Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

W arrick

I was a liar.

Okay, not a liar, but unquestionably a bender of the truth. I'd never really been around kids, but if I had, I was certain they'd love me. How could they not love me? I was fun. A hell of a lot more fun than Slaywright.

I'd overheard her barking orders at the two subcontractors. Hell, by the time she fired Bob, I'd been shaking in my boots and she wasn't even talking to me. For such a small thing, she sure had a fierce bark. For such a pretty thing, I wondered if she would also bite, given the right circumstances.

Not that now was the time to even entertain the rest of that thought. Not when the cutest blur of sparkly pink slid out of the truck and ran to the pen where we kept the goats. Her blonde curls bounced with each step, a crackle of energy in her wake.

"Mama! Dogs!"

"No, baby," Em said in a voice I'd never heard before. It was soft, patient, and dare I say…kind? "Those are goats." She shut the door and grabbed her tool belt out of the back.

"Goats?" The girl reached for the fence, wrapping her tiny fingers around the wire, her nose pressed so far through the fence Cleveland had zeroed in on her and was making a run for the tiny human, thinking it was snack time.

I ran too, bounding down the steps and making it across the patch of dirt in record time. I swooped down and tossed the little girl in the air before Em had even gotten halfway to the pen. Cleveland butted his head against the fence, right where the little girl had just been.

"Hey there, little lady," I said jovially, putting her back on her feet a few feet away from the pen like I hadn't just saved her from a headbutt that would have ruined her day. "I'm Warrick."

She craned her head way back to stare up at me, her body frozen, as if she was deciding whether she was going to laugh or burst out crying at the sudden manhandling by a tattooed stranger. Em came up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder and staring at me. Em's eyes held an unspoken thank-you that I was sure dented her stubborn pride.

The little girl, bolstered by her mama's nearness, went for laughter. The giggle was just about the cutest thing I'd ever heard. Suddenly I was looking forward to seeing what else made the tiny human laugh rather than dreading my babysitting duty.

"I'm Gogia," she said, her little-girl mispronunciation like a foreign accent.

I stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you, Georgia. Would you like to feed some chickens?"

"Chickens?" She scrunched up her nose as she stared up at me. "Like nuggets?"

Now it was me booming with laughter. Georgia slid her tiny hand in mine, her skin so soft and fragile I was scared to hold her too tightly. I guessed it was just that easy for a five-year-old. Trust wasn't something adults gave away so easily and that innocence made me want to protect this girl with my very life. Maybe I'd had it wrong all this time. I wasn't here on this green earth to fall in love and protect a woman. I was here to protect a little human female.

Em squatted down, her hands on Georgia's waist. "Be a good girl, please. Listen to Mr. Warrick and follow his directions. I'll be inside this house. If you scream, I'll hear you and come running, okay?"

Georgia nodded solemnly. "I don't wanna scream and scare the goat-dogs."

Em bit back a smile and stood up, eyeing me again. I was sure that mention about screaming was a warning directed at me, and I didn't blame her one bit. I was still essentially a stranger.

"We'll check in every half hour," I assured her. Em finally nodded, breaking our stare, before marching into the house, the tools on her belt swaying.

I looked down at Georgia. "Have you ever held a chicken before?"

She shook her head, big blue eyes looking at me with expectation. I'd sat across a boardroom table from various business sharks who could have meant a loss of millions of dollars if the negotiations didn't go well, and yet none of them had intimidated me like this little slip of a human. I swallowed hard.

"Come on, then. I'll show you how, but only if the hens are cooperating today." She and I walked across the patchy grass, heading for the chicken coop. Her eyes went wide when she saw the hens pecking away at the grass, looking for worms for breakfast. To my surprise, she didn't dig her heels in or balk at the beady eyes and sharp beaks. As soon as I opened the pen, she barreled inside, running between the birds with a squeal. The dang chickens followed her like she was a rockstar in their midst. Georgia spun in a circle and they squawked around her, matching her energy.

Picking up the bag of chicken feed I'd left by the gate for this very purpose, I scooped some out. "Hold your hands together up high." Georgia followed directions perfectly. I put some of the feed in her hands. "Now toss that away from you."

