“We done here?” he asked and her heart sped up just a little at his use of the word we. The pronoun didn’t mean anything. She knew that. But it suggested a relationship between the two of them that she was happy to fantasize about.
“Until next Tuesday,” she agreed. Tye nodded and then began methodically screwing on caps and washing out brushes. Unasked. Usually, she was on her own for cleanup detail. Mr. Rickerson stuck around like he always did. The old guy was lonely and she enjoyed his company. The others, though, always got going, because they had families waiting and things to do. Tye, apparently, didn’t.
Today’s T-shirt was gray, with not a wrinkle in sight despite the way the cotton stretched over his shoulders. He’d hooked his sunglasses into the neck of his shirt and, when he bent to snag an AWOL brush from underneath the table—Billy’s handiwork—she caught a glimpse of metal dog tags.
God.
He was drop-dead gorgeous.
“That was—” he paused. “Interesting.”
“Was this your first art class?” she asked.
He looked at her and that small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth once again. “I was five once. This wasn’t my first encounter with paint.”
“And there was yesterday,” she agreed, feeling a blush fire her face. Way to go, reminding him you molested him.
“My best painting memory ever.” He held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“You don’t paint a lot.”
He shrugged. “I’ve done my fair share of houses. And targets.”
She didn’t want to know. “That doesn’t count.”
He shrugged again. “Paint is paint.”
Really? The man needed help. “Then why are you here?”
Ignoring her question, he tucked her jar of clean brushes into the topmost milk crate and lifted the lot. She enjoyed the way the muscles in his arms bunched. So she was shallow. Sue her.
“Where do you want these?”
Right over here on the table. Just shuck the shirt and lie down…
He stared at her. Right. Simple question.
“The closet,” she said and led the way so he could stack the crates inside. When he was done, he turned on his heel, hands on his hips, and surveyed the room. She got the feeling he could give her an itemized inventory.
“You’re good to go.” He shut the door behind him, but she was blocking his path and, when he turned, he stopped short to avoid body-slamming her. The move pulled the T-shirt tight across his chest.
Yeah. She absolutely was.
She had no idea why she was imagining hot, no-holds barred sex with this guy. She didn’t do casual hook-ups. She’d never been interested in picking someone out at a bar and bringing him home for a night. Nope. That was why Kade had gotten himself “engaged” to her in the first place. She was the kind of person who spent twenty minutes agonizing over which chocolate called her name loudest from the box. And then took two anyhow because she couldn’t decide. Huh. Which, she guessed, made Kade’s ménage idea less far-fetched than she’d believed.
She stepped to the side, but he didn’t go anywhere.
Tye Callahan was pretty much an unknown, she reminded herself. Of course, since Jack Donovan had hired him for the jump team, he was also probably not a psychopath. She didn’t need to worry that Strong’s finest would be fishing her dead body out of a ditch. Plus, he was one of Uncle Sam’s boys and Kade had never raised a red flag about Tye’s character, morals, or after work behavior. Which meant she could go out with him.
If he wanted to go out with her.
If he wasn’t just being polite.
Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.
“Do you want to have coffee with me?” she blurted out.
“I thought you’d never ask.” Mr. Rickerson popped upright in his chair. “Let’s go, baby cheeks.”
*
The coffee place was a two-minute walk and driving was unnecessary, even with Mr. Rickerson in tow. Tucked between the art gallery and the general store, Strong’s answer to Starbucks was surprisingly popular for a weekday afternoon. Which might have had something to do with the heavenly aroma of coffee beans and the even more decadent scent of brownies. Fresh, hot brownies. She eyed the case. She had jeans to fit into. Eating anything that full of sugar and butter was definitely out of the question.
Tye parked Mr. Rickerson at a table and then proceeded to order for the three of them. He came back holding out two brownies. One for her and one for—yup—Mr. Rickerson.
“I shouldn’t.”
He jiggled the paper bag. “I saw you looking.”
