“I’ll have a look at it,” Jon volunteered. “Save your money for this building.”
She looked over at Jon, again thankful he’d convinced her to sleep in this past week. And, judging from Lawrence’s casual behavior, Jon hadn’t mentioned her shameful outburst. She smiled grimly at him. “Thanks.”
They quickly surveyed the shack, Sylvie cataloging the damage on a notepad she’d brought with her.
“The foundation’s still good. Looks like it’s been torn from away on this side,” Lawrence said, walking around.
Starting to follow, Sylvie slipped past Jon, who waited for her to walk ahead. His eyes, shielded by the brim of his new Stetson, looked dark, disapproving, as if something about her disturbed him.
She caught up with Lawrence, all too aware of Jon’s big frame close behind. He’d wrapped his arms around her while she’d sobbed, and though the painful emotions, in lieu of memories, lingered still, they were amazingly tempered by a warmth. His warmth.
“See here?” Lawrence bent down and pointed to where the wood had torn from its slab foundation.
Sylvie nodded. “I remember when Dad built this. He figured the concrete foundation would help it last longer.”
“Looks like it’s been hit by vandals,” Jon said.
Sylvie looked up at Jon in disbelief. “Vandals? Out here?”
“Could be. No matter where you go, there’s always a chance of vandalism.” He folded his arms. “Someone smashed one of the two-way radios. I found it this morning.”
She frowned. “Where?”
“Imbedded in the dirt path between the house and campground. Someone had run over it several times.”
She straightened, not wanting to look at him, but hoping that the conversation would stay focused on the building. “This place has been rammed by something, and split most of the wood on this side. But we might be able to salvage it.”
Lawrence lifted his brows incredulously. “How?”
“Well,” she answered, making a few quick sketches. “In Bosnia most of the buildings are brick, but there was this wooden building the Combat Engineers had put up when they first arrived about ten years ago. It got damaged last fall and ended up looking like this shack.” She flicked her pen up to the splintered wall. “I watched them use a couple of come-alongs and a truck to straighten it, then they reinforced it with two-by-fours. Like this.” She scribbled out another rough sketch. “Maybe we can do the same thing here.”
She looked up from her notepad to Jon, who then glanced over at Lawrence, before settling his gaze back on her. “It could work,” he said.
Sylvie folded her arms. Well now, was that admiration in his eyes? Hadn’t he figured she could be resourceful? Yet, despite the tiny spurt of sarcasm rising in her, her cheeks warmed.
Lawrence scrubbed his face. “Yep, I think we might be able to. We could rent the come-alongs and a cement drill at that place in town. The only other alternative is to tear it down.”
“Which will happen, anyway, if the straightening doesn’t work,” she finished for him. “I’d like to attempt to repair it first.”
Lawrence walked back to his horse. “And I’d like to finish the fence repairs before that. When do you want to try this?”
Today was Thursday, and if they did try to start right away, it would be Saturday before they could get out here again. Weekends were too busy for the campground part of the business, with Purley spending all his time ferrying hikers out to the trail and back. “I’ll set aside the time and let you know.”
“Fine by me. If you don’t mind, I’ll get back to my fences.” Lawrence swung up onto his horse and rode away.
Finally Sylvie flipped her notebook closed.
“Feel better today?”
Now a dusty dot to the west, Lawrence had left her alone with Jon. Drawing in a fortifying breath, she turned. “Yes, thank you.” She added, “I’m glad I’ve slept in this past week.”
“Perhaps you should make sleeping in a regular thing especially now that you’re in your second trimester.”
Surprised at his advice, she lifted her eyebrows. “What do you know about second trimesters? Oh, I forgot. Lawrence?”
He smiled. “You really knew what you were doing, bunking me with those guys. I think I’d rather camp out in a pup tent all summer.”
She allowed herself to feel a little smug. “Information overload?”
“Almost. With not much on TV, we’re all set to learn about the third and final trimester.” He grimaced and shook his head.