The girl was a natural. The chickens went squawking for the feed, pecking at the ground and then running back to her. Georgia squealed and kept reaching for more of the feed. When I was certain the chickens just might eat themselves to death, I closed the bag and waved Georgia over to the gate.

"That's enough for today, Peaches."

Georgia stepped outside the pen and I closed the gate before any of the hens tried to follow her out. She wrinkled her nose again. "Who's peaches?"

"You are. Your name is Georgia, just like the state. And they're known for peaches."

She seemed to digest that for a few seconds. Then her face cleared and she started skipping across the grass. "Okay, Mista Wa-wy! Betcha I can skip faster than you!"

Considering I hadn't skipped in decades, she was probably right. Then again, I'd never tried and there was no time like the present. It took me a few embarrassing tries where I felt like I had two left feet, but I was finally skipping in the direction Georgia had taken. Her giggle rang out as she looked over her shoulder at me. I started laughing too. I'm sure a six-foot-four man in snakeskin boots skipping across a hobby farm was quite a sight to see. Georgia went right by the goat pen, keeping a good foot of distance between herself and the fence. This small human was smart.

"Hello, goat-dogs!" she sang out, skidding to a stop at the gate. "Can I feed the goat-dogs?"

I caught up, putting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Skipping was insane cardio. "Sure, but you have to watch out for Cleveland. He likes to ram his head into you and he has a really hard head."

Georgia pointed at the darker-colored goat. "What about that one?"

"Oh, that's Thistle. She's a sweetheart. "

I got the gate open and pointed at Cleveland, barking orders at the ornery goat. "Stay back, Cleveland, or I'll make cheese out of you!"

Georgia giggled, but stayed close by my side. Her confidence in my ability to protect her made me feel ten feet tall. Thistle came over and Cleveland kept his distance. I didn't trust that fucker though. The second I turned my head he'd make his move. Georgia reached out a hand to Thistle, who let her pet the top of her head.

Georgia squealed. "Her head is scwatchy!"

A battering ram hit my backside, along with a bleat signaling war, just left of the bruise I already had from Bessie. I spun around to glare at Cleveland.

"You little sh?—"

Georgia's hysterical laughter had me biting back the curse words. I lunged at Cleveland and his eyes widened as he jumped backward. Nothing funnier than seeing a goat jump on all fours. Georgia bent over laughing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thistle swipe her rough tongue across the top of Georgia's head. Georgia just laughed harder as she grabbed for her hair, and I couldn't help the smile that lit me from the inside.

With a warning finger in Cleveland's direction, I had a seat right there in the dirt. Thistle immediately sat her rump down in my lap like a dog. Georgia found that amusing and gave her all the pets while she told her what a sweet goat-dog she was. Thistle ate up the attention while Cleveland found some grass in the far corner of the pen.

"Do you and your mama and daddy have a dog?" I asked quietly. I hadn't seen a ring on Em's finger. I was curious, that's all.

Georgia lifted her head, her little hands still scratching along Thistle's head. "Mama says sometimes kids don't have daddies and tha's okay."

I nodded. "That's definitely okay. Sometimes that's even preferable. "

Georgia's nose wrinkled and I braced myself for the question. "Perf-ball?"

My mouth hooked in a grin. Why was everything out of this girl's mouth so damn adorable? And why did my heart lurch in my chest when she admitted she didn't have a father?

"Preferable. It means better."

"Why didn't you just say better?"

Now that sounded just like her disagreeable mama. "Because people think you're smart when you use big words."

"Are you smart, Mista Wa-wy?"

Thistle stood suddenly, her tail lifting. I tried to shift out of the way, but was too slow. A dozen or so brown, round balls fell into my lap. I bit back another curse and got to my feet, the balls rolling off my jeans, but not without leaving a dozen dirty, stinky streaks. Georgia's mouth dropped open right before she burst out into giggles for the hundredth time.

I stared down at my ruined jeans. "No, Peaches. I'm not very smart at all."

"I'll say," drawled a familiar feminine voice behind me.

