The Paladins Read Free

seldom saw the same girl twice. I wasn’t big on sharing my feelings, and a girl that got too clingy got her number deleted from my cell.
    But I’m not that guy anymore. I’m the one people talk about, the sap that changed when he fell for the right girl, and you know what? They’re right. I don’t give a shit if I’m a cliché. I’m happy, damn it. So, instead of asking why she pulled away, I give her space and answer, “We were talking about your Bug.”
    Her dilapidated 1973 VW Super Beetle is parked in my driveway. I want to buy her something else. Anything else.
    Her full lips turn down. “I like my little car.”
    “That’s not a car,” I say, still focused on her mouth. “It’s rust. Stuck together with more rust.”
    There’s a smile. “One man’s rust is another man’s classic. Red is my color, and it runs just fine.”
    Fine.
    And so continues our battle of wills. “The car is going. That’s done. What about an Audi, or a MINI? You might as well tell me what you’d like to drive, or I’ll choose something for you.”
    “Stubborn.”
    “Me?”
    “Yes, you.”
    She draws a smiley face on my knee with her fingernail. “I appreciate the offer, I do, but I can’t accept a whole car.”
    Keeping a straight face is impossible. “Somehow, I don’t think half a car will solve anything.” She smacks my leg. Buying her a whole car won’t put so much as a dent in my allowance. And it’s nothing compared to what I want to give her.
    She straightens. “Thanks for the thought. I know you want to help, but a car is too much.” Her eyes remain uneasy above a small smile. “You don’t always have to buy me things. You know that, right?”
    No. This whole conversation is ridiculous. When I found her, she was sleeping on a storeroom floor, surviving by sewing inventive, steampunk creations for a small clientele. If I can afford it and want to spoil her, where’s the harm? I recline against the couch cushions with a heavy breath.
    Proud and independent, Raven’s used to taking care of herself, but all girls like presents, don’t they? Then it occurs to me that the VW is a tie to the memory of her stepfather Ben, who recently passed away. Maybe she sees replacing the car as a betrayal. That must be it.
    “Raven?” The stiff set of her jaw warns me she’s done with the subject, but I press once more. “Your car is old and unreliable. If you were in an accident, Ben would want you safe, and so do I.”
    Her gaze finds the window.
    “I’ll make you a deal.”
    “You and your deals.” She doesn’t look, but her mouth tips up at the corners. “You’re relentless. Like the tide.”
    I lean forward, lowering my voice, “Keep the Bug. We’ll garage your classic. Drive it once in a while to keep the motor in good shape, but let me buy you—”
    “Here we are, my lovelies!” Jenny, my housekeeper and part-time surrogate grandmother, scurries into the study through the open door. Her cheeks are flushed, as usual. A sheen of sweat glistens on her ruddy skin, and the starched collar of her powder-blue uniform has begun to droop.
    She sets her overloaded tray down with a final rattle on my desktop. “Who makes s’mores in the fireplace? In June, no less? Why, I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Facing the desk, she clucks like an old hen as she sets out the necessary supplies.
    I give Raven a reassuring wink.
    “You know I’d make you lambs anything you want for a late-night snack.” Jenny pauses, looking up. “All you need do is ask. It’s no bother.”
    “S’mores are a childhood memory of Raven’s,” I say. One of the few happy ones since her mother died leaving Rae to nurse an alcoholic stepfather. “I intend to indulge her wishes.”
    She jumps up and heads for the desk. Holding a bag of marshmallows in the air, she shakes them like a little kid. “Do you want me to make you one, Jenny? You have to be careful to get the mallow brown without burning it.”
    My housekeeper’s