Home to Stay (The Long Road Home #2) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,19
head and grinned. “Gramps, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m not sure I can get a job based on my grandfather’s recommendation.”
Gramps opened his mouth but his comment was cut short when Horace jumped in. “I work for a company located near here. I have no idea if it’s something you’re interested in or if they’d be interested in you. But I’d like you to at least meet the boss.”
Intrigued, having assumed Horace was leisurely retired, he tilted his head to the side. “What kind of work are you in?”
“I work for a security company. Lighthouse Security and Investigations. They don’t advertise for positions. When the boss started his company several years ago, he’d handpicked his employees from various Special Operations, including CIA Special Ops.” He chuckled and shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “That’s how we found out about it. My wife worked with the boss on a CIA operation. My wife keeps them on their toes. She’s about as close to a grandmother drill sergeant as you can imagine.”
John’s brows lifted to his forehead at that tidbit of information, then he turned toward his grandfather, who’d adopted a not-so-subtle innocent expression as he tipped his beer up. “Gramps, is this why you were asking me about security the other day?”
“Hmph. I might’ve mentioned to Horace that you were former Special Forces, back home now.”
He battled the sliver of interest that threatened to grow. “Saying I’m not interested would be a lie, Horace, but I don’t know anything about the security business. And, with my vision…” He let his last phrase hang out there, not knowing if it would make a difference.
“I wouldn’t let that worry you.” Horace rubbed his hand over his chin. “Like I said, I have no idea if you are even interested, would be the right fit, or if LSI is looking, but the boss is a good man, former Army Special Forces also, and worth knowing even if you aren’t an employee. Hell, not just the boss but all the employees.”
Interest flared, and he nodded. “Okay, Horace, I’d like to meet your boss, even if it’s just nothing more than to buy him a drink.”
Horace slapped his hand onto the table and grinned. “Well, all right. Give me your number, and I’ll let him know.”
After giving him his contact information, they stood as Horace clapped Gramps on the shoulder. Stepping back, he turned. Blindsided, he was slammed into by a body, instantly followed by the cold rush of beer pouring down his shirt.
“Goddamnit! What the— Lucy?”
Staring up at him was Lucy, dressed in a bright red shirt, her eyes wide, her mouth opened, and a half-empty beer mug in her hand as the rest of it he was now wearing.
6
“Oh, shit!” As the words left her mouth, Lucy barely heard the laughter from the two older men standing nearby.
“Think I’ll give Rupert a ride home, John. Nice to meet you, and I’ll be in touch,” one of them said to John.
The flash of anger in his eyes had now morphed into resignation as he recognized her. He nodded toward the one who spoke before turning back to her.
“Oh, John, I’m so sorry!” She set the mug on the table and grabbed a wad of napkins, dabbing at his shirt in a feckless effort to make the mess a little less messy. All it did was make the tight, now-wet t-shirt stick even more to his sculpted abs and chest. The moisture left her mouth but she managed to keep from grabbing what was left of her beer from the table and chugging it.
His large hands settled over hers, stilling the motion. He unfurled her fingers, pulling the soppy napkins from her grip and tossing them to the table next to the mug.
“I can’t believe I did that! I just ran right into you! I was looking down at my feet because I hate to step in sticky places where people have spilled beer. Oh, my God, now that’s me. There’s a wet place on the floor that’s going to become sticky. And I’ve ruined your shirt. I’ll buy you a new one, honest. Just give me your size… well, that’s probably an extra-large, isn’t it? Not that you’re overweight. Just big. Big in a good way. Not that there’s a bad way to be big—”
“Lucy.”
She stopped babbling, not because John’s voice was a loud command but more from a firm desire that she should let him speak. “Yes?”