Protecting Melissa (Holiday Cove 4)

“Is everything all right?” she asked, her voice casual like nothing was wrong.

I swallowed hard, my throat like sandpaper. “Yeah. I just need some water.”

She opened the fridge and bent forward—sweet Lord—and retrieved a bottle for me. “Here.”

“Thanks.” I took it from her, careful not to let our fingers touch. I was on red alert in so many ways. A gentle touch was all it would take for me to lose control and take her right there in the kitchen. It would take the edge off for sure and after the way she’d argued and bickered with me, I wanted to make her close that sweet little mouth and listen to everything I said without argument.

“I’m going to bed,” she said, obviously not as distracted and tortured by my presence as I was hers. “If you need anything, let me know.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be all right, though.”

She stared at me for a long minute, her eyes searching mine. What is she looking for?

Before I could decide, she turned and padded back to the room she shared with Jackson, giving me one last look before closing the door. With a grunt, I turned and plodded back up to the bridge. I’d fix things with Melissa in the morning.

In theory.

“Jackson, please, eat your breakfast,” Melissa begged, an edge of frustration leaking into the normally even-keeled tone she had when speaking to her small son.

Jackson folded his arms and gave her an expression that made it clear the oatmeal was staying right where it was.

Melissa heaved a frustrated sigh as she stood from the table. She snapped up the plastic bowl and sashayed across the small walkway to the kitchen. “Fine. Go hungry.”

It was hard to watch her come unglued with him. Normally, she had the patience of a saint when it came to talking and interacting with Jackson. The fact that she was snapping spoke volumes about her stress level.

My stomach churned. I’d wanted to try and patch things up with her, after a long night at the wheel, worrying about the way I’d barked at her after getting back from O’Keefe’s boat. However, it didn’t appear that she was in much of a mood to hear my attempt at an apology.

Jackson banged his spoon on the table and the sound sliced through my head like a sharp poker. I hadn’t been drinking the night before, but my head mirrored the feeling of a bad hangover. “I want to go back to the beach!” Jackson demanded to Melissa’s turned back as she dumped the contents of his bowl into the trash can.

I lowered into the seat across from Jackson and he looked up at me, silently pleading for me to interject on his behalf. “Buddy, we’re going to find another beach, okay?”

I cast a sidelong glance at Melissa and saw her stiffen at my statement. I wished she’d turn back around so I could see her face. That way, I could see if she was pissed that I was interfering in her parenting—or if she was grateful for the extra hand. She didn’t say anything, so I continued. “It’s going to be even better. I promise. Besides, I thought you wanted to go on an adventure?”

Jackson stared at me, unsure. “An even better beach?”

I smiled over at him. “That’s right. With more seashells and less people.”

A small smile twitched at his lips and his eyes sparkled with the possibility. I had him.

“What do you say? You ready for some more adventure?”

Melissa spun around and wiped what looked like tears from her eyes. My heart—no my body—crushed with the weight of whatever she was holding on to. After a second, I felt her eyes land on me as we waited for Jackson to answer my question. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Maybe we’ll catch another fish?”

I laughed. “We’ll sure try.”

“Yay!” He broke into a series of whoops and hollers until Melissa took her seat beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder to settle him down.

“You know what, though, bud?”

“What?” he asked, arching a little blonde brow at me. Smart kid. Waiting for the catch.

I pushed my untouched bowl of oatmeal across the table and handed him the clean spoon I’d grabbed from the drawer minutes before. “If you’re going to be strong enough to haul in a big fish, you’re going to need to eat and keep those muscles nice and strong.”

Jackson looked at the spoon in my hand and then grinned up at me. “I’ll eat all of my oatmeal!”

“Good man,” I said, grinning down at him as he dug in. I went to the stove and heaped a large scoop into a fresh bowl, tossed some blueberries on top, and added a sprinkle of brown sugar. Perfect. When I rejoined them, Jackson was plowing through the bowl of oats and Melissa looked a little less pissed off.