Chapter
Seventeen
FORD
* * *
I hadn’t heard from Indi. It’d almost been two days. Two days of radio silence. Of life like before she’d busted into the greenhouse. I’d spent years without her, and then with one pinging sensor on the security system, she’d re-entered my life.
It’d taken me two weeks or so to fuck it up this time.
I’d excluded her when I’d known I shouldn’t. I’d done it to protect her, but how safe was she when she wasn’t in my arms at night?
After another sleepless night, I climbed from the bed as the sky turned a hint of pink. I threw on my running shoes and headed for the hills, pounding out my frustration and anger over miles of wilderness. I stuck to the edge of Ledger land and the dirt roads around it. I clocked maybe ten miles before turning up the drive, walking the familiar dirt lane, and taking in the place.
This had been the only home I’d really known, even moving here at twelve. It was where I’d found a place to belong. Boundaries. Unconditional love. Motivation. Now, it was a place to return and put down roots. I’d intended for it to be a way for me to watch over Gram and finally be there for her but also as a base for Alpha Mountain.
Except in the morning light, I saw the place differently now. I wanted to make it more than just a base. Gram’s house. I wanted it to be mine. There was no way in fuck I’d be with Indi and sleep down the hall from my grandmother. Not in the bunkhouse either. Her cries of pleasure as I ate her out were for my ears only. I wanted her to be able to walk around in just a t-shirt and sexy little panties without three horny, single SEALs around every corner. My cabin would be finished in the next few months down by the creek. We’d live there. If I could get in front of Indi and explain. Grovel.
After my shower, I came down the back steps to the scent of bacon.
“Morning, dear,” Gram said. She had tongs in her hands. The back door was open, and Roscoe was at her feet. He turned to me, then spun back around and plunked down again, eyes on the stove for any chance of getting a meaty treat.
“Morning,” I replied.
“I’m surprised Indi’s car isn’t here,” she said, glancing out the window.
I ran a hand over my beard as I opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. I was ready to drink right from the jug, but I received a withering look. Grabbing a glass, I poured it full.
“Indi’s off on a guide trip,” I commented.
“Good weather,” she replied.
I took a few gulps of the cold drink and wiped my mouth and beard with the back of my hand. I hated things in my beard. Except for Indi’s scent. Eating her out and having that cream caught…
I cleared my throat and turned back to the fridge to cool down my semi as I put the jug away.
“She’s mad at me,” I said.
“Oh?”
“I kept something a secret from her. Not sure if she’ll be back anytime soon.”
She turned off the burner and picked up the bacon to set it on a plate lined with paper towels.
“You’re a SEAL, and you’re going to give up with one argument?”
“I—”
She gave me another look.
“No, ma’am.”
“Unless writing Dear John letters is still a thing, you’re not on her shit list.”
My mouth opened, and she laughed.
“You think I don’t know how to swear? I’m surrounded by Navy men after all. Married to one for forty-two years as well.”
I scratched the back of my neck. She had a point. More than one. “What do you mean a Dear John letter?”
“I mean that envelope she left for you yesterday.”
I perked up at that. My heart skipped a beat, completely unlike every bit of training I had about remaining cool and level-headed.
“Envelope? What is it? When?”
She carried the bacon to the table then turned to the warming drawer and pulled out a bowl of scrambled eggs.
“You didn’t see it? There on the counter.” She pointed. “Oh, I must’ve set my grocery sack over it.”
I beat her to the cloth bag and handed it to her. Beneath, on the worn laminate, was an envelope with my name on it. I ripped it open and let the contents drop into my hand.
Indi’s locket. With the center stone removed. And a… what the fuck?
Gram glanced between me and the contents in my palm with interest.
“Where’s Kennedy?” I asked in a low, deadly voice.
She must’ve recognized the seriousness of my tone because she calmly said, “In the sewing room. I was about to call him for breakfast.”
I heard the last of it as I moved, cutting through the lower floor into the temp command center. Kennedy sat in front of his row of monitors, headphones on. He pulled them off when I held my palm up in front of him.