“It’ll teach you tolerance.”
“Not to mention all about stretch marks, protruding navels and something about Kegel muscles I’d rather not repeat.”
She smiled briefly. Just a smile? What the hell was wrong with her? What was happening to Jon was hilarious. She’d known exactly what she’d been doing when she sent him to the bunkhouse, and yet there was little satisfaction from the comical situation.
Frowning, she started toward the ATV, which still idled nearby.
As she approached, the engine sputtered and died.
She stopped and threw up her hands. “Great. I had trouble earlier. I’ll never get it started now.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Did I tell you I have a bit of mechanical experience behind me?”
She peeked over her shoulder. “You do?”
“I was top of my shop class in high school.”
She slapped her pad and pen down on the black vinyl seat. “That’s it? High school shop? Even I had that.”
Jon leaned against the ATV’s rear basket and casually crossed his strong, tanned arms. “With help from a friend of mine on the same shift, I rebuilt some old dirt bikes for a youth rally last year. It gave the inner-city kids a chance to get out and enjoy a bit of legal speed.”
“For a backyard mechanic, you’re not doing too much work.” She had to say something. Just standing there, Jon exuded a confident sex appeal that simply steamrolled over her. So much strength.
Her hand strayed to her stomach. She was pregnant with his brother’s baby, and every night the memories of those final hours on that winding, muddy road flooded in on her. And every morning, in the dark, quiet hours before dawn, she fought them back, battling the injustice with a determination even her military training hadn’t completely forged. Then, as the sun rose, and the strength inside of her was expended, she found herself drained and tired.
She didn’t need Jon’s steamrolling sex appeal to weaken her further. She might give in to the foolish desire to want him. Or accidentally let slip what really happened to Rick. And, oh God, risk a court martial?
Beside her, Jon still hadn’t moved, except to poke his hat up slightly with a long, tanned forefinger. She eyed him. “So, tool boy, are you going to do something or just stand there and look good against that rattletrap?”
With one hand he pushed himself away from the ATV. Patience he had, for most things, but where Rick was concerned, it took much, much more effort. In a calm manner, he’d tried to ease the tension Sylvie constantly carried. Maybe even see one of her beautiful, lingering smiles, the ones she doled out by the eyedropper.
He’d chalked up her coolness to the situation she faced, and didn’t expect to ever see her truly, warmly smile. Shadows under her eyes told him she wasn’t getting the rest she needed, despite claiming she appreciated the opportunity to sleep in.
It had been over a week since she’d discussed Rick with him. Had she forgotten him so soon? Surely not. She carried his baby inside of her. Jon spied her just now resting her hand on her stomach, her expression going pensive a moment.
He turned his attention to the ATV.
The engine abruptly backfired.
Then, in the next instant, without him even feeling it happen, he was on his back beside the ATV, his Stetson rolling away.
Sylvie had sprawled herself over him. Her eyes like saucers, she stared past his head. Automatically his arms wrapped around her.
“Sylvie?”
“Shhh! They’re out there! Did you see where they fired from?”
He tilted his head way back, but saw only the quiet pastureland and imposing mountain backdrop, all upside down. And he heard nothing but soft breezes and crickets. And Sylvie’s speedy panting. He tightened his arms, pressing her torso closer to his chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
She jerked her head down, and he knew instantly she didn’t see him. There was that innocent wariness again.
Just as he tried to study it, she blinked him into focus again, and offered a wobbly laugh that sounded more like a cough than anything else.
“I’m sorry. I…the ATV backfired?”
“Yes,” he answered slowly, searching her face for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Another memory? Perhaps, but it felt like something else. “The engine backfired. It needs a tune-up, remember?”
With another self-conscious laugh she sagged against him, allowing her forehead to drop to his shoulder. “I guess my nerves are shot.”
