Shelter Me by Catherine Mann Page A

her, back at his truck, then surrendered. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
    What the hell? He’d actually agreed? Was this some kind of ploy on Mike’s part to get close to her, see if she would be open to a “welcome home” quickie after chili? If so, he was in for a rude awakening when dessert was nothing more than a scoop of ice cream on his way out the door.
    *   *   *
    SITTING AROUND THE McDaniel patio table again was supremely surreal.
    Mike had come to their house for meals before, during the brief time that he and Sierra had told everyone about their relationship. Very brief time. Shortly after that, they’d broken up, just before his deployment.
    He’d seen the way it was tearing her up, saying good-bye to him and her father. He’d figured out fast that being a military brat was hard enough for her to handle. Being a military spouse was out of the question. And without the military, he was nothing more than the screwed-up kid of a criminal grandma and a father who couldn’t handle raising a boy who was a constant reminder of the woman who’d died bringing him into the world. Mike was through being a reminder of dead people.
    So why was he sitting here on the McDaniel family’s patio like this was a regular family get-together? The umbrella flapped overhead and dogs barked in the background while a cat slept on his foot.
    He wasn’t sure why he’d stayed other than it had felt easier to accept than getting in his truck and leaving her again. Maybe by the end of the lunch, he would have his answer and some closure.
    But God, he had to admit he’d missed being around this quirky, awesome family. The mom with her galoshes, shorts and a pit bull T-shirt. Nathan with a large snake—Bo—draped over his shoulders, and no one thought that was strange. Not even the memory-challenged General in his sweatpants and an Army T-shirt commented on the four-foot-long reptile.
    And Sierra. Lord help him every time he looked at her he was damn near mesmerized by her, with her easygoing style that made a side ponytail and tank top look classy—and all the while he knew underneath she had a short Shakespearean quote tattooed on her hip bone.
    “Crackers?” Lacey thrust a basket full of saltines Mike’s way.
    “Sure, thank you, ma’am.” He took a handful and crushed them on top of his bowl of chili, which actually didn’t taste half bad. The General had definitely lost more of his memory in the past year, but not his ability to cook. “This beats what I would have microwaved at my motel. Thank you.”
    One thing Mike missed with his vagabond lifestyle—being able to cook whenever he felt like it.
    The General shook Tabasco sauce into his deep pottery bowl. “What kind of motel are you staying at, soldier? You have to be careful of the hookers. They’ll steal your wallet and give you gonorrhea.”
    Sierra spluttered on her iced tea. “Gramps—”
    Nathan crushed crackers in his chili. “Do you know about that from experience, Gramps?”
    Lacey gasped.
    Mike interjected quickly, “I’ll be careful to steer clear of trouble.”
    “Damn straight.” The General plunked the hot sauce down so hard the ice rattled in the glasses. “And if you’re just saying that to pacify me, at least remember to wrap your rascal when you’re with a hooker.”
    “Sir.” Best to rechannel this conversation away from “rascals,” wrapped or otherwise. “Let’s talk about this another time. There are ladies present.”
    “By God, you’re right. Sorry, my dears.” He looked to the side sharply. “Lacey, could you pass the hot sauce?”
    “Dad, you’ve already—” Lacey started only to be interrupted by Nathan.
    “Here, Gramps.”
    Sierra swatted her brother’s wrist. “Gramps, how about you taste it first. It’s really awesome.”
    The General shook his head. “Lacey never puts enough spices in the food.”
    Sierra glanced at Mike apologetically. The old guy had already forgotten cooking the meal. As if this