“Looking is calorie-free.”
“Uh-huh.” He put a brownie down in front of Mr. Rickerson. “And you look just fine to me.”
He grinned at her as he handed over her triple caramel mocha. Hypocritical, but the brownie was the tipping point in her battle to button her jeans. “You go for sugar, don’t you?”
Since that was true, she settled for mouthing thank you and taking the cup. Of course her SEAL was black coffee, no cream or sugar in sight. While Tye helped Mr. Rickerson get started on the brownie, Katie fixed his coffee. Ostensibly black, but she knew the drill. Mr. Rickerson took six sugars and two inches of half-and-half. His cup was practically albino when she finished.
Two slurps later and bingo, he was down for his afternoon siesta and Katie had worked her way through the better part of the brownie.
“So.” Tye looked at her. “Coffee. Is this a get-to-know-you chat or did you have an ulterior motive?”
“Maybe I invite all my new students out,” she suggested.
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“You’re the guy who said he was watching out for me,” she countered.
“True.” He eyed her over the edge of his coffee. “And I am.”
He radiated confidence. Competence. He was just what the doctor ordered—and he’d all but promised to help her. In for a penny…
“So, Tye, how do you feel about swimming with sharks?”
*
Not what he’d been expecting her to say. He had a definite opinion on sharks however, and since she’d asked…
“Been there, done that. Dropped into the Indian Ocean once and those suckers were huge. Definitely a once was enough scenario.”
That particular insertion had been hairy enough, even without the threat of great whites lurking in the water. He’d seen the shadow right before he jumped from the Blackhawk. Fortunately, the beast had moved on by the time Tye’s boots hit the water. Then, they’d just had to contend with taking over a ship full of Malinese pirates.
Katie looked disappointed. “Oh.”
“Something you wanted to try?” he drawled, enjoying the way she doodled on a napkin with a pen she’d fished out of her handbag. Little shark fins sprouted around his napkin self.
She tried again. “Running a marathon?”
Clearly, she had an agenda. He eyed her. She was curvy and toned but no marathon runner as far as he could tell. “Uncle Sam’s sent me on plenty. You have plans?”
“Yes.” She sucked in a breath, crumpling the napkin drawing. Kade had always said she drew when she was thinking or nervous. He wondered which one she was today. And, hell, he’d never figured in any of her doodles before and, yeah, part of him had envied Kade his starring role. He reached out and took the napkin before she could jam it into the now-empty brownie bag. So what if he wanted a souvenir?
“Hit me,” he suggested, casually tucking the napkin into his back pocket.
“You know how Kade is,” she said, staring at him like a Who Wants To Be A Millionaire player down to her final lifeline.
Was, he wanted to say to her, but he’d done enough damage already. He wasn’t going to disillusion her, not over coffee and brownies. So he nodded and waited for her to continue.
“And I know most everyone thinks he’s not coming home.”
“But?” He could absolutely hear the but.
“What kind of an email?” He racked his brain, trying to remember if Kade had spilled any details. Mentioned anything important.
She blushed slightly. “A bucket list. He made a list of all the things he wanted to do before he died.”
He didn’t make lists of things he wanted to do tomorrow or the day after. In his line of work, tomorrow was a dicey proposition and time could run out all too fast. If there was something he wanted to do, he did it.
He eyed the woman sitting across from him.
Right now, he wanted Katie Lawson. In his arms. In his bed. Hell he’d take her sprawled across the coffee shop table, and that was one hell of an image.
“I’m going to do everything on that list,” she announced.
Then blushed. What the hell was on that list?
“You going to show me?”
She chewed her lower lip and dove back into the brownie bag. He recognized a deflection when he saw it.
When she’d chewed, swallowed and run out of brownie, she answered his question with one of her own. “You want to do it with me?”
Well. Yeah.
She blushed. “That didn’t come out right, did it?”
“Depends on what you’re offering.”
