We were driving through a residential area but still, Joker swung immediately to the curb behind a parked car. I gasped as he shoved the truck into park, undid my seatbelt, hooked me with an arm, and yanked me to him.

Then he kissed me, hard and thoroughly, with tongue.

I was breathing heavily when he broke the kiss, and as surprising as it was, I didn’t ask after it.

I knew what it was about.

His people mattered, he mattered, and he liked that I knew it.

So instead, I moved the hand I’d had in his hair to his smooth cheek.

“You got rid of your stubble,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he whispered back. “Cut my hair and shaved for Mrs. Heely. She didn’t like where they were before.” He paused before he finished, “And she matters.”

I felt my eyes get wet.

“I’ll explain it to her, Carrie,” he continued. “Start growin’ it back again for you. She’ll get it and put up with it.”

“Your face, sweetheart, your call.”

I watched him smile before he moved even closer (and he wasn’t that far), dipped, and slid his nose along my jaw, ending that bit of fabulousness by landing a light kiss on my neck.

Then he put me back in my seat and turned to the wheel.

I drew in a steadying breath and buckled up.

Joker pulled out.

In a few minutes, we turned into a development that was clearly assisted living.

I instantly hated it.

It was tidy. It was attractive. There were flowers and window boxes.

But each unit was tiny.

Joker had told me Mrs. Heely lost her son not in a war but during some military operation. He’d been Special Forces and things had gone awry. His team had achieved their aim, but they’d sadly lost two men doing it, one of them Mrs. Heely’s son.

I had no idea how old she was but I didn’t care.

I was my father’s daughter. My gramma was not in good shape, and she still lived at home because my dad made that so.

Thus I believed no one should live in a place like that.

And if Mrs. Heely’s son had been Special Forces, I was absolutely certain he’d agree with me.

“There’s the flag,” Joker muttered and I looked right, to what was clearly the clubhouse, and saw the tattered flag hanging there.

He’d told me about that too.

And staring at it, I felt it should be hanging a lot closer to the woman who only had that tattered piece of fabric left of her son.

Joker parked behind a black GMC Acadia and I looked to the diminutive row of houses. One with a window box had the lights on inside, curtains open, people visible through the window, and the door was opening.

“Oh geez,” I whispered.

“They’ll love you,” Joker muttered, and I heard his door open.