No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

“Who are you?” she asked sharply, giving me a scowl for good measure.

Squatting down, I faced the cherub. “I’m Brann Calder, and I’m here to help your dad.”

She tipped her head, studying my face. “Oh, yeah, he said you were coming.”

“Doesn’t sound like you were too pumped about it, huh?”

She was still studying me. “That depends. Can you braid hair? Lydia can’t braid hair, and she’s a grown-up.” It was not lost on me that the judgement in her voice could peel paint.

“No, but I can watch YouTube videos and figure it out later,” I assured her honestly, because it was always the easiest thing to just tell it like it was. That way you didn’t have to worry about it later. “In the meantime, though, I can make balls.”

She let go of the door and crossed her arms. “How do you mean balls?”

“You know those balls of rubber bands that people buy at office supply stores?”

“Maybe. I’m not super sure.”

I loved how serious she sounded, and I couldn’t help smiling. “Well, I can make two perfectly round balls of your hair if you have any of the soft elastic ones.”

“Huh,” she said, like she was on the fence about that being a good idea or not.

“For serious, they’ll look just like ears,” I assured her, adding that in to tip the scales in my favor. Resembling an animal had to be good. Kids liked animals.

That did it. Her face lit up and she gave me a toothy grin. “How many hair ties do you need?”

“Three, maybe four per side,” I said thoughtfully.

Turning fast, she darted back into the living room in a dead heat, not bothering to stop to say anything to the man who came flying into the room. She was too intent on her quest.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“Gotta get hair ties!”

“Of course,” he murmured to himself and then turned and gave me all his focus.

I almost said “Wow,” under my breath, but stopped before I made a complete and utter fool of myself and came up with “Hey,” instead. Emery Dodd was a beautiful man, with deep, dark, warm brown eyes, sharp-chiseled features, and short, tousled brown hair. His lips looked like they were made to be kissed, soft and delectably curved.

I. Wanted.

“Good morning,” I managed to get out.

“Good morning,” he echoed me, staring, wondering, I was sure, where the hell I’d come from. It was probably a bit disconcerting.

I needed to get it together, because having a hard-on for the guy I was supposed to be helping with his kids was in really poor taste.

“You’re Mr. Calder, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I said, pleased he’d spoken first. “And you’re Mr. Dodd.”

“Emery, please,” he corrected softly, rushing forward to offer me his hand.

His grip was warm, strong, and I relaxed when he grabbed my shoulder with his other hand. It was like just that bit more contact was soothing.

“I assumed it had to be you, but you look so different.”

He lost me. “Different?”

“I have your file from Torus,” he apprised, as he eased me forward, across the threshold and into his home. “Five months out of the military looks good on you.”

I didn’t know what to say to the man who was gazing at me so kindly, like I was something special. It was unnerving and made me feel amazing at the same time. Whatever I’d done to make him gaze at me like that, I had to figure it out quick because I wanted it to continue.

He let my hand go and closed the door behind me. “Your hair got long.”

“No, you just have an old picture,” I informed him, knowing the one Jared Colter included in my file for clients. It was taken before I became a SEAL, when I was still sporting a buzz cut. He’d meant to update it, but there was always something more pressing.

“It’s better like this,” Emery assured me, “as well as the rest.”

“Thank you,” I said, raking my fingers through the dirty-blond strands. My hair hadn’t grown out much since I left the Navy, maybe a few inches, but between the added length and the stubble gracing my jaw, the soldier I’d been was certainly gone. “It’s easy to get out of habits you never liked to begin with.”

“Oh, I’m certain of that,” he said, chuckling, starting through the living room. “Come have a seat. May I pour you some coffee?”

I almost whimpered. “Yes, please.”

Apparently I was funny, because I got a laugh over that.

The house was charming, to say the least. As I followed him through the living room and toward the kitchen, I couldn’t help but feel the sun pouring in through a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, warming the space and inviting me to curl up on the overstuffed couch or settle into its comfortable chairs and kick my feet up on the enormous ottoman, maybe watch some TV. The knickknacks and abundance of books strewn about felt settled, like this house could tell the story of the people who lived there. The art gracing the pale yellow walls was eclectic, the exposed-beam ceilings were rustic, and as we moved into the kitchen, a strange, eye-catching chandelier took pride of place. I stopped walking and stared.