Broken Hero

by Olivia Hayle

  “An ambush?”

  "Yes. Logan was there, too, actually. My unit was deployed in eastern Mali. It was a routine scouting mission, right on the outsides of the combat zone." I look up to see the small frown on her forehead. I run my thumb over it. My pain is not hers to bear. "It wasn't really war as you'd imagine it. Civil insurgencies are difficult to characterize. Anyway… We were ambushed. Greatly outnumbered, but we had the better armor, the better weaponry. We made it out. But I lost two men, and several more were injured. My shoulder was shot to hell.”

  She curls closer. “And that was your last deployment?”

  “Yes.” I’d been flown straight back stateside for treatment and weeks of physical therapy. It wasn’t a difficult wound—it wouldn’t kill me—but it knocked me out for a long while.

  “Is that what you have nightmares about? The ambush?”

  I close my eyes against her searching gaze. “Sometimes. There have been other things, too… I was in service for almost a decade. But I was lucky, most of the time. I didn’t see action all that often.”

  “Do you get them often? The nightmares?”

  I trace her collarbone. “They come and go. When I first got back home, I slept like the dead. Nothing would have woken me up. The nightmares only started about a year after I got back.”

  She makes a small humming sound. “That makes sense.”

  “It does?”

  “Yes. You were healing physically, and when that was done… well, there was more healing to do.” She runs a hand through my hair, playing with the strands at the nape of my neck. “Did Logan serve under you?”

  “Yes. I keep in contact with all of them, but Logan is the only one who stayed close by.”

  She wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Thank you for telling me.”

  I flip us over again. Smoothing back a tendril of her hair, I cup her cheek. She’s so beautiful it hurts. It’s impossible that she’s mine—I can’t possibly be allowed to keep her.

  “Thanks for the massage.”

  She smiles, close enough that our lips touch. “You’re welcome.”

  “So, about us…” I say and run my hand down the curve of her waist. “We’re still under the wraps?”

  Lucy nods. “I can’t imagine anyone would really mind, but let’s wait to tell everyone.”

  “Mmm.” I kiss her, our lips moving in perfect sync, and have to stop myself from losing my train of thought. “Maybe we can announce it at the staff BBQ. That’s a few weeks from now.”

  She grins. “Announce it? Have you gone from hermit to public speaker?”

  “You clearly have no respect for personal growth.”

  “Oh, I respect some forms of personal growth.” Lucy slides her hand down my stomach, her eyes turning sly.

  “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Maybe I’ve changed, too.”

  I try to focus on my scattered thoughts and not on what her hand is doing. I know I only have seconds to spare before my baser desires take over. “How long do you think you’ll stay?”

  Lucy glances over at my alarm clock. “I’m not sure. Maybe until—“

  “In Claremont.”

  Her green eyes flick back to mine. “I’m not sure,” she says. “I really like it here.”

  “Indefinitely, then?”

  Her responding smile tugs at something in my chest. “Indefinitely,” she agrees.

  23

  Lucy

  “Here you go!” I hand Mrs. Daniels the bag with her goods. “I added a few croissants as well, for your husband.”

  “Why thank you! How did you know he loves them?”

  “He let it slip the last time he was here. He might have also added that carrot cake is your favorite.”

  “It’s my weakness.” She pretends to peer into the bag. “You didn’t add any of that, did you?”

  “Not this time, but who knows? Maybe next time.”

  She shakes her head with a smile. “I’ll just have to come back, then.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I’ll see you next week, by the way—with my mat!”

  “You’re coming to the yoga class?”

  Mrs. Daniels nods, a hand on the door. “Yes. It’s all anyone can talk about in my book circle!”

  “That’s great! I look forward to it already.”

  She waves and leaves, the doorbell jingling gayly behind her.

  Another customer for the yoga class! It’s growing, this little business of mine. Two of the locals from my last class had told me afterward that they hadn't been to the Morris Ranch for nearly a decade, and another commented on all the hard work Oliver and Sarah had put into making the place viable.

  It wasn’t a compliment aimed at me, but I had felt oddly proud all the same. The ranch had always been an integral part of this community, and under Oliver’s leadership, it brought considerable tourism to the area.

  I put my hand on my hips and surveyed the bakery's counter. Nearly half of the morning's goods were already sold out, and it wasn't even ten o'clock.

  “Auntie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is it just me, or are we selling more now than we did just a few weeks ago?”

  She comes out of the kitchen, her smile teasing. "Well, it's either that or you're giving away half of the inventory."

  I frown. “Only the baked goods from yesterday.”

  “I know, dear, and they love you for it. I just wish you could work here forever.”

  “I’m not planning on going anywhere, you know.”

  Her smile turns crooked. "Oh, aren't you? I happened to see a catalog this morning in our post box. Something about becoming a physical therapist?"

  “Yes, it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time now, actually. I don’t know, it would be several years until I’d be fully licensed, but…” I wave a hand dismissively. “I think I’d be good at it.”

  “Lucy, it’s perfect for you.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. You’d get to interact with people and help them recover after accidents or injuries. You could have flexible working hours. Yes, I think it’s perfect.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders and smiles, the lines around her eyes deepening. “Who knows, maybe you could even work a shift or two in the bakery from time to time.”

