Cam stared at her and then turned to his dad, who grimaced.
Piper sighed. I’m sorry, she mouthed to Emmitt.
“Don’t worry about it.” Emmitt looked at Cam. “I’ve got diabetes.”
Cam’s expression was disbelief. “Since when?”
“The doc tested me about five months ago. I was going to tell you.”
Cam gave him a long look.
“Okay,” Emmitt said. “So I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“Seriously?”
Emmitt huffed out a sigh. “Look, I’d have gotten to it eventually. But you’ve got to understand, my ability to remember to tell you things is far outweighed by my ability to remember every song lyric from the eighties.”
“I’m so sorry,” Piper said into the tense room. “I never should’ve—”
“It’s okay, darlin’,” Emmitt said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No,” Cam said tightly, sending an incriminating look in his dad’s direction. “You absolutely didn’t.”
“I know, I hear you loud and clear, but, son, you’ve had enough stress and grief, I wasn’t about to add to it.”
Cam closed his eyes and took what appeared to be a deep breath. Extremely revealing for the guy who had yet to show much emotion. “Dad—”
“And what does it matter anyway? I’m doing good,” Emmitt said to both of them. “I’m feeling much better.”
“Good,” Piper said. “But your foot, where you cut it open last week. I’d like to check it.”
“Cam dressed it for me just now. But I did drop a glass and he got cut dealing with the mess. Maybe you could take a look—”
“Of course,” Piper said.
Emmitt nodded his thanks. “I’ll be in the kitchen. My Jack isn’t going to drink itself.”
“Hey,” Piper said to his back. “You’re not supposed to be drinking alcohol anymore, remember? It’s on your dietary restrictions list.”
“I thought that list was more of a . . . suggestion sort of thing. You know, like a guideline.” He turned and flashed a charming smile.
But Piper was charming-smile resistant. “Do you remember what I told you?”
“Shee-it,” Emmitt said on a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Excuse me a minute.”
When they were alone, Cam looked at her. “What did you tell him?”
“That if I caught him with alcohol or sweets, or anything not on his new diet, I was going to eat and drink it myself.”
He snorted.
“So how bad are you hurt?” she asked quietly. “And where?”
“I’m fine.”
He appeared okay but had his hands hidden in his pockets, so she suspected one of them was where he was cut. “I could just check—”
“Not necessary. I’m not your patient.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice laced with good humor now, along with what her hormones tried to convince her was heat.
“Why?” she asked.
“Maybe I’d rather be something else.”
Huh. Most definitely heat. She worked very hard at not responding to that but failed. “And what would that something else be?”
He just looked at her.
Oh, boy. She could deny it all she wanted, but she was one hundred percent attracted to him. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to be. “You said you weren’t flirting with me.”
“And you said you weren’t interested.”
“I’m not.” Shaking her head at the both of them, she moved to the kitchen in time to catch Emmitt hiding a box of cookies, two bags of chips, and a summer sausage. He was stuffing them into his pantry when she cleared her throat.
With a sigh, he turned to face her, looking only slightly ashamed of himself. “Hey,” he said. “Stressed is desserts spelled backward.”
Piper heard Cam’s sigh behind her, and she crossed her arms. “I made you lists, Emmitt. One with a bunch of great food options. Another with easy recipes. And a third with the rules and restrictions.” She pulled her journal from where it was still in her inside jacket pocket. “I kept the originals.”
Emmitt took the journal and read out loud. “Things I can do to help control my blood sugar. ‘Exercise three to four times a week, which can include walking, getting on a treadmill, or yoga.’” He swiveled a long look in Piper’s direction. “Yoga’s for uppity hipsters from California who eat avocados.”
“You’re from California. And I see you eat guacamole all the time. But fine. Skip yoga. Stretch instead. And eating right is everything.”
“Here’s another problem,” he said, jabbing a finger at her journal. “This here says no white foods.”
“Right,” she said. “Like sugar and starch—”
“I know what white foods are. I love them.”
Piper shook her head. “Emmitt—”
“I know, I know. You’re just trying to help.” Emmitt turned a few pages in her journal, and before she could reach to take it back, his brows shot up so far they vanished beneath his hairline. “‘Top Secret Secret Bucket List.’ Nice.” He flipped another page. “And a list of personal rules.” He started to skim them, smiling.
Piper snatched the journal and shoved it back into her pocket. “You did not just see that.”
“What’s it worth to you? How about a day of skipping testing my blood sugar?”
“You’d bribe your medic?”
“I’d bribe God if I could.” He took in her expression and sighed. “Fine, I get it. And thank you. I’ll work on things, I promise.”
“You really need to, Emmitt. Your blood sugar has got to be more stable.”
“It’s not all my fault.”
“No? Do tell,” she said.
“I’ve been eating like shit for fifty-five years, and it’s a known fact that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Can I teach the old dog to want to live for his family?” she asked.
Emmitt’s eyes cut to Cam. The two men exchanged a long look that had so many tangled emotions behind it, Piper couldn’t even begin to interpret it.
“I’ll work harder on it,” Emmitt finally said.
“Good.” She patted a kitchen chair and he sank into it. She checked his blood pressure, pulse, and blood sugar, all while avoiding looking at the elephant in the room.
The sexy, mysterious, and easy-on-the-eyes, dangerous elephant.
“He okay?” that elephant asked.
“He will be.” She locked gazes with Emmitt. “If he behaves himself.”
“Well, now, where’s the fun in that?” Emmitt asked, flashing another of his charming grins, and in that moment Piper knew exactly where Camden Hayes had gotten his irresistible charisma.
Chapter 3
“Fear isn’t a productive emotion.”
It wasn’t all that often that Cam Hayes mentally thanked the Coast Guard for his training, and given that he’d been with them since he was eighteen, being pushed to be the best he could be, there’d been a helluva lot of training. It wasn’t just weapons and physical fitness either, though that was a big part of it. Reading a situation quickly and efficiently was as important, and as ingrained, as breathing.