Page 61 of Unplanned Target

The next hour of my morning goes to narrowing down a few companies I can use for hauling away trash and finding someone to do the repairs. I’ve got a few to choose from listed out when I get an email notification on my phone.

Since I’m at the computer anyway, I go ahead and open it up there, a smile working onto my face as I read the message inside.

Maybe I’m not as blacklisted as I thought. Maybe I don’t have to come up with a new business plan after all.

I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my excitement, before responding to the woman reaching out to me for help. Thanks to my week with nothing else to do, I’ve updated all my boilerplate responses, so I add that in, along with my updated fee list. After letting her know to reach out if she has any questions, I hit send.

And once again, all I want is to go tell Owen. I know he’s going to be excited for me. Thrilled I might be able to salvage the business I’ve worked so hard on.

Switching off the treadmill, I dismount. But instead of rushing to the door, I stand there for a second. Because maybe I figured out how I want to pivot after all. Maybe I want to focus on women-led companies from now on. No more arguing with men who hire men then don’t want to listen because I’m a chick. No more working twice as hard to be taken half as seriously. No more ignoring my opinion and deferring to the guy who got them where they were in the first place.

A sense of rightness settles into my gut. Not just over the potential change in my business, but also the possible change in my location.

I want to be here in Nashville. And, while I love my brother, that desire doesn’t have much to do with him.

But it has everything to do with the man I’m going to find.

I hurry out of my room and down the stairs, going in search of the person I can’t seem to get enough of.

I don’t find Owen downstairs, so I follow the covered walkway to the main building. Peeking into offices and rooms, I work my way from one side to the other.

He’s not there either.

There’s one building left, and I’m determined to find him, so I take the hall leading to the large block structure that houses a soaring space I’m told is used for tactical drills, a fully equipped gym, a few storage rooms filled with gear, and a handful of training spaces.

Which is exactly where I finally find Owen. A pair of athletic pants and a T-shirt take the place of his normal all-black ensemble, and there’s not a weapon in sight. A set of mats cushions the floor under his bare feet as he slowly circles his opponent, calmly explaining what he’s about to do.

Then he lunges, big body moving fast as lightening toward his trainee. I nearly gasp, one hand coming to press against my mouth so I don’t distract him.

Or my daughter.

Because she’s working so hard to defend herself against someone who’s easily got more than a hundred pounds on her.

Allie’s small, but she’s also quick, and she manages to dodge Owen’s first attempt to grab her. Unfortunately, in the process, she turns her back on him and in the blink of an eye, he’s hooking one arm around her neck, his big bicep nearly dwarfing her head.

Even though I know Owen would never hurt her, my heart is still in my throat seeing how vulnerable she is. How horribly things could have gone if she’d made a mistake the night she went to the coffee shop.

She’s so small and light, it would be easy to pick her up and take off and⁠—

Before Owen can fully lock her in, Allie tucks her chin, gripping his forearm with one hand to keep him from accomplishing his goal.

Then she swings an elbow directly into his gut. Once. Twice.

He grunts, curling forward. As soon as his face is within reach, Allie plants her palm on it, fingers pressing against his eyes as she stomps one bare foot.

Owen releases her and she jumps away, a bright smile lighting up her face as she bounces in place, clapping her hands. “That was right, wasn’t it?”

He presses one hand against his stomach, wincing a little. “You did good.”

My throat goes tight. My ex-husband left so long ago that Allie doesn’t really remember him, but if she did, all her memories would be of promises that never came true. Plans that never came to fruition. Bedtime stories that were never read and trips to the park that never happened. He was always too busy. Too tied up in his own plans and dreams to even think about his daughter’s wants or needs.

But this man—the one who is proving himself exceptional at every turn—comes home from being gone for days, doing God knows what, and immediately follows through on the promise me made my daughter. One he likely doesn’t realize she took very seriously.

Or maybe he does, given the way he’s limping across the mats.

TWENTY-TWO

OWEN