Four
Tamara
I wasn’t sure what it was about Clint Sullivan that drew my eyes and my attention, but whatever it was, it was letting me ignore him. Glancing away from Brandon, the bodyguard / driver, who was telling a funny story about some of their antics in the military, my gaze landed on Clint standing against the wall.
Taking a moment to really look at him, I couldn’t help but notice the leanness of his form. His well-worn jeans frayed in places that drew my eyes and made my throat dry. He crossed his large arms, pulling his t-shirt taut across his chest. The last thing on my mind should be peeling that shirt from his body. The man hadn’t been all that welcoming to me when I arrived. Rude would be a better word. He didn’t even shake my hand. What kind of shit was that?
My gaze must have lingered too long. His face shifted slightly, and his blue eyes caught my brown ones. Now I felt like a deer in headlights. I wasn’t shy by any means, but I also didn’t want to appear desperate. Was I really sitting here ogling over my host? The man who was supposed to be protecting me. I needed to get my shit together, because this was not the time to make stupid decisions. And Clint Sullivan looked like he would be a very stupid decision.
“Hey, Clint? Do I need to go pick up Sammy?”
“No, my dad was going to drop him off.” He looked down at his watch just as we all heard the door open. The stomping of feet, the sound only a child could make, were heard coming from the front of the house.
“Dad! Dad! Where are you?” A youthful voice called out.
“I’m in here, buddy.” Clint glanced over at me. “That’s the other boss of the house. My son.”
“More like the tyrant,” Gladys mumbled. “That little boy has so much energy he runs us all ragged. Reminds me of another little boy.” She stood up from the chair she was in and straightened her skirt before patting her hair. No one else seemed to notice it, but I did. “I’ll go grab those cookies I made earlier. He made me promise to have them ready by the time he came home,” Gladys called out before quickly leaving the room.
As I sat and watched the group of people talk and laugh, I couldn’t help wishing for this type of life. Things hadn’t been easy for me, but I’d made it the best way I could. My mother raised me on her own, struggling to survive in a world that told her she wasn’t enough. Not smart enough. Not educated enough. Not light enough. My father was a childhood love who ran with the wrong crowds. He was killed when I was only two years old, so I had no memories of him. Just faded pictures of a light-skinned man who looked too handsome for his own good.
Sitting around with others, simply enjoying each other’s company after a nice dinner, wasn’t what I was used to. Then when I married Derek, I thought things would change for me. He was all the things I’d hoped for in a man. All the boxes were checked, and that blinded me.
Loved his momma? Check.
Went to church on Sunday? Check.
Good paying job? Check.
Then I found out there were other boxes he checked as well, but these were the ones I wish never existed.
Had other women around every corner? Check.
Drank too much and became mean and nasty? Check.
Blamed everyone else for his failures? Check.
Sorry motherfucker who hit his wife? Check.
No, life hadn’t been good for me the way I’d dreamed of when I was a child, but I made it work as best I could. Yet, I still found myself in a situation where I needed protection from strangers. Maybe I was fooling myself.
“Dad! Grandpa, let me ride Thumper today!” Clint’s son ran over to him, jumping into his arms. His darkly tanned skin and curly black hair told a story I wasn’t ready to hear the answer to. At least not right now. My brain and my heart were already thinking foolish things. I didn’t need another reason to believe there could be anything between this man and me. His son’s parentage was a non-factor.
Another person joined the group. An older, more distinguished, but just as handsome, version of Clint walked into the room, making his way over to us.
Clint seemed to give his dad an exasperated look after Sammy’s outburst. “Dad, you know he’s too young for that.”
His father didn’t seem to care about what Clint was saying. “You’re never too young to learn how to ride. The first time you rode a horse, you were still learning how to piss in a toilet.” Everyone laughed, even Clint.
Walking into the room, he looked around for a few seconds before his gaze landed on me. “Hello, Ms.?”
Standing quickly, I met him halfway and shook the hand he held out to me. At least his manners were better than his son’s. “Tamara Wright, sir. Of course, you can call me Tamara.” If this is what Clint would look like when he was older, hot damn!
“Tamara it is. Just call me Butch. None of that sir mess. We don’t stand on formality here. So… you’re visiting?”
Unsure of how to respond, I glanced over at Clint, who didn’t seem likely to answer. Especially considering he was still intent on ignoring me.
“Um, well…”