Sweet Little Lies (Angel Sands 3)

s he’d pictured her standing against the backdrop of the beach, her silken blonde hair contrasted against the deep blue of the ocean, her eyes soft as she watched her son play.

Her son.

That had been a shock he hadn’t expected at all. In all his thoughts about returning home for the first time in a decade he’d imagined she might be married, but never that she’d have a kid. And yet a part of him had always known she’d make the perfect mother. She was always so caring, so protective, even as a child. The number of animals she’d saved from starving or nursed until they’d overcome an injury – they all added up to show her nurturing personality.

His mom had described her as steel wrapped in wool, and it was as good a description as any. She didn’t like hurting people, but if somebody else hurt them – she’d go in fighting.

Aiden pressed the intercom again, moistening his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. “Wait there. I’ll come and let you in.”

“Thank you.”

If she’d recognized his voice she didn’t let on. Grabbing his hard hat plus an extra for his visitor, Aiden glanced at himself in the rusty mirror affixed beside the door. His shirt was covered in dust, his pants wrinkled from a day working hard on the construction site. He had a fighter’s body, like his brother’s. Strong bones and even stronger muscles, bred from generations of men who punched their way through life.

It was a short walk from the construction offices to the gate. Keying the number into the pad, Aiden released the lock, pulling it open to see her standing right in front of the gate. Like the first time she came to the construction site, she was wearing scrubs – the green shapeless ones which somehow made her look more attractive than ever. He held the yellow hat to her and she took it, pulling it down firmly on her head.

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you. I probably should have called.” She shifted her feet and looked down. “But I stopped by on the off chance you’d still be here.

He stifled the urge to lift her face up so his eyes could catch hers. “You want to come over to the office? I can make you a cup of coffee. It’s not Déjà Brew standards,” he said, referring to the coffee shop on the beach, “but it’s passable.”

“Coffee sounds good. Thank you.”

He led the way back to the trailer. Brooke followed close behind him, her breathing soft as she trailed him up the metal steps. Once inside, he closed the door behind her and took off his hard hat, watching as she did the same. He hung them both up as she patted her hair absentmindedly.

“Sorry about the hat.” He gestured at her. “And for messing your hair up.”

“My hair’s already messed up. Dig in deep enough and you might find a few stray animals. I spend my life either washing it or tying it up. It drives my mom mad.”

He could imagine. Lillian Newton’s hair was never anything but immaculate. It never seemed to grow or change color, either. He couldn’t imagine her ever agreeing to wear a hard hat – not if it might push a strand out of place.

Thinking of Brooke’s parents left a bad taste in his mouth. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured them each a mug, topping it with cream and carrying them back to her. “White no sugar,” he said.

“You remembered.” She smiled.

Damn. He’d forgotten to ask.

“You want to sit down?” He gestured at the conference table in the middle of the room. It was covered with blueprints and delivery papers. Brooke nodded and slid into one of the chairs, cradling her coffee cup with her hands.

“How’s the dog you saved?” he asked her. “I meant to check with you over the weekend, but the party got so busy.”

“She’s fine. Not quite ready to be adopted out yet, but we’re working on her. She needs training first.” Brooke took a sip of coffee, her deep green eyes fixed on his.

“What happens if she doesn’t respond to training? Will you euthanize her?”

“No.” Brooke shook her head. “Definitely not. We don’t kill animals at the shelter. We save them.”

He should have known she would say that. “I feel like it’s our fault she’s homeless. Do you have a card? I’ll speak to the director about paying for the dog’s accommodation and vet bills.”

“You will?”

Aiden shrugged. “It’s the least I can do.”

Her gaze softened. “That’s very kind of you. The shelter always needs donations. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

She took another mouthful of coffee and swallowed it down hastily, before putting the cup on a small portion of the table not covered in paper. “Um, but that’s not why I came to speak with you.”

“It isn’t?”