He wished like hell sex was on the menu. He’d sweep her off her feet, carry her out of this coffee shop right now if that was what she was really offering. The pink painting her cheeks, however, said he was going home alone again tonight.
“The bucket list,” she enunciated. “Do you want to help me check the remaining stuff off?”
“So that would be a no to having sex?” He set his coffee cup down on the table. Jesus, making her blush was fun. Her whole face was on fire now.
She waved a hand. “Sex isn’t first on Kade’s list.”
“You sure your fiancé was a SEAL?”
He shouldn’t tease her. On the other hand—his eyes narrowed—what exactly was on that list? Because it sure sounded to him like sex might actually be on it. Near the bottom, maybe, but that sounded like Kade alright.
“Positive.” She leaned towards him. “Will you help me with this?”
“Would swimming with sharks and running a marathon figure on this hypothetical list?”
She smiled. Sweetly. Which was definitely his first warning. “You bet. Kade put some good things on there. Are you in?”
He held out a hand. “I want to see the list.”
“I don’t have it with me.”
He recognized a lie when he heard one. “Bring it.”
“Later.” She stood up, clearly having decided on a strategic retreat. Since he really wasn’t ready to let her go, he shot out a hand and captured her wrist in his fingers. Katie Lawson had the softest skin, even if her pulse beat a get-out-of-Dodge rhythm. Busting her was fine and he had all the time in the world for the next two months. He stroked his thumb over the pale veins and considered his next move.
“Do you mind?” she asked, tugging on her wrist. “I’m attached.”
“Katie.” He pitched his voice low. “You know I’m going to see that list, right?”
She made a face, which was undoubtedly shorthand for over my dead body.
Which was another thing that wasn’t happening.
Ever.
She tugged again and he held on for a three count before releasing her. “Tomorrow, we’re running.”
Grabbing a fresh napkin, she scribbled a time and place. No drawing, though, and that was strangely disappointing.
“Can’t wait,” he drawled. Watching her swish her way out of the coffee shop, he couldn’t help but wonder what she’d wear to run.
Beside him, Mr. Rickerson snorted, waking up. He’d drive the old guy home. Make sure he got in safe and sound.
Mr. Rickerson’s gaze followed Tye’s. “That’s a mighty fine woman.”
The old guy slurped his cooling coffee and stared after Katie Lawson.
He wasn’t wrong, either. Katie Lawson was one of a kind.
Chapter Four
‡
Tye braced in the open doorway. The California mountains unfolded three thousand feet beneath his boots, a familiar green and gold patchwork of trees and grassy slopes. Today’s mission was no high altitude free fall over the unforgiving Afghani countryside. Those jumps had been pure adrenaline rush, his head shutting down and his training and body taking over until he hit the target, hit the ground.
Overhead, the chopper’s rotors beat a steady whup-whup-whup as Spotted Dick leveled them out over the day’s jump zone. While this was just a practice run, the team treated it as seriously as the real deal. There was no room for error in the air, and a wildland fire was, in the end, simply one more battlefield. Sure, Mother Nature was lobbing the grenades, but she could be a tough, unforgiving bitch, permitting no ceasefire or retreat.
“You good to go?” Jack Donovan roared the question into Tye’s ear. The helmet couldn’t block the bellow, nor could the thundering rush of air from the open bay.
Tye flashed a thumbs up. “Fuck yeah.”
This was his fourth practice jump with the team. He liked the guys, appreciated the tight camaraderie of the team. The Donovans ran a sharp operation—and a safe one. Jack wouldn’t drop him in the field until he was damned sure Tye was ready for it. Tye had been the new guy on plenty of teams before—the SEALs were legendary for their razzing of newbies—and he got it. He had to prove himself. He had to earn his spot.
He grinned fiercely.
That worked for him. As any of his drill instructors could have told Jack, Tye didn’t know the meaning of the word can’t. He’d always had the resolve. Once he decided to do something, he stuck. He did. He did not quit or ring the bell. So what the hell had happened in Khost?
