Welcoming the Bad Boy: A Hero's Welcome Novel (7 page)

“Oh. Okay.” Val nodded slowly, lowering her head and edging closer to the door. “Of course. Bye, Helen,” she said again, avoiding looking in his direction.

Damn it.
He’d just unleashed his frustration on her.

His mother’s mouth fell open again. “Don’t leave,” she said again, reminding Griffin of the day he’d walked out of their home when he was nineteen years old. He’d tossed a duffel bag over his shoulder, carrying just the essentials. At the time he’d wanted none of his other belongings. They were all lies. Everything was lies. At least that’s how he’d felt. He’d also felt betrayed.

“Don’t leave,” his mother had begged back then. “Stay. Let’s talk about this. I love you, Griffin.”

What he wouldn’t give to hear her utter those words again.

“You’ll be fine, Helen,” Val reassured her. “I’ll see you soon.” Val turned out of the doorway and disappeared.

Griffin had the sudden urge to beg her not to leave, too. His mother didn’t know him from a fictional character in a romance novel. “Hey, Mom,” he said, quietly, stepping closer to her.

Trooper followed.

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes growing wide. Her hands shook as she held them up. “What are you doing here?”

That was a loaded question. “I’m your son.” And all he wanted was for her to be his mother again. He wanted to take back his reaction from a decade earlier and wrap his arms around her. Thank her instead of blame her for all his weaknesses.

“You’re not my son,” she said.

Twenty minutes later, Griffin sat as a bunch of elderly men and women patted Trooper. A lot of retired service dogs had PTSD. They were skittish around crowds or loud noises. Trooper had always been a social dog, though. Even as a puppy in training, he’d had a hard time not acting like that little dog that Val was caring for now.

Trooper appeared to be in his natural element here, rolling over to reveal his open belly. Griffin monitored to make sure that no one fell as they leaned over him. Must be the life, getting loved on by complete strangers for no good reason.

“Attention,” he commanded and Trooper rolled back to his feet. Loyal to the core. Griffin pulled a brush out of his pocket and handed it to Alma Edwards. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Alma’s smile could’ve lit up the entire building. She took the brush and Trooper stepped closer to her. She was still recovering from hip surgery, so she sat and leaned forward just slightly to groom Trooper.

Griffin turned and looked at his mother. He’d had to get one of the nurses’ assistance to get his mother to come down. She wanted no part of the group. Watching from afar with her hands in her lap, she looked the part of the prim and proper professor she’d once been. The one who’d insisted he eat vegetables every night or he wouldn’t get to watch his favorite nighttime show. She’d been a good mother, doting and caring, always making sure his needs were met.

His throat felt like sandpaper as he swallowed, focusing on his first animal therapy session. This was as good for Trooper as it was for the residents here. Val had been right.

And he was a jerk, which wasn’t anything new. He felt like shit about the way he’d treated her earlier. An apology was in order the next time he saw her. He might be a dickwad, but he knew when he was wrong and he didn’t mind manning up to his mistakes. The problem was it might be too late to man up to his mistakes with his mother.

“Can I give him a treat?” Mr. Willy asked. He was a frail gentleman who’d been a janitor in his youth. Even though his skin was wrinkled, his eyes and personality still shone like a man in his twenties.

Griffin handed him one of Trooper’s favorite treats. “He’ll have to work for it, though,” Griffin said. “Tell him to sit.”

“Sit,” Mr. Willy supplied, grinning ear to ear as Trooper did as he commanded. “Well, look at that,” the older man said.

“Now tell him to roll over.” Griffin went through a list of easy tricks that Trooper could do in his sleep. Trooper could sniff out bombs. He’d saved countless lives, and now he worked for treats by doing amateur tricks. But Trooper didn’t seem to be insulted by this at all. His tail thumped along the floor as Mr. Willy stood, wobbling slightly against his cane. He tossed a treat down and Trooper caught it in midair.

“Good boy,” Mr. Willy said, laughing lightly.

Griffin smiled momentarily before looking back to his mother in the corner. A blank look enveloped her face. Val seemed to have all the answers. He wondered if she knew how to put a smile like Mr. Willy’s on his mother’s lips. He’d do just about anything for that information right now.

