when it goes bad.' She didn't know all that much about what he did, but knew it had a lot to do with negotiating with criminals holding hostages. A bad day for him would mean someone died.
“How did you get in that line of work?' He shrugged. 'I was recruited by the FBI out of college. I worked in Dallas for a while, got my master's in psychology. I went into profiling, then I attended a lecture by a negotiator. I trained, worked with him for a while and figured out it was something I had the temperament for.'
“Meaning you can handle high-stress situations?'
“That and disconnect from the emotions inherent in the incident.' Low-key and distant, she thought. He'd been that way with his family at the pizza-night dinner.
Friendly, but not completely involved. She envied him his emotional detachment. If she'd been able to muster a little for herself, she might have been able to leave Marty.
“So you were probably really annoying when your wife wanted to pick a fight,' she said. 'There she'd be, all crabby and on edge, and you'd be rational and logical.' She'd been teasing, but instead of smiling at her words Nash looked thoughtful.
“We were different,' he admitted as he continued to paint the window frame. 'Tina lived on the emotional edge most of the time. Drama fueled her. I never figured she would make it as an agent.' Stephanie nearly dropped her roller. She grabbed the handle with both hands and tried not to look shocked. 'She was an FBI agent?' Nash nodded.
Who would have known? Stephanie hadn't much thought about his late wife, but if she had, she would have assumed the woman was a… She frowned, not sure what she would have assumed. Certainly not a federal agent.
“We met during training. I was one of her instructors. I thought she was too impulsive and wanted to flunk her out. I was outvoted.' She turned back to the wall and resumed painting. Better to leave a few streaks on the walls than to stand on the ladder with her mouth open. 'Not a very romantic beginning,' she said.
“It wasn't. I thought she was a flake, and she thought I was a hard-nosed rule follower. She moved on and I forgot about her. We hooked up about a year later, on assignment.' Doing something dangerous, she thought wistfully. Capturing bad guys or saving innocent lives. There was tension, adrenaline followed by passion.
Stephanie didn't like the knot that formed in her stomach or the feeling of being a fairly typical, fairly boring thirty-something single mom.
“If you two were married, you must have changed your initial opinions of each other,' she said.
Nash shrugged. 'We were always opposites.”
“Sometimes that works.'
“It didn't for you and Marty.' That was true. 'I'm not sure we were opposites so much as we wanted different things,' she said, thinking it was safer to think about her late husband than Nash's late wife. 'Or maybe it was just that I wasn't willing to pay the price for always doing what I wanted. I didn't like always having to be the grown-up, but Marty didn't seem to give me a choice. Someone had to make sure the bills got paid on time and that there was food in the house. But there were times when I envied his ability not to worry about things like money and consequences. I could never let go that much.'
“You took on a lot at an early age. I think kids who have to grow up fast never forget what it was like to be young and in charge. I had the same thing at home. My mom worked a lot of hours and my brother was a complete screwup. He was born to break rules. Even though we were twins, I always felt like the oldest.'
“But he grew out of it,' she said. 'Kevin's a U.S. Marshal now.' Kevin had changed. Grown up. Most people did. Just not Marty.
Nash turned around and looked at her. 'How did this conversation get so serious? People having an affair aren't supposed to talk about anything significant.' She smiled. 'I didn't know. This is my first affair, so you'll have to fill me in on all the rules.' He set the brush on the edge of the paint can and walked toward her. 'The rules are whatever we want them to be.'
“Really?' There was a light in his dark eyes that made her insides quiver. As he approached, she put the roller onto the tray and leaned down. The kiss was hard, hot and left her breathless. Wanting exploded within her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him lower her to the ground.
“It's been less than three hours and I want you again,' he murmured against her mouth. 'At this rate we're not going to get a lot of work done.'
“I don't mind.'
“Good, because I-' A noise caught their attention. Both she and Nash turned. Stephanie cringed when she saw Brett standing in the open doorway of the gatehouse. The look on his face told her that he'd seen her in Nash's arms and that he felt betrayed. Before she could say anything, he took off for the house.
Desire drained out of her, leaving behind guilt and confusion. On the one hand, she was glad that Brett remembered his father and still thought about him. On the other hand, while she wasn't looking for love or anything close to it, she knew it wasn't right for her to close off that part of her life simply because her twelve-year-old son might not approve. Brett had to learn that it was okay to move on with life. But was this the time to have that conversation? And if so, what was she going to say? Complicating the situation was the fact that she and Nash didn't have a relationship she could explain to her children.
There was no one to ask, she thought sadly. No one to share her worries with. Like most tough times in her life, she was going to have to wing it and hope she didn't mess up too badly.
She took a step toward the house, then stopped when Nash touched her arm.
“Brett's upset,' he said.
“I know.'
“Maybe this would be better discussed with a guy ' Stephanie stared at him. 'You want to talk to Brett about what he saw?'
“
“I really should talk to him,' she said.
Nash lightly kissed her. 'Go paint,' he told her. 'Give me ten minutes. If I'm not back by then, come find us.' Letting go was unfamiliar. Releasing responsibility was unheard of. Stephanie battled what was right with what was easy. Before she'd made a decision, Nash left the gatehouse.
Ten minutes, she told herself as she checked her watch. He couldn't mess up too badly in that amount of time, could he? Nash walked into the house and paused to listen. When he heard something thump against the floor, he headed for the kitchen rather than the stairs.
When he pushed open the door, he found Brett banging his way through emptying the dishwasher. The kid's shoulders were slumped and stark pain darkened his blue eyes.
“Hey,' he said. 'How's it going?' The twelve-year-old spun to glare at him. 'You don't belong here,' Brett yelled. 'You're a guest. Guests stay in the public rooms. Not the kitchen. The kitchen is for family. Get out.' Nash closed the door behind him and approached the boy. Brett clutched a pot in his hands as if he would use it as a weapon if he had to.
“Did you hear me?' the kid demanded.
“I heard all of it. Even what you didn't say.' Nash recognized the boy's helplessness, the frustration that fueled anger. He knew Brett wanted to be big enough and strong enough to force Nash out of the room, the house and his mother's life. Brett wanted Nash never to have come here, never to have existed. Now that he was here, Brett wanted him gone.
The old feelings were still there, Nash thought with some surprise as he took a seat at the table.
Buried, nearly forgotten, but still real. How many times had he wanted to take on Howard? Bad enough when Howard and his mother had just been dating, it had gone worse when the two had announced their engagement and said Howard would be adopting the boys. Like they were babies. Like they needed him.
“Your mom's a real nice lady,' Nash said slowly, searching for the right words, trying to remember what would have made him feel better. 'Pretty, a lot of fun.' He glanced at Brett and gave a slight smile. 'She probably seems