  I smile back. “I’d love that.”

  “Besides, lord knows our backs could use a session of therapy.” She puts a hand on her lower back and sighs, but her eyes still twinkle. “So much hard work. What’s the point in having a niece that’s a massage therapist, huh?”

  "Whenever, wherever, as I've told you." I put a hand on her shoulder. "If you have significant back pain, yoga will probably help in the long-run. There's actually a class on Sunday that—"

  Claire straightens up. “Do you know what? I’m actually feeling much better.”

  “Are you now?”

  “Yes. Fancy that!”

  I grin at her. “Fancy that, indeed. Well, my door is always open if you ever want to, truly.”

  “I know, dear. And I’ll be brave enough to take you up on your offer one day.”

  The bell to the front door jingles again and my aunt squeezes my shoulder. “No rest for the wicked, it seems.”

  It’s Oliver. His golden hair falls in delicious waves over his forehead. He’s left the usual plaid shirt at home today, wearing a white button-down with rolled up sleeves instead. You’d think that seeing him often would make me used to his good looks, but no. It hits me this hard every single time.

  Oliver glances between my aunt and me before his features soften. “This is quite the welcoming committee. It almost makes me wish I came to town more often.”

  My aunt smiles. “What brings you into town today, Oliver? Was everything alright with your order this morning?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “Here to talk to Lucy, then?”

  Oliver’s face reveals nothing, but the glance he shoots me
is questioning. Had I told her about us?

  I clear my throat. “Is it about the ranch? Do you need my help with the wedding preparation?”

  “No, we’re all set. I’m actually here to buy a cake.”

  I frown. “A cake?”

  “What for?” Claire asks. “I can make something custom if it’s for a later date, you know. Do you want to place an order?”

  “No, it’s for tonight. Do you have anything pre-made? It’s my brother-in-law’s birthday and Sarah sent me.”

  “Does she have any preferences?”

  “No.”

  Claire fixes him with her signature stare. “Are you sure? It’s Sarah Morris we’re talking about.”

  Oliver snorts. “Yes, but she also chose to send me. I’ll take whatever cake you can spare, ma’am.”

  “I think I have just the thing… oh, yes. She’ll like it. I’ll be right back!” My aunt is a whirlwind of apron ties and smiles as she hurries back to the kitchen. “Lucy, entertain our customer!”

  For a long moment, we just look at each other. Things feel right when he’s around somehow, in a way I can’t quite put into words. The world comes into sharper focus. “Hey,” I say.

  He smiles. “Hi.”

  “Sarah sent you, did she?”

  “I volunteered.”

  “Really?”

  Oliver leans across the counter, our hands only inches apart. “I couldn’t stay away.”

  “Insatiable…” I trace one of his fingers, up past his knuckle, and glance towards the kitchen. My aunt should be occupied for a little while.

  “Yes. And since you’re not going to be working at the ranch today, I had to get creative.”

  “Maybe we can do something this weekend.” I look down coyly, pretending to consider. “I heard there’s a huge antique market in Acton.”

  Oliver’s groans and I break into laughter. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I know you love antiques so.”

  “If you keep this up, I might have to open the counter-hatch again and come back there myself.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He shoots a dark glance towards the kitchen door. “I’m finding that I care less and less about what people think.”

  “They might talk,” I say. Oliver had never liked being the talk of the town. I knew it bothered him, the knowledge that people commented wherever he went. It was something that bothered me, too.

  But he doesn’t seem to mind. “So let them,” he says.

  “Look what I found! The perfect red velvet cake… Oh.” My aunt stops in the doorway, balancing a massive cake in her arms. I lean back and put some distance between me and Oliver, but it’s no use. Her eyes flicker between us and it’s obvious that she can sense the intimacy.

  “That looks great,” Oliver says. “Did you do the decorations just now?”

  “Yes. I wrote John’s name on the top.” She wraps the cake in a large, white box. “Don’t forget to carry this straight. Put it at the foot of your passenger seat, not on the seat itself, okay?”

  “Of course, ma’am. Thank you.”

  “Call me Claire, please.” To my surprise, there’s a faint blush on my aunt’s cheeks. “Tell Sarah hello for me, and happy birthday from us to John?”

  “I will. Can you put this on our invoice?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you for this, Claire.” He straightens with the box in his arms. “I’ll see you soon, Lucy.”

  “Yes. Have fun!”

  With a final nod to us both, Oliver strides out of the bakery and across the street to his truck. Claire and I watch in silence as he climbs into the passenger street and drives away.

  The silence feels loaded. I can only imagine what my aunt is thinking right now. The Spanish Inquisition should begin in three, two, one…

  But she doesn’t say a thing. She just smiles and dusts her hands off on her apron. “He always was a good boy. I think he’s doing much better now, you know.”

  “You think?”

  “Yes. He came in here, and he smiled.” She holds up a finger at me. “Recovery takes time, you know. I’m sure that’s the first rule of physical therapy.”

  “You’re probably right. I should take notes.”