We both turned to see Em leaning her arms against the top of the pen. There was no hiding the grin this time. My contractor was barely holding in the laughter. She took pity on me though.

"Come on, Georgia. Let's head inside so Mr. Warrick can change and we can eat some lunch."

I checked my watch, astonished so much time had already passed. "Sorry. I was going to check in, but time got away from me."

Georgia left the pen after kissing Thistle's head and telling her she'd be back soon. She skipped all the way to the porch while Em and I went a little slower. I noticed Em stayed a good three feet from me. I didn't blame her. I stunk worse than Smelly.

"Wow, those poor jeans," Em drawled, not looking at me .

I narrowed my eyes at her. "You've brought up my jeans multiple times now. Are you jealous of my fabulous pants?"

Em barked out a laugh. "Hell no. Those things look like they're spun from gold. I prefer good old-fashioned cotton. I don't like to cry when my jeans get dirty."

"I don't cry when my jeans get dirty, but I can concede that letting my personal shopper in the city find me clothes for a farm was not a good idea. In her defense, she was used to picking out suits and golf polos, not farm attire."

Em snorted, and even though it wasn't feminine in any way, I liked it. "Did she pick out your truck too?"

My jaw dropped. "Seriously? You have a problem with my truck too?"

Em shrugged. "You know what they say…"

I frowned, stopping at the bottom of the porch steps. "No, I don't know. Who's they? And what do they say?"

Em didn't answer, but she did hold her hands out, two inches apart from each other. She widened them to three inches and then shook her head and went back to two inches. Then she laughed and put her hand on Georgia's back to steer her into the house, leaving me outside to interpret her vague meaning. When it finally hit me that she was measuring my dick based off my truck choice, I was so pissed off I stuttered and started, unable to find words to explain in front of a five-year-old that her mama was most definitely wrong in that department.

"Fucking hell," I muttered under my breath, getting my temper under control and striding into my own damn house. Okay, my mother's, but still. To have my manhood insulted by my contractor? Ridiculous.

I changed clothes, sliding on another pair of jeans that Em would just make fun of, but they were all I had. I found them in the kitchen, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I helped, but mostly just made a mess, to which Georgia giggled and joined in on until Em gave her a stern look. Em's phone vibrated on the counter several times. When I glanced over, her face would tighten as she ignored the incoming texts.

While Em got Georgia settled at the table with her sandwich, I found a coloring book someone had given Mom a few weeks ago with a message about how coloring could be soothing when dealing with grief. Mom hadn't touched the thing but maybe Georgia would like it. When she was occupied with lunch and coloring, I ate my sandwich in the kitchen with Em, both of us keeping an eye on Georgia through the doorway.

"What's with the text messages?" I asked, not wasting any time.

Em jolted, sliding the phone in her back pocket like I might just forget my question if the phone wasn't visible. Unlucky for her, I was feeling mighty protective of a certain little girl. After that phone call the other day, I was starting to sense there was trouble in Em's life and I didn't like it one bit. Sure, it wasn't any of my business, but I was about to make it my business.

"Nothing," she snapped.

I set my empty plate down and folded my arms across my chest. "Didn't look like nothing. Just like that phone call didn't sound like nothing."

Em's face drained of color and I felt like an ass for pressing the issue.

"I have a right to know if I've hired someone who's going to bring trouble to my house. My mom can't deal with anything else right now."

Em was already shaking her head, blonde hair pulling loose of the ponytail. "There won't be any trouble. It's just my ex. He has no right to me or Georgia, I swear. Doesn't even live here."

My temper, the one that didn't flare hot and quickly like some, but when it did get going, it boiled for a long fucking time, began to bubble. For a man who had no right to either one of them, her ex sure did call and text a lot. And if the look on Em's face was anything to go by, he wasn't the sort to call with pleasantries .

Em put her plate in the sink and clapped her hands together, a fake smile on her face. "Back to work I go. You still good with Georgia?"

I nodded, jaw clenched. I'd learned to trust my gut a long time ago and mine was telling me that something wasn't right. Not right at all. And I wasn't going to stop 'til I got to the bottom of what was going on.