Not My Kind of Hero by Pippa Grant

Author:Pippa Grant [Grant, Pippa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake
Published: 2023-08-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Maisey

Oh God, this feels good.

I can’t remember the last time I was wrapped in such a solid, warm, comforting bear hug.

Which officially needs to be renamed something else so I don’t picture Earl trying to wrap his arms around me, because that’s actually terrifying.

Ah.

It’s a Flint hug.

And—oh, no.

No no no.

He’s stroking my hair.

I’m having a significant emotional event because I feel like I’m trying too hard to fit in and I’ve had a string of little annoyances—okay, and some big drama—and this man who’s supposed to be completely off-limits is stroking my hair and telling me I’ll be all right while his heart drums beneath my ear.

I can’t I’m not dating my way out of the reaction my body’s having to his tender care.

I can’t He hates you my way out of it either.

I don’t think he hates me.

I don’t think he hates me at all.

If he’s feeling anything like what I’ve felt since the first full day Junie and I were here, I imagine he wants to dislike me, because it’s easier than giving in to the temptation to like this man that I need to stay away from so as to not complicate my life or my daughter’s life.

But being hugged by someone in this world who clearly cared for my uncle, who cares about the land, who cares about his students and his players, but who understands that relationships are more complicated than You’re wrong because I say you are is more like finally having someone who gets it.

More—it’s like forgiveness.

It’s forgiveness for not making more of an effort to spend time with Uncle Tony.

Forgiveness for making his horse throw him. Forgiveness for me being such a pain about not wanting kids on the ranch. Forgiveness for having a mother who did bad things and for putting my husband’s dreams ahead of my child in an attempt to make my marriage better.

“Mom was arrested two days before Uncle Tony’s funeral,” I whisper.

His body goes stiff, and then a breath whooshes out over me.

“She was—she did bad things. I had to choose between Uncle Tony’s funeral, when she hadn’t talked to him in years and was frankly irritated with me that I still emailed him occasionally, or being there to help her find a lawyer and put together bail money and figure out what was going on.”

“What did she do?”

The question is gruff, but he’s tightening the hug, and I don’t care if he’s judging me.

I just know this feels good.

So good.

“Bad things,” I whisper. “She stole from people. She stole from a lot of people. Her friends. My friends. Junie’s friends’ parents. A lot of people.”

“You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t even have time to keep up with my own daughter, much less my mother.” Yep. Truth still hurts. “I don’t have anyone left in Cedar Rapids. Junie doesn’t have any friends left in Cedar Rapids. I didn’t want anyone here to know because she deserves the same safe space I had when I was her age and I’d come out here.

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