Val opened the oven and eyed the chicken baking inside. She grabbed her marinating brush and bent inside to swipe some more sauce on the bird to keep the meat moist. Her father had volunteered her for countless meals like this since she was a teenager. This was always her go-to menu. Everyone liked chicken. It was a safe bet and it was easy enough.

As the food cooked, she sat on a stool at her kitchen counter and forced her fingers onto the keyboard. She was determined to write something, even if it was going to be scrapped later. She was a romance writer. She knew her next book was going to be about a man and a woman who were attracted to each other but who also repelled each other.

She thought of Griffin. She was attracted to him all right, and repelled by his attitude at the same time. His attitude had lightened toward her, though. He was actually taking her advice about his mother, which surprised her. He was gorgeous and, it turned out, also attentive.

Returning her attention to her blank screen, she blinked and reached for a glass of water. Attraction aside, she and Griffin obviously weren’t meant to be together. He definitely matched the description of a hero out of one of her books, though. Her memory traced along his defined abs, chiseled perfectly along the center and sides. His chest was molded like a piece of art that she was sure he spent hours in the gym each week to achieve. When he’d had his shirt off last night, she’d seen that he didn’t just have tattoos on the swell of his biceps. No, he also had a tattoo that curved from his nonexistent love handles to the small of his back—an eagle with its wings spread wide. There were other tattoos that she hadn’t seen because that would’ve required staring at him and openly marveling at his body. She wasn’t a prude, but she’d felt the blush on her skin last night when she’d walked into the living room to find him half naked.

Val shifted on the barstool. Maybe she’d just borrow him to create the hero of her next book. He definitely had her inspired. Skipping the first sentence, she jumped straight to having her hero and heroine meet. And since she was borrowing Griffin, and she couldn’t deny her attraction to him, she gave her heroine similarities to herself. She’d just fix it later.

Her fingers began tapping along the keyboard, creating a scene where her hero, Garrett, and heroine, Cally—Cal for short—were arguing and denying their initial attraction to one another. Yes, it was very similar to the interactions she’d had with Griffin since meeting him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She needed a story, and that’s exactly what she was writing. It was fiction with a slight basis on truth. “Slight” being the keyword.

Val was getting into her groove thirty minutes later when the oven’s timer went off. She’d gotten so engrossed in her story that she’d forgotten about cooking the Martins’ dinner. And she didn’t want to stop writing now to finish up. With a deep sigh, she saved her work and forced herself to close her computer. Her mind was reeling from the adrenaline and sudden excitement of writing something new—finally. She couldn’t wait to return home tonight and get back to the art of having her hero and heroine attract and repel one another. It was a lot more fun in fiction than it was in real life. The looks that Griffin had given her the last time they’d seen each other had pierced straight through her. And, while she was attracted to him, she was pretty sure he didn’t feel the same way about her.

Val pulled her favorite serving dish out of the cabinet and started placing the food on it. Then she dressed into her casual, I-don’t-care-if-a-baby-spits-up-on-me clothing, grabbed her purse, and headed to the Martins’ home. Three hours and a lot of spit-up later, she returned to her apartment, spent from lifting baby Leah up over her head again and again.

And again.

She took Sweet Cheeks out to the small fenced-in area behind her apartment to use the bathroom. That was one good thing about the little dog. For the most part she was house-trained. Trained in anything else, not so much. That dog-training book she’d purchased hadn’t been any help. If Griffin’s offer to whip Sweet Cheeks into shape ever came back on the table—which it wouldn’t—she’d have to take it.

“All right, Sweetie. Time to go back.” Because the sudden chill in the air as the sun started to lower was giving her goosebumps, and she was suddenly feeling inspired all over again.

Once back inside, Val made a cup of hot tea and sat on the couch with her computer. Sweet Cheeks curled up beside her. Even though the dog was a pain in the neck, the moral support as she continued writing was refreshing. Writing was such a solitary activity, especially when she kept it a secret from everyone she knew. Maybe she’d get herself a dog after Sweet Cheeks returned to live with Alma.

Val started typing, one sentence after another, waiting for her muse to slam on the brakes like it had been doing for months. Before she knew it, she had completed one chapter and was starting another.

Well, this is progress.

She’d just sit here until she physically had to stop. Tomorrow was another day, and she might not write any words.

