going to marry. You know, I just heard she got divorced recently.” She pinched her lips to the side in thought.

“Is that so?” Hank asked his interest piqued.

“What ever happened between you to?” I asked. Curious as to why he didn’t stay with his high-school sweetheart.

“Nothin’.” Hank stiffened and pulled his arm from behind my shoulders. “I really don’t want to talk about Susie. It was a long time ago. How’s my brother and his rug rats?”

Hank steered the conversation back to safer territory. Both his mother and I picked up on his discomfort and let it go. If he wasn’t comfortable talking about it, I didn’t really want to know. Technically, I was lying to myself. I did want to know what had him in a snit and planned on asking about it when we were alone.

I left Hank and his mother mid-afternoon to catch a nap and give them some time alone. A few hours had passed and the sun was setting on the horizon when I woke to the sound of my belly grumbling. I took a quick shower and threw on a comfy jersey house dress. It was form-fitting in the way that yoga pants were, but nothing overtly sexual. It was a soft gray and felt more like a long t-shirt than a dress. Slowly, I made my way through the house to where I could hear Hank and his mother talking. I heard my name, so I held back to listen a few moments.


“Aspen’s lovely, Punky, and it’s obvious how she feels about you.”

I strained to hear his reply. “I like her, too, Ma. More than I should.” His voice seemed sad, not like himself. Why would he say it like that? More than he should? What did it mean?

“Are you going to bring her back home when the job is done?” she asked.

“I don’t know if she’d want to come. Ma, it’s not like you and Dad. We haven’t even had a discussion about what this is between us.”

Dread trickled its way up my spine landing on the tiny hairs behind my neck. The feeling was unfamiliar with an extra dose of unpleasant.

“Punky, as much as you seem to like this girl and she you, I mean, you’re a Jensen, what’s not to like?” she laughed then continued, “A long distance relationship would never work. You know that, right?”

It sounded like Hank sighed. Defeat ringing clearly in the tone. “I do know that.”

The wall was cold against my palms. The thought of Hank going home, us not seeing each other every day, was like sticking a sharp knife into my gut. In such a small amount of time, this man had become a regular fixture in my world. Something I could count on seeing when I got home. The person I could vent to, laugh with, make love to. But, it couldn’t work.