Great.
Romy didn’t share Clint’s confidence about his brother. Justin was a little too self-interested for her comfort, and his appreciation of the achievements of his staff was more to do with how that reflected on him. Still, she’d worked with his personality type before. The best strategy was to keep a safe distance and an open mind.
Maybe he was just struggling with younger-brother syndrome. Trying to prove himself to a complicated and unreachable man.
Romy laughed. Who knew they would have something in common!
Still…a little judicious internet surfing wouldn’t go astray. A few subtle questions here and there. Just to put her niggling instincts to rest.
‘Does your mum know you’re here, Leighton?’
Unlikely, judging by the sheepish shrug of little shoulders. Clint groaned inwardly. As if he and Romy needed any more angst between them. It was going to be hard enough to work together without becoming an accomplice in her little boy’s frequent misdemeanours. ‘Come on, I’ll walk home with you.’
Curious grey eyes so like his mothers stared at the tree house. ‘Can’t I come in?’
With the ghost of Romy still haunting his sanctuary, having Leighton in there was only going to double the uncomfortable rightness of it all. As though the house he thought he’d finished building a year ago was still waiting for the delivery of two finishing touches.
A wife.
A child.
Crazy thoughts when he’d built the tree house specifically to be a refuge for one. But hadn’t he wondered as he built it what it would be like growing up here? The kind of person it would help make someone into? And hadn’t he allowed his eyes to drift shut more than once and imagine a woman’s arms snaking around his neck as he sat out on the balcony of an evening? A faceless, nameless woman, more of an essence than anything.
He had.
He swallowed. ‘Maybe some other time. With your mother.’
Leighton groaned.
‘Are you still mad at her from the other night?’ Clint asked.
‘She’s mad at me. She’s always mad at me.’
He was yet to see Romy angry at him in any way other than justified. He got the sense that this little kid was a minimaster in manipulation. And his mother was too frightened of losing him to take a risk. ‘How does that make you feel?’
Leighton frowned. ‘Mad.’
Clint’s laugh coaxed a small one out of Leighton. It was hard not to enjoy this kid, his raw honesty. So like his mother. If he had a son he’d like him to be—
Whoa. Not going there. That stuff was best kept locked up tight in a secure place.
They walked on in companionable silence. ‘How was your hangout the other night?’ He remembered at the very last second not to call it a sleepover.
‘Cool!’ Leighton launched into a blow-by-blow description of everything they did, activities and stories in which Steve Lawson featured quite highly. It got them three-quarters of the mile home. Finally, the story started to wind up.
‘Sounds like a real boys’ night,’ Clint broke in on one of the rare occasions Leighton stopped for a breath.
‘Cam’s dad is so cool. He’s a copper—I saw his gun.’
Clint frowned at the little eyes looking up at him so expectantly. ‘You saw his weapon? In the house?’
‘Uh-huh.’
There’d be no more hangouts at the Lawsons’ if that was true. He stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes, pinning the eight-year-old hard, giving him the interrogatory stare he reserved for recalcitrant newbies in the unit. ‘Really?’
Leighton couldn’t hold it. His eyes flicked away. ‘His holster, anyway. Where the gun would be.’
Okay. Not having to break that news to his mother was a massive relief. He wasn’t confident that Romy wouldn’t hold the messenger personally responsible.
‘Yeah, Mr Lawson is way cool!’ Then, as though Clint’s feelings might be hurt, he hurried on, ‘Oh, not as cool as you, though.’
Clint smiled. His feelings were a tiny bit dented. Hero-worship from the crowds at the flaming star awards ceremony had just felt insanely wrong. He’d felt a fraud. But from this little guy…it felt good. He didn’t want to think that Leighton handed that out to just anyone.
Oh, get a grip. ‘Police officers and soldiers have a bit in common.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. Both charged with protecting the community, both highly trained, both taught to respect the uniform they wear and what it represents.’
‘I’m going to be a soldier.’
Oh, your mother’s not going to like that. ‘Why not a police officer?’
‘Or, yeah, a police officer.’ Little grey eyes shot wide with sudden realisation. ‘Ooh! Or a fireman!’
Getting warmer…
‘What about a wildlife ranger? They have to protect the forest and they wear a uniform and have special training.’ And you’d make your mother the happiest woman on the whole planet.
He seemed to consider it seriously and then his eyes grew more distant, hesitant. ‘My granddad was a soldier. A big one.’
Back to the soldier thing. And knowing what little he did about Romy’s relationship with her father, Leighton’s slip-up was not good news. ‘How do you know that? I thought you didn’t know your grandfather?’
Leighton slowed his steps and looked away. Clint could practically see the lie starting to take shape on his lips. ‘The truth, champ.’
He looked balefully at Clint. ‘He used to come and see me sometimes, at school. In the lunch break.’
Clint’s whole body tightened up. What the hell was his school doing letting that happen? And what the hell was a man like Colonel Martin Carvell doing sneaking around a primary school?
He kept his voice carefully neutral. ‘Does your mother know about that?’
The cautious stare turned angry. ‘Are you going to tell her?’
Clint considered him as they approached the house. How did Romy negotiate this minefield every day? This precarious balancing act called parenting. Where every word counted. ‘Nope. But might be a good idea if one day you do, just so she knows. You two shouldn’t have any secrets between you.’
‘You have secrets.’
Ah, there was that delightful eight-year-old petulance rearing its head. Clint frowned. ‘Like what?’
‘I heard Mum saying you were full of secrets.’
He couldn’t imagine her chatting freely to just anyone about him, but his gut tightened up on instinct. ‘Who was she talking with?’
‘No-one. She was doing the vacuuming and getting angry.’
He had no trouble at all picturing that. So, Romy Carvell liked to beat on him while vacuuming? He smiled. That wasn’t bad news. Not at all.
He liked that he affected her.
‘Leighton! Again?’ Romy’s frustrated wail met them from across the clearing as she stomped down the house steps. Her focus wasn’t even on Clint, but his body reacted instantly to the sight of her even at a distance. Remembering how she’d felt. How she’d smelt. How she’d almost tasted.
The hungry predator in him sniffed the air and salivated.
‘See…’ Leighton