It was midnight the next time Val looked up at the clock on her wall. She yawned, stretching her arms over her head and feeling her tired muscles pull tautly over her bones. All the characters in her book were fictional, completely based on the author’s imagination—that’s what the small print would read inside the cover. The truth was, though, that the characters sparring on the pages she’d written tonight were heavily inspired by one Griffin Black, down to the tattoo on his left side. She’d change that fact during the revision process, but for right now, it was working for her. Finally, something,
or someone,
was working for her. Nikki would be thrilled to hear how much progress Val had made tonight.

With a smile on her face, Val stumbled to her bed and collapsed with Griffin on her brain.

It was Saturday, Griffin’s day off. He’d spent it washing his Harley, visiting his mother, and looking for an excuse to stop by Val’s. When he’d finally come up with one, however, and driven over to her apartment, she’d been gone. Which filled him with all kinds of questions he shouldn’t be wondering. Like was she on a date with someone else? Not that it mattered. She could date who she wanted.

“You want to go out, buddy?” he asked Trooper, sprawled at his feet.

Trooper wagged his tail. He wanted to go see his pal Jaws, which Griffin sometimes arranged. Jaws was younger and faster, but the two dogs loved each other. And Griffin loved them both, despite the trouble Jaws was giving him at work.

Griffin grabbed Trooper’s leash—not that he would use it—and headed out the door. He opted for his Ford Explorer in the parking lot this time, securing Trooper in the back. A short drive later, he pulled into the K-9 parking lot on base, unloaded Trooper, and went to get Jaws. He usually came to check in with Jaws on his days off, and take him for a run if time allowed. Rain, sleet, or snow, he took care of his family. And his dogs were his family. It was the same reason he’d brought his mother here to Seaside. He’d been a shitty son in the past, and he regretted that, but things were going to change now.

Jaws gave a short bark when Griffin came to his gate.

“Back at you, big guy.”

Trooper barked, too. It was sweet really, these two big tough dogs wagging their tails in excitement to be together.

“Let’s go.” Griffin walked them out of the building and down a long sidewalk toward a field the guys used for obstacle courses and trainings. It also seconded as a track when it needed to.

Trooper always had the spot closest to Griffin’s side when they’d worked K-9 together. In his old age, however, Trooper had given up that spot to Jaws. There was a new alpha dog, but that didn’t mean Jaws had taken the highest rank in Griffin’s heart.
Hell, no.
That spot would forever belong to Trooper, who’d been with him on three tours in the desert—one that nearly killed them both. They would’ve died together, though, because no way would Griffin ever leave his dog’s side. Never. And he was pretty damn sure Trooper felt the same way.

Griffin glanced over at Trooper’s slightly awkward gait. No longer the invincible pup, he had arthritis now. Even so, Trooper wasn’t going to let Jaws get too far ahead. He might be old, but he was tough.

“That’s right, boys,” Griffin called, pounding the stress of the day into the flattened dirt. The nursing home had called twice today to tell him that his mother was refusing to eat. First breakfast, and then lunch. If this continued, they’d have to give her a feeding tube, the nurse had told him. She’d eaten a candy bar for Val, though. He’d seen the chocolate evidence smeared on her lower lip when she’d promptly told him to go the hell away.

No way was he letting someone run a tube through his mother’s nose. If she wanted candy bars, he’d bring her a dozen of ’em.

They ran a few miles and then headed back to put Jaws in his kennel. Griffin loaded Trooper back in the Ford Explorer, rubbing his hand over the dog’s nose. They were a team. He needed Trooper just as much as Trooper needed him. Neither of them was using the other. That’s what had initially attracted him to this job in the Marine Corps. Dogs were pretty much an open book. The happy home he’d grown up in, on the other hand, had been full of secrets and lies that he’d only found out by accident on his nineteenth birthday. He was one year into college, attending his mother’s alma mater. He’d come home on break and had started looking through his mom’s bin of personal things. He was doing a project at school that required a picture of him as a baby. He’d known his mother kept them in that bin, but she was a busy professor and it was during final exams at the all-girls college where she taught. She wouldn’t mind. It was his life, after all.

It’d never occurred to him that his mother was hiding anything from him. But she’d hidden everything from him, including his own name. Which was slightly funny if he thought about it now, because now she couldn’t remember his name, the real one or the one she’d given him when she’d adopted him at six months of age.

He headed home, taking the long route so that he could drive by Val’s again.

What the hell was he doing?

