“You’re my kind of girl,” he mumbled as he poured a cup, his sandy colored hair sticking out at every angle but smooth. “Mmmm, is that bacon? You sure know a way to a man’s heart, darlin’.”
Harley slipped into a Texas accent every so often. He’d served at Fort Hood after he’d joined the Army. Was a professional dog handler, then. But he raised Malinois and German Shepherds now, even trained them to be service dogs for other veterans. And he adored his wife, Judy. She brought their twin boys into the office whenever she came into Alexandria. Little A and Georgie, one redheaded like his mom, the other Harley’s mini-me. Both had their dad’s rangy build.
Watching him interact with his boys always teased the green-eyed monster inside Maddie. What would it have been like to have had a father like Harley? Or Alex or Mark or Eric or—sheesh, just about any TEAM male, for that matter? They were all so in love with their wives and children, and it showed. It was hard to be around them and not feel sorry for the parental love she’d missed in her own childhood. It wasn’t their fault, so she shook that pleasant/unpleasant reminder off. But if she were ever to marry—
Not. Going. There.
The only one she avoided at TEAM HQ was Junior Agent Tripp McCain. Thank goodness he’d been assigned to the Seattle office and would finish training in Alexandria by the end of the month. The man was former Army, amber-eyed, blond with straight hair, and as handsome as the other guys. He was tall and big-boned, muscular in the way of Mark and Zack, and he had a way of commanding attention when he entered the room. But talk about cold and unfriendly. Maddie avoided him, hadn’t any idea why Alex hired Tripp, or how the other agents could stand to speak with him. Yet they did. Which separated her as a civilian from those who’d served. The few times she’d spoken with Tripp, he’d stared at her as if she were an annoying fly buzzing too close for comfort. He didn’t even have to wave her off to get her to leave. If anyone was a fly in the TEAM ointment, it was Tripp McCain.
Eric showed five minutes later, smelling of manly shower gel and deodorant with a whiff of fabric softener. Like her, he was wearing a clean TEAM polo over black jeans from the supplies stocked in each bedroom closet. She might not be an operator, but she was on the job, and she wanted him to know she took it seriously.
“You talk to Alex yet?” Eric asked Harley.
“Yup. Called him soon as I woke.”
“You told him you’re staying?”
“You bet.” Harley lifted his cup and gulped a hearty swallow. “Figured he already suspected I might be leaving. Wanted to burst that bubble before he fired me.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Maddie asked, her hands inside two protective mittens as she lifted the extra-large baking sheet out of the oven. “You’re thinking of leaving us?” That would be just plain awful. Harley was the heart of the office. Everyone liked the good-natured jokester.
“No, ma’am, not The TEAM. Never. But I did tender my notice to the veterinarian I worked under. I loved what I was doing, and animals will always be part of who I am, but holding down two hard-charging jobs was burning me out. Missed my wife and kids. Was always running out on them, and something had to give. I sure as heck wasn’t quitting the job I love best.”
Eric’s nose twitched. “Is that cinnamon I smell?”
“Cinnamon rolls,” Maddie said, blushing at how he always made her feel like she belonged. “They’re almost ready to eat. How many do you want?”
“All of them?” he teased, his dark brown eyes sparkling like a babbling brook of coffee.
“Hey, Porky, now hold on. That just ain’t happening,” Harley drawled. Of all the agents, he was the biggest kidder.
“I’ll arm wrestle you for them.”
“Pshaww, no way. You’re a heavyweight, I’m just…” Harley yawned. “…about to whup your big, hairy butt. Step on up, wise guy.” He was bouncing on his feet on one side of the breakfast bar by then, his elbow planted on the counter and fluttering his fingers, egging Eric on. “Come on, don’t be scared. You want all them cinnamon rolls, you’re gonna have to go through me. Let’s see what you got.”
“Guys, stop.” Maddie giggled. “No fighting in my kitchen. ’Sides, they’re my cinnamon rolls, and I get to decide who gets one. So sit down and be quiet. Jameson is still sleeping.”
Harley’s brows lifted. “Just one?” he asked as if that were cruel and inhumane punishment.
Ah, she loved all these guys. But mostly, the comatose man down the hall, the one who’d been sound asleep on his belly when she’d left his room.
Eric’s cell beeped a cheery tune. He turned into the open area between the kitchen and hallway and settled onto one of the extra-large recliners that bracketed the leather sofa. “Hey, Shea. How’s things at home?”
Maddie tried not to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help picking up the word Alzheimer’s in the conversation between Eric and his wife. None of her business. She set the warming trays on the bar, then placed the platters of scrambled eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls on the trays. She’d already set out plates and utensils. The men could serve themselves.
Harley’s cell chimed next, and there was Maddie, in the same room as two very capable covert agents and, as always, still alone and not quite belonging. Slicing three mega-rolls out of the twelve, she stashed them in the microwave for Jameson, where hopefully, no one else would find them.
She quelled the urge to sneak back into his room and snuggle back under the covers with him. But what if what happened in his bedroom was just one of those crazy things like Eric said happened after intense combat or life and death situations? She’d
