Defending Zara (Mountain Mercenaries #6)(32)

She simply nodded and hunched her shoulders forward, as if that would somehow hide her figure from him. Meat took another step backward, hating the idea of what she might’ve been through to make her so self-conscious and insecure about her own body.

Zara looked up when he moved again, and she frowned. “Does your ankle hurt?”

“Yeah,” Meat told her honestly and without thinking.

Her frown deepened. “You shouldn’t be standing on it.”

He shrugged. “I’m not about to get on the clean bed until after I shower.”

She looked up at him, and he saw some of her confidence returning. “Why do you keep backing away from me?”

Surprised she’d asked, Meat answered honestly again. “I’m making you nervous, and I don’t want to crowd you.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she replied, and Meat saw no signs of deception in her expression. His breath came out in one long whoosh.

“Good. Because I’d never hurt you, Zara.”

“I know. You definitely had plenty of chances. Even that first night when you grabbed me around the neck, you made sure you didn’t hold me too tight, and you never came close to cutting off my air. You might’ve had a concussion, busted ribs, and a bum ankle and shoulder, but I knew from the start that none of that would slow you down if you really wanted to hurt me . . . or leave.”

She was right. There’d been something about her from that very first night that made him let down his guard and trust her.

“I’m sorry about that,” he told her. “I wasn’t sure who you or Daniela were and if you were going to hurt me.”

“She did hurt you,” Zara said. “She told me to hit your shoulder, that it would make you let me go, but I didn’t have the heart . . . and I knew you weren’t hurting me.”

“Her actions were very effective,” Meat said ruefully, remembering how painful the doctor’s hit to his ankle had been.

“I’m sorry I took so long in the shower,” Zara said, changing the subject.

Meat shook his head. “You’re fine.”

“It’s just . . . it’s been so long since I’ve been able to—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Zara. I don’t care if you take hour-long showers for the rest of your life. You do what you want, when you want, and the hell with what anyone else thinks.”

Her lips twitched at that. “Is that your life motto?”

Meat shrugged again. “Not really, it’s just that I’ve seen firsthand how short life is. And after I got out of the Army and started working for Rex, I needed something to do with my free time. I started messing with wood and found out that I really enjoy making furniture. It relaxes me. Some men like to hunt or tinker on cars; I like working with wood. Taking a bunch of random pieces of scrap and turning them into a one-of-a-kind dresser or table is satisfying. It’s not very sexy or exciting, but I don’t care. If taking long showers relaxes you and makes you feel happy, then you should take one every day.”

She stared at him so long after his attempt at setting her at ease, Meat began to feel uncomfortable. “I, on the other hand, don’t enjoy taking that long in the shower. I guess it’s because I feel too vulnerable in there, and because in the Army, we didn’t have time to dawdle. And speaking of which, standing next to you makes me all the more aware of how badly I need to clean myself up. Arrow hasn’t returned yet, but it should be soon. We can eat, and then I’ll tell you what I found from my searches.”

The uncertain look returned to her face, and Meat wanted to kick himself.

“Okay.” She moved to one of the queen beds and sat on the very edge.

Meat stepped over to her and crouched down, mindful of his ankle. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Did anyone look for me?” she whispered.

Even knowing he was filthy, Meat raised a hand and palmed the side of her face. Her skin was warm and smooth and slightly damp from both the steam in the bathroom and perspiration. He gently brushed his thumb against her cheek. “Yeah, Zar, they did. Not as long as they should’ve, and they didn’t do nearly enough in my opinion . . . but they looked.”

“Did they find the guys who were responsible for killing my parents? At least tell me they did, and they’re locked up.”

Meat hated to have to tell her. But she must’ve figured it out from the look on his face.

“They didn’t, did they?” she asked.

He pressed his lips together and shook his head slowly. “There weren’t any other witnesses, and it’s not like they had any cameras in that part of town fifteen years ago. They didn’t have anything to go on. I’m so sorry.”

Zara sighed, then met his gaze and asked, “What now? I’ve got nothing, Meat. Do I go back to the States and live on the streets with the other homeless while I attempt to get my life together? I only have a fourth-grade education, no skills, and I can’t imagine anyone would be all that excited to hire me with no job experience and with my background. I can probably get by with pickpocketing for a while, but with my luck, I’d get caught and end up in prison. Maybe I should just stay here.”

Meat was shaking his head even before she’d finished speaking. “I can’t say that it’ll be easy to acclimate—I’d be a bastard if I tried to tell you that. But, Zara, you don’t ever have to worry about being homeless again. One, because you can stay with me as long as you want. I don’t have a huge house, but it’s a nice cabin on a couple acres northwest of Colorado Springs. I’ve got two guest rooms and a spare room above my workshop, and you will always be welcome.