He told himself it was because he wanted to talk to her about his mother, but that was only partially true.

Her driveway was still empty. None of his business. Val was a beautiful woman. He guessed she’d have men standing in line to go out with her. And despite his fierce attraction and the Marine Corps’ rigid training, he wasn’t one to stand in line.

No, he was a line cutter.

Val was trying not to yawn in church. Her father always,
always
looked at her when she yawned. And then she couldn’t contain them. Another yawn would always follow the first. They were like dominoes.

Don’t yawn. Don’t yawn. Don’t…

Her face stretched with a big yawn that felt so good, like snuggling into a warm bed at the end of a long day. Or a long night. She’d stayed up late last night. Really late. But her muse was suddenly kicking and she couldn’t afford to waste a moment of inspiration. Inspiration that Griffin had given her.

She yawned again, avoiding looking at the front of the church where her father was preaching. Today’s sermon was on honoring wedding vows. At the rate she was going, she was going to stay an old maid forever, therefore she really didn’t need to listen to her dear old dad. Instead, she was mentally plotting her next scene between a hero that fit Griffin’s description to a T and a heroine who resembled her description. It was all innocent fantasy. And all based solely on physical attraction because she and Griffin were a poor match otherwise.

She raised a hand to cover her next yawn, catching her father’s glare as she glanced upward.
Crap.
She pulled her Bible closer to her and blinked past the watery mass that had filled her eyes while yawning lazily in the front pew.

When church was over, she slipped out quickly, avoiding her father and a few of the elders who asked without fail every week when she was going to “settle down.” She slipped into her Volvo and cranked the engine, suddenly feeling more alert as the radio blasted music and air-conditioning blew in her face. Reversing her car out of her parking spot, she headed to a lunch date she didn’t want to be late for.

The nursing home was quiet as she entered. For a girl who’d enjoyed her fair share of wild days in her teens and early twenties, it was funny that she’d spent just as many calm, serene days here. Growing up, her father had always insisted she do at least one volunteer activity. Seaside Harbor nursing home had always been her top choice—just like her mother. She loved sitting with the residents, talking to them, reading to them, playing board games, whatever they wanted to do.

Waving at Louise seated at the front desk, Val hurried toward the community room where a bunch of the residents ate their meals together. Val had specifically asked that Helen be seated there today at lunchtime rather than staying in her tiny room. Helen was still not eating enough to sustain herself and Val hoped that she might take a few bites with a little friendly encouragement.

Helen sat at a table by the window. She was a beautiful woman with pale blond hair and smooth skin that contrasted with all the other residents’.

“Hi, Helen,” Val said, pulling up a chair beside her. She looked down at Helen’s tray of food, untouched so far. “You don’t like your lunch, huh?”

Helen blinked, seeming to realize for the first time that Val had sat down with her. “You.”

Val took that to mean Helen recognized her. “Me,” she confirmed, offering up a sincere smile. She unzipped the lunch box she’d packed earlier that morning and pulled out two sandwiches. “I brought you something.” She laid one of the sandwiches on a paper plate in front of the older woman. “Made it myself, and I’ll be very insulted if you don’t try it.”

Helen looked down, her brow line twitching softly in confusion.

“Did you make one for me, too?” a deep voice asked, coming up behind her and sending immediate heat waves through her body.

Val turned to acknowledge him, already knowing who it was. “Hey, Griffin. What are you doing here?”

He sat at the table, too. “Uh.” He glanced over at Helen.

“Right,” she said, feeling like an idiot. Helen was his mother, even if the frail bird of a woman couldn’t seem to remember that fact.

“Can I join you ladies for lunch?” he asked.

It suddenly occurred to Val that maybe she was the intruder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming. I can come back another day.” She started pulling the sandwiches back inside her sack.

Griffin’s warm hand stopped her. “You’re fine. Please stay. My mo—” His voice caught on the M-word. “Helen and I have shared a few lunches together recently. She doesn’t really like what I bring her.” His eyes darkened as he met Val’s gaze. Something told her that Helen also didn’t enjoy the company he offered. “Maybe she’ll like your lunch offerings better.”

“Oh.” Val nodded. “Well, I do pack a mean lunch.” She squeezed Helen’s hand before setting a cup of fruit cocktail beside the bagged sandwich. She’d packed plastic cutlery in her lunch sack, too. She took the plastic knife and sank it into the middle of her peanut butter and honey sandwich, then placed one half on one of the paper plates that she’d brought. She filled the other half of the plate with veggie crackers and slid it in front of Griffin. “Here you go. There’s enough for all of us to eat.”

