J. T. Reynolds stood motionless on Jessica Reid's porch. His
military training had kicked in; know your adversary before you strategize.
Intent on getting to know her, he first introduced himself to her neighbors.
He'd gleaned the three women on the cul-de-sac were close. Their bond extended
to more than three single women living on the same street. He'd learned Jessica
hadn't lived here long but she'd known both of the women for some time. Jessica
and Blake had been friends since elementary school. J. T. was amazed at how
much the women revealed when he talked to them.
The exterior of her home was well maintained, but J. T. knew
all too well appearances were deceiving. His family always gave the pretense of
a loving family until they were behind closed doors.
A porch with white columns covered the majority of the front
of her house. He glanced in the large window, studying his quarry. From where
he stood, he could see her sitting in a rocking chair, holding the little tike.
Mesmerized, he watched the woman hold the infant in her arms and slowly rock
back and forth.
Jessica had a braid of long brown hair across the opposite
breast from the baby. From where he stood, her features looked plain.
No--solemn. Her face drawn and shoulders slumped. Impulsively, J. T. wanted to
comfort her with an embrace. For a woman he didn't know, yet, she brought out a
protective instinct in him. He tried to remember what his brother had said
about the woman but drew a blank. This was personal, yet after so many years in
the service, he felt as if this was another mission and pushed his emotions
aside.
For some reason he wondered what color her eyes were. J.T.
shook his head. He wasn't here because of the woman. The baby was his reason
for this task. The child didn't know it, but he was the closest person J.T. had
to a family. He would do anything for his foster brother's son.
Growing up, J. T. had spent years being shuffled from one
foster home to another. He never felt a connection to any of the families until
he moved in with Grant Markham's family. The two of them had become best
friends and referred to each other as brothers.
When Wyatt was born, Grant emailed J. T. in Afghanistan with
the news. He asked him if he'd be the baby's godfather and to look out for the
boy if anything should happened. At the time, J. T. joked with him about how
dangerous Grant's job as a computer programmer was and he needed to watch out
for paper cuts. J. T. would give anything to hear Grant's laughter again.
J. T. focused on Jessica gently swaying in the rocking
chair. Listening carefully, he swore he could hear her soothing voice sing a
lullaby. The scene in the house was very hypnotic and he felt a sense of peace.
For the first time in years, he wanted to belong to a family. To come home to a
wife and children would be a peaceful change to the world he'd witnessed
lately. Putting his arms around a woman at the end of the day, sharing the good
and the bad would be heaven. J. T. quickly reached out and pressed the doorbell
without another thought. He wasn't here for a touchy-feely moment. The child
was the only reason he stood on her porch.
The doorbell chimed, piercing the still morning. He could
still see her image through the window as she walked toward the door. Her
movements were lithe and gracefully. Enticing. With a moment of doubt, J. T.
stepped back and started to retrace his steps down the porch when he heard the
door open.
The first thing he noticed when she opened the door were her
rich brown eyes. Expressive bedroom eyes. He'd seen recognition in her gaze. In
a moment of silence, a sensation of desire heated his blood. It had been too
long since he had sex if one look from her had him thinking in that direction.
Jessica wore jeans and a white eyelet blouse which hung low,
where she held the baby, revealing the swell of her breast. Her creamy white
skin had him yearning to caress her.
"You must be Tyler."
He was glad to see the corners of her mouth curve into a
smile and chase the sadness away.
"Blake called and said you saw her yesterday."
He'd done his homework. Talking to her friends and neighbors
helped paved the way to meet her. J. T. removed his cap and pressed the cloth
between his hands. Always able to talk himself out of any situation, at the
moment, he struggle for a coherent thought. "Yes, ma'am."
"Won't you come in?"
Her hospitality was genuine and sincere. J. T. speculated
Jessica wouldn't be so friendly if she knew who he was and his plan to spy on
her to determine if she was fit to watch over Wyatt.
Her eyes widened with surprise. She held Wyatt against her
shoulder the way she had the other day in front of the window. Then she reached
out her free hand to him.
"I recognized you from the other day. Nice to meet you.
I'm Jessica Reid."
Her soft fingers wrapped around his hand. The warmth and
tenderness created a connection to the family closeness he'd seen moments ago
causing him to yearn for a better life.
"The pleasure is mine."
Startled by the serenity he felt with her, J. T. wanted more
and leaned toward her. He breathed in her fresh, clean scent, a fragrance he
didn't recognize. Her deep brown gaze studied him closely and he wondered who
was doing the investigation, her or him.
"Tyler Brown."
He'd gone by J. T. for so long he almost cringed when he
used his middle name. As a kid he wanted to change his name. He didn't want
anything to do with the father he was named after.
Wyatt wore a blue T-shirt and a pair of navy shorts.
Clinging to her, he barely moved. The baby's head was covered with such fine,
light hair he appeared bald.
"Your baby's cute."
She turned sideways so he could glimpse the boy's profile. "Thank you." She lowered her shoulders on a sigh.
"Wyatt's my sister Rachel's baby."
J. T. noticed her throat work after she mentioned her
sister's name. The death of her sister was still an opened wound. He made a
mental note to keep that discussion at a minimum unless
she brought Rachel up. As for himself, Grant's death hadn't fully registered.
At times he still couldn't believe he'd never see his friend again. He half
expected to see Grant walk through the door any moment.
"Won't you sit down?" she offered.
He glanced around. A mixed-match set of furniture filled the
room. The couch and large chair were contemporary pieces. The coffee and end
table appeared to be antique. The blended furniture gave the room a peaceful
atmosphere. Most of the couch was covered with baby clothes and toys. Only half
a cushion was cleared, so he decided to stand.
"That's okay, ma'am."
"I'm sorry." She leaned down to free some space
for him. Bending over, her blouse gaped even more than before. He shamefully
noticed her breast and couldn't tear his gaze away.
"I can do that." He needed to focus on something
other than her creamy skin and the lovely breast he wanted to hold.
Jessica stepped back, giving him room to work. "I'm
still adjusting to Wyatt's schedule."
Not a word of complaint. She'd taken the blame for the
disorganized room. Glancing around the room, the only clutter appeared to be
baby items. Jessica apparently didn't have any regrets about taking the infant
in. Obviously, she met challenges head on. He liked that about her.
After placing the clothes on an overstuffed chair, he sat on
the couch. Jessica sat beside him still holding the baby.
The little tike's light hair, what little he had, stood up
at the crown of his head. Wyatt's eyes fluttered opened and his smiled formed a
tiny dimple in his cheek. Then gradually his eyes closed.
J. T. said absently, "He looks like his dad."
"Why do you say that?" Her dark eyes fixed on his
again.
Without enlightening her how he knew his father had the same
dimple, J. T. said, "Wyatt's coloring is lighter." He ran his hand
over the soft fuzzy, blonde head. The child was content and relaxed against her
bosom. He looked away from the woman when he realized he envied the child
asleep on her breast. Her soft breast would be his favorite place to rest his
head too.
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