Sound of Silence(39)

Piper's mouth drops open. "You know Charlie Carter McKenna? Like, how? Oh my God, Caden! Do you know the President? He's so freakin' hot. Is he nice? He seems so nice. Is she nice? She seems so nice, and beautiful. She's so beautiful. Do they really love each other like on TV, all sweet and perfect? Oh my God, Caden!"

"Hold up," I growl. "The President is hot?"

Her blush warms up the night. Fucking adorable. "Well, yeah. Everyone thinks so. But I think the country loves him so much because he loves his wife so much. Is it true? Does he really, or is it just for show? I think it might break my heart if their love is just made for television fodder."

Now I laugh, because her astonishment is too damn cute. "It's true. Colin McKenna is dedicated to her and the country. And Charlie is great. She was a fixture at the hospital. We spent some time together and connected, I guess. I'd call her a friend now, and I think you will too."

"What? I'm not . . . how?"

"Come with me."

"To Washington? I've never been to Washington. What about JT and Gus? I can't leave JT."

"I wouldn't let you. He'll come too."

She sucks in her bottom lip, shaking her head. "I would love too, Caden, but I can't afford the flight."

"Charlie offered the McKennas' private jet. We'll fly in style, sunshine. You, me and JT. Gus can stay with Mom."

A grin spreads on her face, bursting into her dimple. "When do we leave?"

We talk details as darkness falls, eating by the dying embers, a thick slice of a fallen cedar as our table. Piper's thigh touches mine, and every now and again, if she's aggressive with her knife, she elbows me in the kidney. I grunt while she giggles. We talk about everything and nothing, and all of it's easy. There's no judging when I tell her about stealing Doug Turner's dirt bike at fourteen or the night I spent in jail because of it. I don't crush my wine glass when she confesses to losing her virginity at sixteen to Winston Cloverland, III, in the front seat of his father's Aston Martin.

Conversation is interrupted by the echo of a rumbling growl muted by dense foliage. Piper's eyes widen.

"Sounds like a cougar. They live in the mountains behind us."

She turns and looks up the far slope, shuddering. "They don't have those in San Francisco."

"No, I suppose not. Come here."

I stand and offer my hand, hauling her to her feet and then tugging her in line behind me. Stopping to pop open my truck door, I grab my Beretta from the glove box, and the familiar weight eases tension in my shoulders. Target practice wasn't on my evening itinerary, but the noise will scare off anything lurking in the woods and Piper should know how to shoot.



       
         
       
        

"Why do you have a gun?" Staring wide-eyed at the black weapon, she whisper-screams as if it's a secret. But I know this gun like another appendage. I'm an expert shot after years and years of practice, and it's time Piper has a taste of the protection it brings.

Walking to the driver side door, I flip my headlights on. "Anyone who has seen what I have carries at least one firearm." I tug her over to the edge of the clearing and point to a thick line of trees. Tacked to the bulbous trunk of a Cedar is a bull's-eye, riddled with holes. It's one I had used during my last leave and visit to Lilyfalls. "Guns aren't scary; the people who wield them can be. When they land in the hands of the ignorant, filled with hate, greed, and soul-deep evil, that's when we have a problem. Look."

I offer the pistol palm up, the barrel facing away from her. Piper glances at me and then at it, licking the luscious line of her bottom lip. "It's okay. The safety is on. I'm going to show you how to shoot."

Her eyes flick to mine. "But why?"

"Because you should know how. I have guns, Piper. I always will. And when people are around weapons they should understand how to use them. More than anything, that's the first protection technique." The thought of her in trouble, of me not being around to help her, sucks the air from my lungs like a vacuum, but the reality is I can't be with her 24/7. And if I'm overseas . . . I swallow down bile burning my throat. "The house backs up to the foothills. We're not in the city, sweetheart, so you need to know how to take care of yourself if something happens and I'm not here."

Stepping behind her, I keep the Beretta held out with my chest sliding in and up to her back. I hold in a groan when her ass wiggles against my aching cock, as if it's the most natural place for it to be. Fuck. I'll be the first SEAL to die from vanilla and soft woman. But I might as well enjoy my ailment before I'm ten feet in the ground so I wrap myself up in Piper. Every part of us is aligned and God, does it feel good. Since I was a kid, maybe from when my dad left or it could be built-in since birth and hanging out with Cara in the womb, I like to touch. I like the connection, how it centers me, the reminder that I'm not alone and that real feelings exist in a world hardened by hate. What I've come to understand over the last several months is that I like to touch Piper most of all. All of my antsy parts calm down when we connect. I like that. I like her.