His smile was warm, which surprised her. When it came to his mother, he’d been a little defensive thus far.

Val pulled out the paper cups she’d brought with her and poured each of them a cup of apple juice. Then she took Helen’s hand. “Let’s say grace before diving in, shall we?”

Helen had only said one word since she’d sat down at the table with her. “You.” A blank expression answered back now.

Val turned to Griffin. “You, too,” she said, knowing she might be pushing her luck in telling him what to do with his mother. She had rules for saying grace, though. Everyone held hands and everyone bowed their heads. Val tipped her head at Helen’s free hand, asking Griffin in a not-so-optional way to take it in his own.

Griffin didn’t hesitate. He reached out his hand to Helen, waiting for her to set her tiny hand in his. Helen had allowed Val to grab her hand, but she probably wouldn’t have been thrilled with her son, a complete stranger to her now, if he’d done the same.

Helen turned to Val in question.

“It’s okay,” Val said, encouraging her. “Take Griffin’s hand.”

Shakily, Helen complied. It made a knot of emotion swell in Val’s throat. Val reached her other hand across the table toward Griffin, needing to close the chain. A surge of attraction lit through her as his hand enveloped hers.

After a quick prayer, Val picked up her sandwich half and took a bite, glancing over at Helen and inwardly praying that she’d do the same. You couldn’t force someone to eat, not unless you ran a feeding tube down their nose. Val didn’t want that for Helen. She didn’t want that for Griffin either, who appeared to be willing his mother to take a bite with his eyes.

“Mom, why don’t you try the sandwich Val made you?”

Helen’s eyes widened. “I’m not your mom,” she said, fidgeting with her hands in front of her. She was getting agitated. The room was full of chatter and smells. And she didn’t know Griffin from the janitor at the nursing home. It must be so terrifying for her to be here, Val thought, instinctively moving her hand over Helen’s.

“Honey and peanut butter was one of my mother’s specialties. She made one for me every day for lunch.” Val laughed to herself. “Kids should really have more variety in their diet, but it was something we did together.” Her father had never stocked honey in their pantry after her mother’s death. He’d made peanut butter and jelly, which was okay, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing had been the same after her mother died.

Val’s throat tightened and she was suddenly hit with those pesky emotions she tried to keep at bay in the company of others.

“Everything okay?” Griffin asked, meeting her gaze. So observant.

She nodded quickly, summoning a yawn, which always brought tears to her eyes. It was a trick she’d learned a long time ago. When your eyes were watering, people shrugged it off in the company of a yawn. Yawns made everyone’s eyes water. “Just tired. I was up late last night,” she said, telling the truth.

“Doing what?” he asked.

Heat moved through her. She hadn’t expected that question. No way was she going to tell him the truth, that she’d been up writing a romance where the hero was suspiciously similar to him, down to the tattooed, muscled arms and military-short black hair. “Um…well, I…”

“You were reading one of those romance novels like you’ve been reading to the women here, weren’t you?” he asked, teasing her.

She relaxed a little, tilting her head. “Maybe.”

Griffin grinned. “When I can’t sleep I count backward from one hundred. It’s something that my, uh—” He hesitated.

“Something your mother taught you,” she supplied, smiling gently.

“Yeah.”

They both stopped talking as Helen lifted her sandwich to her mouth. Val held her breath.
Please take a bite. Please take a bite. Please take a…

Helen’s teeth closed down on the bread and she pulled a small piece off. Val tried not to let Helen see her watching. Griffin did the same. Helen chewed and swallowed. Val felt like plowing a fist into the air. One bite was success, even a small one. From the gentle turn of his mouth, Val knew Griffin felt the same way. She swallowed, sharing a glance that said so many things. It wasn’t often that two people who barely knew each other shared glances that spoke volumes, but she and Griffin had just won a small victory together.

There was something else in his eyes. Attraction. Or maybe she was just seeing what she wanted to see. Maybe last night’s writing session made her feel things that weren’t real. She always fell for the heroes she created in her books, and this one was loosely based on Griffin. Or entirely. So was she falling for the fictional Griffin as well as the real one?