I opened the door reluctantly.

“Hello, jailbait,” she snarked.

“Hello, ball buster,” I replied, leaning against the doorframe.

She grinned at me, not at all concerned about what I’d called her.

“Where’s Lee?” she asked, pushing past me into the house.

“Out,” I said shortly, not interested in a conversation.

“Yeah? What did you do to piss her off this time?”

I sighed as she settled herself into a chair.

“The usual.”

She chuckled. “Our Lee is a little pocket rocket—must be her Italian blood. She’ll give you a run for your money, Hunter.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I griped, not really meaning it.

She waved a hand. “Well anyway, Lee told me you wanted to learn guitar. She thought it would be good therapy for the shoulder you got the crap shot out of. So this is for you.”

I stared at her as she pushed the guitar case toward me. I must have looked like a freakin’ idiot. I hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting to learn guitar—well, not for a long time. Certainly not recently—not since...

“Um, thanks?” I muttered awkwardly.

“No biggie,” she said, waving my words away. “I haven’t played since college. It’s a shame that it’s going to waste. Just promise me we won’t be singing campfire songs next time we all come over.”

She paused, her expression thoughtful as she stared me.

“I’ve never seen Lee like she is with you, but I do know that when she loves, it’s with her whole heart.”

It was fucking uncomfortable having a touchy-feely encounter with the ballbuster. Suddenly she laughed.

“Don’t look so nervous,” she smirked. “I’m done sharing now. Make me a damn coffee and we’ll call it quits.”

She stayed long enough to drink a cup of shitty decaff, pulling a face with every mouthful. I often felt like doing the same.

Eventually, she stood up to leave. “Take it easy, Hunter. Look after our girl, or you know what fate awaits you.”

“Yes, ma’am!” I said, and threw her a quick salute.

I guess she wasn’t so bad after all. For a ball buster.

When she’d gone, I took the guitar out of its case. It was really beautiful, a red cedar Spanish guitar. Expensive, by the look of it. But the case was covered in dust, so I guess Nicole had told the truth about not using it.

I ran a finger over the strings—it was out of tune and I had no idea what to do with it. I fired up my laptop and surfed a few pages on guitar for beginners. I managed to tune the mofo, but getting the fingers on my left hand to go where they were supposed to … yeah, hard work. The doc hadn’t been kidding when he’d said I’d lost fine motor function.

Irritated with myself, I lay the guitar back on the coffee table then heard the door open.

Caro walked into the hallway, her expression wary but defiant. I decided I needed to grovel some.

“I’m sorry, baby,” I said quickly, pulling her in for a hug and kissing her hair. “I know I’m being a dumbass.”

“That’s one of the words I had in mind,” she agreed softly

I smiled. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, I’ve got something to show you.”

I took her hand and tugged her into the living room.

“What’s that?” she asked, looking at the guitar.

“Your friend Nicole dropped by.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, apparently you told her I wanted to learn guitar. She said she didn’t need this, so she’s giving it to me. We talked for quite a long time—seeing as I’d pissed you off and you weren’t here…”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Nicole isn’t quite the ball-breaker you thought she was?”

“I didn’t say that … but she was … okay.”

“Praise indeed.”

“Yeah,” I, with a smile, then paused. “Baby, when did I tell you I wanted to play guitar?”

“Oh,” she said softly. “A long time ago. Ten years.”

I stared down at her, my soul filled with love for this amazing woman. I remembered. I remembered telling her ten years ago that I’d always wanted to learn guitar, but my parents would never let me take lessons. All this time, and she’d remembered.

“You take my breath away, Caro,” I whispered, hugging her tightly.

We stood there for several minutes, not speaking, not needing to speak.

Eventually, she took my hand and led me toward the sofa, but then she noticed the envelope.

“Oh, hey,” I said, recalling Mrs. Levenson’s visit. “You got mail.”

I reached over to pass her the envelope that I’d tossed onto the table.

“On a Sunday?”

“Yeah, it went to Mrs. Levenson’s house by mistake; she just got back from her grandson’s Bar mitzvah today and she brought it over.”

Caro turned the envelope over, looking at the sender’s address.

“It’s from England.”

Then she tore open the thick, parchment-type envelope and read the typewritten letter. She gasped with surprise.

“What is it, baby?”

She slumped against me and handed over the letter without speaking.

“Lawyers?”

I put my good arm around her shoulders and read through the pages.

When I’d finished, I set the letter down and pulled her against my chest.

Elizabeth ‘Liz’ Ashton, the scary British journalist that I’d met in Geneva and again in Kabul had left everything in her Will to Caro. Over $550,000.

“I didn’t know,” Caro whispered, looking upset. “She never said anything. I knew Liz didn’t have any family, but I never thought…”

“It’s a lot of money, baby. What are you going to do with it?”

She shook her head, still trying to process the information. I was pleased for her, but I couldn’t help thinking that any chance of balance in our relationship was totally shot. Caro was beautiful, talented, kind—and now rich, as well. And I was … nothing.

“Why did she leave it to me?” Caro asked, her voice puzzled. “We were friends, but … I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand, Caro? She loved you. Why do you always have a hard time realizing that, baby?”

She shrugged.

“This is good news,” I said encouragingly, stroking her hair.

And I really meant that. Caro deserved to have good things happen to her after everything she’d been through … what I’d put her through.

“Out of all of this shit, it’s something good,” I said quietly.

“I know. It’s just … so unexpected.”

I hesitated before speaking again. “It’ll pay off your mortgage,” I said tentatively. “You wouldn’t have to work overseas … if you didn’t want to…”

I knew I was being selfish, but I didn’t want Caro traveling for her work. I didn’t want her away from me—especially not if it meant going somewhere dangerous. And although neither of us had mentioned kids since we’d been together in Italy, she knew that I wanted them. I hoped she knew.

Shit, that would be a double whammy: I’d be home minding the fucking kids, and she’d be wearing Kevlar and ducking bullets. That shit just didn’t fly with me. I wanted … no … I needed her safe.

Caro didn’t reply to that. But what she did say stunned me.

“Anyway, it’s our money,” she said clearly.

I shook my head angrily.

“I’m not going to take your fucking money, Caro!”

Before my rant could catch fire, she placed her hand over my mouth, cutting me off cold.

“I mean it, Sebastian,” she said firmly. “Either we’re in this together or we’re not. If you won’t accept it, then I won’t accept it. I’ll give it to the Journalism Without Borders charity before I let this money come between us. You said yourself we deserved some good luck.”

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration.

“She didn’t even like me, Caro. There’s no way she’d want me to have anything to do with your inheritance. Hell, as far as she was concerned, I was just fucking you for something to do and…”

“You’re wrong. She knew all about us.”

Not expecting that.

Her comment set me back on my heels.

“She did?”

“Of course. I told her everything—and I told her we were going to get married.”