Her words branded themselves into his shoulder, her breath too warm, too noticeable. She fit perfectly against him. He wanted to grind himself into the soft flesh of her abdomen, but against his growing arousal pressed a rounded reminder of her condition.
Damn, she was filling out. Her breasts crushed between them, and one glance down was all he needed to sate his mind with her lush cleavage, bigger, fuller than even last week. Need surged through him. He wanted her. All of her, right now, and with a strength that startled him.
Hell, what was he doing? She carried Rick’s baby. Hadn’t he learned anything from Tanya? Except Tanya had never worn the naive look Sylvie often wore. Or was he just feeding his oversensitive intuition?
To hell with it. He caught the nape of her neck and yanked her head down. His lips found hers with instinctive accuracy.
He forced her mouth open, his tongue inviting itself inside. He watched her reaction, up close and personal, a big part of him praying she wouldn’t push him away.
When her eyes drifted shut and her mouth yielded to his tongue, he rolled them both over. There was very little technique in her kiss, but her lips were sweet, willing, open. His hand jammed in under her, scraping against an exposed rock. He ignored it. He tried to insinuate himself between her legs, but they remained tangled like the long, parched grass under them.
He wanted to taste her. All of her. Ignoring the good sense that out here on the wide-open prairie was no place for lovemaking, he abandoned her mouth for the smooth skin of her neck.
Down, down he went, using his lips to force back the loose shoulder of her cotton blouse and taste her swelling breasts. Only when the material resisted, did he lift and turn his head. That and a need for a decent breath.
One of the ATV’s thick tires lay in his line of barely focused vision.
And imbedded in the deep grooves of the wide tread were translucent shards of neon green.
His radio?
Someone, driving this ATV, had smashed and run over his radio? Several vicious times, too.
And apart from himself, only Sylvie had been driving this vehicle lately.
He turned his head and found Sylvie watching him, eyes wide and innocent, lips moist and bruised, all of her begging to be kissed again. She’d kissed him with nothing more than passion. No expertise. Total innocence, if that was at all possible in this day and age. And the idea made her look like the finest food to a starving man.
Had she looked so delicious to Rick?
Oh, hell. What was he doing?
He pushed himself off her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She blinked, her expression dazed. “No.”
He knelt beside her, watching as she twisted around to a sitting position. He should help her. But, God help him, he couldn’t.
A moment ago, he’d managed to overpower his own good sense, and frankly, watching her tug her neckline back into place, covering the marks he’d seared into her pale skin, he knew if he touched her again, he’d finish what he’d started.
Right here in the middle of blasted nowhere.
No. There was something he needed to do first. He jumped up and grabbed the pen she’d set down beside her notepad.
“What are you doing?”
Kneeling again, he pried loose the largest shard of neon plastic. It popped out into the grass, but he found it immediately. Holding it out in his flat palm, he said, “This is a piece of the two-way radio. And as far as I know, beside me, you’re the only one to have driven this ATV. Why did you run over it?”
Shame burned into her cheeks. She struggled to stand and, frustrated that her center of balance had changed, she grabbed the utility basket behind the seat to haul herself up.
Jon had already stood by the time she straightened. “Why, Sylvie?”
“It was broken, all right? I couldn’t get it to work and it ticked me off. It was nothing personal.”
“When did you take it? I usually have it from breakfast every morning until supper. We don’t need the radios any other time.”
“I borrowed it late one night. Please don’t ask me about it. I…I can’t tell you why I took it.” She couldn’t look at him. Her own behavior that night had scared the hell out of her. And now, in the light of day, her actions seemed stupid, illogical. Even she had questioned her damn sanity after the fact.
And in the same way she was questioning, right now, the prudence of kissing Jon.
She must be crazy. What had just happened? How did she go from talking to kissing?
Oh, Lord, she remembered. The sounds of that horrible night in Bosnia still rang clearly in her head. The stream of pops, the terrifying realization they were being fired upon, the way her heart pounded as she’d shoved Rick to the ground and fallen on him.
