Walk Through Fire (Page 80)

And she did a bang-up job.

He didn’t try. That was never what they were about. He was hung up on Millie and that was the way it was.

He’d never shared about Millie. Even as his wife, as fucked up as it was, that wasn’t Deb’s to have, partly because she wouldn’t have wanted it.

But even if he had tried, he wouldn’t have gotten in there. She’d closed that part of her up so tight, he often wondered if it wasn’t her dad but instead was just her.

“Right, we’ll set something up,” he muttered.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“The girls up?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she told him, and he smiled.

They wouldn’t be. His girls liked their sleep. Since they shared a room, they also liked giggling into the night. Their sharing a room was something that he demanded, wanting them to have that together time to bond as sisters. It was also something he never told Deb he wanted because Millie had it with Dottie and remembered it fondly.

“I’ll call later and talk with ’em,” he said.

“That’s cool,” she replied. “Later, High.”

“Later, Deb.”

They disconnected and he put the phone down on the counter, reaching to the coffee grinder and hoping him using it couldn’t be heard through Millie’s bedroom door.

As far as he could tell, it couldn’t. He had the coffee brewing and was unearthing a waffle iron that looked like it’d never been used when his phone rang again.

He looked to the display and saw it was Tack.

He didn’t answer. If Millie wasn’t up soon, he’d be waking her up, feeding her, fucking her, then talking to her about what was next up for them.

That was important.

Whatever Tack needed could wait.

Since Millie didn’t have Bisquick, something High couldn’t fathom of the old Millie but something that he could (and it set his teeth on edge) about the new, he looked up a recipe on his phone. And since she had the ingredients for homemade, he was mixing the waffle batter when he saw a flash of motion.

He lifted his head and caught Millie entering the living room teetering to a stop sideways, pajama bottoms on, still yanking down the top, her face a mix of sleep and panic.

He felt his shoulders string taut as he went alert at her actions and expression.

His shoulders relaxed and he felt warmth steel through him when her eyes hit him and visible relief hit her frame.

She woke up alone, maybe disoriented because of jet lag, and thought he was gone, panicked, pulled on her clothes on the run, and came looking for him.

His voice sounded strange even to him, low and smooth, when he called, “Come here, Millie.”

She didn’t move for a beat, staring at him across the living room.

“Babe,” he prompted.

He lost her expression when she looked to her feet but those feet moved her toward him.

They kept doing it and he turned so she was able to collide with his front, head still down, the top of it hitting his chest, her arms immediately moving to wrap around his waist.

He slid his around her and pulled her closer—a lot closer—so she had to turn her head and press her cheek to his chest as he tucked the rest of her tight.

He didn’t get in to how she’d made her entrance. He was there. He was going to make her waffles. It was all good and he didn’t need to take her there.

Instead, he bent his neck and asked the top of her hair, “How you feelin’?”

“Normal,” she muttered.

“Good,” he replied.

“Are we having waffles?” she asked.

He grinned and answered, “Yeah.”

“Awesome,” she said softly. “I love waffles.”

She might love waffles, something he knew since she’d loved them before, but she liked it more where she was because she didn’t move.

High wanted breakfast but he preferred holding Millie in her kitchen, so he let that go on for a while, giving it to himself, to her, before he decided it was time to take care of both of them.

That was when he stated, “Not easy to make waffles for my girl with her wedged up against me.”

She tipped her head back and he lifted his to catch her eyes.

“Figure it out,” she bossed, and having moved her head, she didn’t move another inch.

He grinned again and replied, “You feel like stayin’ close, not gonna complain, but you’re also gonna hafta help.”

“I can do that,” she told him. “Though, I don’t smell bacon cooking.”

He lifted his brows. “You want bacon with your waffles?”

“Is bacon bacon?” she asked ridiculously.

He felt his grin get bigger. “It’s a lot of things, including being bacon.”

“Then, yes, I want bacon with my waffles.”

She finished what she was saying but she did it talking through the doorbell ringing.

Both of them looked to it but High suspected only he knew who it was.

All the brothers and their women had left him and Millie alone yesterday but Tack had called twice that morning. The sun was shining. The crews would have been at work on the roads, but Tack would never let snow stop him doing anything.

Especially if his woman was up in his shit about making sure High and Millie were okay.

Something that Cherry totally would be.

“Who’s out on these roads?” Millie asked.

“Don’t matter,” High answered. “Two seconds, they’re gonna be gone.” He gave her a squeeze before separating from her and then he looked down at her. “You start the bacon. I’ll deal with the door.”