No. That was definite no fly territory there.
That had been three months ago. Uncle Sam had shipped him home for two months of leave and… here he was. In Strong. He’d fielded the calls from home, asking when he was headed San Diego way, and he’d put them off. He didn’t deserve to go home. That was the truth.
Jumping out of planes was familiar territory.
Katie Lawson… was not.
“Good man.” Jack slapped him on the back and nodded toward the open bay. “Appreciate you stepping in for Kade.”
Jesus.
It was the least he could do.
He focused on the small splash of red waiting for him in the meadow sixteen hundred feet below. Memories shifted in his head, his past clamoring for attention. Other reasons for red. He didn’t want to remember. He really, really didn’t.
Jack’s hard slap on his shoulder, the signal to go, was a welcome disruption.
With a heartfelt hooyah, he bailed, launching himself out into the air in the mother of all swan dives, boots up, head down. For a moment, with the wind roaring in his ears and all that open space beneath him, he was at peace with nothing to do but breathe and fall. Zero to one twenty in seconds.
Automatically, he scanned the area around the L.Z., searching the landing zone for insurgent positions and anti-aircraft guns. The air was positively balmy, compared to the frigid temps of his usual HAHO jumpers. Of course, that might have had something to do with the jump altitude. SEALs went airborne at fifteen thousand feet, while the smoke jumpers generally jumped at two to three thousand feet. This time, it was okay for the men on the ground to see him coming. In fact, the California mountains were downright peaceful and hostile-free. No mortars, insurgents or evil-assed camels.
No Kade either.
He got right-side up, feet pointed toward the ground and head in the sky.
Jump thousand.
Look thousand.
Reach thousand. He wrapped his hand around the rip cord, ready to pull.
Wait thousand.
Pull thousand. He yanked hard, the chute flaring open behind him and dragging him briefly back up into the sky.
&n
bsp; Check your canopy. Jack’s voice echoed in his head, walking him through the safety chant. Staying safe was good. Keeping others safe was better. When he looked up, he was in business, the lines straight and tangle-free as the canopy did its part to arrest his free fall. Seconds later, his boots hit, the impact reverberating up his legs and through his spine almost as hard as the one truth he couldn’t out-jump or out-run.
No matter how long he jumped or where, the truth was both simple and inescapable. Kade wasn’t coming home.
*
When Tye showed up, Katie was already running. Or, rather, huffing and puffing her way along the trail Gia Jackson had recommended. A nice, easy loop, the jump team’s only female member had promised. Right. Yoga had not prepared her for this kind of cardio and buying an exercise-appropriate wardrobe online—damn those pop-up ads anyhow—hadn’t helped. Even the excuse to buy new shoes wasn’t helping.
One mile down and far too many to go.
This was clearly a bucket list, once-in-a-lifetime activity because anyone who actually succeeded in running a marathon undoubtedly planned on dying immediately after he finished it. Sucking in air, she eyed the horizon and the puff of darkish smoke floating over the mountain. The Strong jump team would be busy soon. She hadn’t heard the plane go up this morning, though, so she figured her pseudo-date with Tye was still on.
She rounded the bend on the path and considered taking five. Or ten, twenty or thirty. How did the jump team do it? Panting, she skidded to a halt, resting her hands on her thighs. She was fairly certain that was her heart she heard banging over the beat on her iPod.
“You’re cheating.” The familiar raspy voice behind her had her jumping. Warm fingers tugged her ear buds down. Tye.
“If I have a heart attack, I’m blaming you.”
It was positively unfair how good he looked in the now-familiar BDUs. He wore a Navy SEALs T-shirt and—of course—the familiar pair of steel-toes. Her heart gave a suspicious thump. Bad heart.
He grinned. “Start running.”
“I already ran,” she groused, but put her feet back in motion. “How long is a marathon?” Maybe she had her facts wrong. Please God.
SEALs of Summer: Military Romance Superbundle - Navy SEAL Style Page 20