She’d participated in plenty of exercises using blank ammo, perhaps too many. They don’t prepare anyone for the real thing, the scream of the bullet as it whizzes past your ear, the sharp ping where it ricochets off the truck’s front bumper, the dread that swells up in one’s chest before you even realize it’s bullets hailing down on you.
Those damn bullets still rebounded in her head. And she’d driven Jon to the ground and fallen on top of him, protecting him the way she’d done to Rick.
Lord, the parallels went further than just that.
She’d given in to the temptation and kissed Jon.
She’d done the same cowardly thing that night. No, worse. Way worse.
Repeating that mistake wasn’t in the game plan. She wasn’t that crazy, no matter how much Jon’s kisses heated hidden places in her that shouldn’t be heated and weakened her willpower nearly to the point of total stupid submission.
Finally finding her balance, she leaned over the ATV and twisted the ignition key.
The engine rolled over, the high-pitched whine of a small, powerful starter cutting through her. Beyond, Stampede snorted, anxious himself to be moving again.
Nothing. The engine didn’t catch. She tried it again, yanking out the manual choke furiously, but pressing her finger and thumb tight against the key didn’t make the engine catch any better.
She swore, shoved the choke back in again and tried the starter one more time. Nothing but the insistent whine of an engine not catching one damn bit.
“Sylvie!” Jon’s hand closed over hers and she jumped. “Sylvie, stop it. You’ll only flood it, and it’s still hot enough to backfire again.”
She yanked her hand free. With her face still aflame, she grabbed the pen, shoved it into the notepad and stalked away.
“Where are you going?”
She couldn’t look at him. Instead she yelled up to the big blue sky. “Home. I’ll send Purley out with the truck. Go and help Lawrence.”
Thankfully, he didn’t try to catch her. What a disaster this trip out here had been. First the engine backfired, driving her to the ground like some nutcase with shell shock. Then she’d given in to Jon’s kisses. And it would have been so easy to take those kis
ses all the way.
She kept on walking.
Then Jon had noticed that plastic shard. Smashing that radio had been a stupid, childish thing to do, something she could never be proud of, or even barely acknowledge. The sooner they both forgot about it, the better off she’d be.
A pounding of hooves warned her he’d mounted Stampede. She stopped dead in her tracks as the big horse raced past and in front of her. Jon hauled in hard on the reins, and the horse skidded to a halt, with a sharp whinny of protest.
Her head still down low, she dared a glance up at him. A few minutes ago they’d been locked in such passion, the mere memory stole her breath. What she wouldn’t do to feel his lips on her skin again.
She’d welcomed his primitive male act, as if she were some simple woman bent on her own pleasure.
She’d done that in Bosnia.
Spinning around, she tried to circumvent Jon, but he was too fast. In a move that rivaled his swift decision to kiss her, he leaped down. “Stop.”
“No. For crying out loud, I’m walking home.”
“It’s too far.”
“It’s not. I’m not an invalid, Jon. Don’t pamper me.”
He caught her arm. “I’ll take you home.”
She looked up at him. He’d shoved his Stetson way back on his head, and the sun beat down on his face, exposing every tiny crevice and line.
He looked older. And sexier and…so intense.
Leftover passion, nothing more. This aborted attempt had left a gaping maw inside of her and was trying to trick her into filling it.
“I’m fine, Jon. It’s not that far.”
“You can ride Stampede.”
She laughed incredulously. “Now, that’s a change. Last week you didn’t want me riding.”
He slid his hand down to hers. She’d have yanked her arm back, but the touch feathered her skin so lightly, she hadn’t been sure it had really happened. Saying nothing, he led her back to the horse. “Do you need help mounting?”
Another round of heat burned her cheeks. She’d worked around enough men to hear the sexual innuendo in his words. But a quick glimpse of his face told her the sleazy thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “No. I can manage.”
Necessary Secrets Page 10