Page 69 of Long Past Deadly

“It got you armed, though, right? You were defenseless.” Hunt was always practical. “How’s your car?”

“Dead on arrival. It still runs, but I don’t care to mess with it. Somebody might want to fix it, but it won’t be me.”

“Part of shedding the old Quaid?” Cait ruffled his dark hair, and he took the sisterly act the way it was intended.

“Possibly.”

“It’s time.” She confirmed their months ago talk.

“Yes, it is.”

Hunt’s phone rang. Cait sighed. “Day off?”

“No such thing. Sorry, honey.” He tapped the green answer button and left the table.

Now was his chance, but Quaid hesitated, not sure how to phrase what he wanted to say.

“Getting in over your head?”

“No. Getting right with my head.”

Cait patted his hand and went back for her sandwich and the cookie jar. Once she sat again, he blurted out what was bothering him.

“How do you know when pushing someone toward a home is the right thing to do?”

“I assume we’re talking about Alanna and your home?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t push her toward it. You make it safe so she’ll choose it.”

“Is that what you did?”

“Yes. Hunt needed time to turn off his internal warning blare every time he moved my direction and in every step we took to build this.”

He stayed quiet a minute, pushing his empty plate aside and going for the peanut butter blossoms in the cookie jar. “She has so much bad sitting behind her, yet she’s pushed through and built something solid. Only… she hesitates like someone constantly ready to leave and expecting no one to fight for her.”

Cait didn’t smile, didn’t placate, didn’t tease. “Hunt did that, too. Still does at times. Maybe she doesn’t want to leave, but doesn’t know how to stay.”

“And where does that leave me?”

“Stay. Every time.”

The similarities to what Elizabeth advised hit home.

How do you love someone who doesn’t believe home lasts? She had no reason to believe a safe place existed after the death of her parents, the death of her grandfather, and Mercer’s attack? Home held no surety for her because nobody gave it to her or helped her build one. Whit tried, but he couldn’t do it for himself.

He faced Cait, reality ripping off his blinders. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

She turned serious eyes to Hunt on the front porch. “The good stuff usually is.” She patted his shoulder and cleared his dirty dishes, then took a plastic bag from the cupboard and handed it to him. “Take some cookies home to Alanna.”

“Do cookies work?”

“It’s the little stuff. Gold.” Her private grin told him there was a story there, but he didn’t ask.

But he could do this. He could stay. Wanted to stay. And…he would trust that he could hold her to him and teach her how, too.

Chapter Fourteen