  She stops, one hand on the door to the kitchen. Her face is thoughtful. “So that’s why you like working at the ranch so much.”

  I can’t help it—a slow smile spreads across my face, mingling with my flushed cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”

  Claire smiles. “Sweetheart, with the way you two looked at each other just now, I’m surprised the entire town doesn’t already know.”

  My narrow bed feels far too big when I try to sleep that night. I miss Oliver's hair against my temple and his strong arms around my waist. For the past week, I’ve spent nearly every night at the ranch. The early morning drive to town had become our ritual, and the farewell kiss on my doorstep was the sweetest goodbye.

  I sigh and look up at the ceiling. He’d become vital to my happiness in such a short time. I felt like myself around him—and he could be who he was, without pretension or expectation.

  Would it be so bad if people found out about us? Maybe we could go together to the staff BBQ party like he suggested. He's my boss, yes, but Claremont isn't Dallas, and I’m technically more of a consultant. I know that some people in town don’t like the thought of a masseuse, but the majority of people had been incredibly welcoming.

  I reach out and grab my phone. We rarely text—Oliver once said he preferred to talk in person or on the phone—but I shoot him one anyway. How was John's birthday?

  The answer is immediate, which is unusual for him. I spent most of the evening with Nora. We built a pirate ship out of blankets and pillows.

  I smile. Did you use her as an excuse to hide from the other guests?

  It was a tactical retreat.

  At that, I have to laugh. It isn't hard to picture him turning taciturn, surrounded by strangers, and a small hand tugging him away to build forts. He'll make a great father one day.

  Can’t sleep?

  No.

  I bite my lip. Same. I wish you were here.

  I watch the screen, waiting for the three little dots to appear, but they don’t. Maybe he fell asleep—God knew he needed it. I put my phone on my bedside table. I should try to do the same.

  I’m still tossing and turning when my phone rings fifteen minutes later. The name flashing across the screen is a welcome surprise.

  “Oliver?”

  “Come downstairs.”

  “What?”

  “Come downstairs and let me in.”

  I throw back the covers and rush downstairs. Lo and behold—on my doorstep is one tall, handsome and broad-shouldered ranch owner. His eyes are alight, telling me everything I know he doesn’t have the words for yet.

  “Lucy,” he says.

  “You came? I can’t believe you came!”

  He locks the door behind him, shrugging out of his light jacket. “You said that you wished I was here.”

  “Well, yes, but I didn’t think you’d—“

  “Make your wish come true?”

  I smile at him and reach up to wrap my arms around his neck. His body is big and familiar against me, a safe anchor in the night. “Exactly.”

  Oliver runs reverent hands down my body and grips the back of my thighs, lifting me up against his body. We fit effortlessly—wrapping my legs around his waist feels like coming home. He carries me up the stairs, holding me tightly.

  “Can I say something cheesy?”

  He pretends to consider it for a moment. “Permission granted.”

  “I want to make your dreams come true, too.”

  “You’re smooth, Rhodes.”

  I smile against his lips as he lays me down on the bed. His skin is warm to the touch. “Just trying to keep up with you, stud.”

  Oliver stills, his hands on my waist. “Stud?”

  “I know, I heard it the moment I said it. Ignore me.
”

  He smiles. “Okay. You’re welcome to say more stupid things, if you want.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I will,” I say and he chuckles. He motions for me to scoot forward and kisses me slowly, tantalizingly, using his tongue to tease out my reactions. I can’t be in the same room as him without wanting to feel him inside me, and judging from the way his tongue moves in sync with mine, he feels the same way.

  He tugs my t-shirt up and over my head, tossing it across the room. He pauses, watching as it slides down onto my couch.

  “Hey, was that my t-shirt?”

  I nod. “I stole it last night.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and I’m not the least bit sorry. Yours are so much comfier than mine.”

  His smile is entirely male. “I like you in my clothes.”

  Strong lips seal over mine again as he pushes me down on the bed. My panties are tugged down my legs, quickly replaced by his lips and tongue.

  Every time, he does this, and every time, I’m lost to it. He touches me like it’s the first time he’s had me, like it’s the first time he’s seen me naked. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this kind of worship.

  My hands find their way into his thick hair. I’m reeling, spinning through a haze of pleasure and feeling and want. He’s everywhere, teasing and prodding, licking and parting, until I can’t help but break apart into a thousand slivers of pleasure.

  He’s wearing a satisfied grin when he finally stretches out atop me. “You’re sweet.”

  I’m still caught in the afterglow of my orgasm, feeling deliciously limber. “Oliver, I don’t… I never want you to stop.”

  “I won’t.” He taps me gently on the hip. “On your side, baby.”

  I turn over and he settles in behind me. We’ve slept this way before, his arm around my waist and my leg between his. But he’s still large and throbbing against my back.

  “What about you? I need you.” I try to reach over, but Oliver pushes my hand away.

  “It’s late, and your bed is tiny. Let me take you this way.” He trails kisses along my bare neck. “Lift your leg.”

  He slips a hand under my neck and then I feel him between my legs, hard and sure. Oliver sinks into me in one slow, forceful movement.