by Tawna Fenske
Grady tried to think of something else to talk about. “Movies,” he said. “Seen any good movies lately?”
Aislin looked at him, then at Willa. “Is this some kind of setup for a threesome?” she asked. “Because Willa’s my friend, and I think it would be weird to—”
“What?” Grady jumped. “No, that’s not it.”
Willa burst out laughing. Grady turned to see her shaking her head at Aislin. “Just a guess, but I don’t think he’s trying to get into your pants, Ais.” She swiped at her eyes, still laughing. “If you leave, it’ll just be the two of us.”
Aislin frowned. “And?”
“And that makes it a date.”
“Oh. Ohhh.” Aislin’s expression softened as she glanced back at him. “Awww.”
“Shit,” Grady muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “This is dumb.”
Aislin grinned. “No dumber than you thinking I should stick around and be your chaperone. What is this, Regency England?”
Willa gave him a teasing smile. “I mean, technically, being alone in a bar would be a date…”
“Help me out here, Aislin,” he said. “I’ll buy you another drink to stick around. Or dinner. Have you had dinner?”
“Hmm.” She seemed to consider that. “How about your drummer’s phone number?”
“Deal.” He yanked out his phone, already scrolling for Ryan’s number.
Willa snorted. “Are you seriously pimping out your friend?”
“It’s no biggie; Ryan’s single.” He located the number and looked at Aislin. “What’s your number? I’ll text it to you.”
She ignored him and looked at Willa. “Are you messing with him right now, or can I leave?”
Willa shrugged and looked at him. “I guess it wouldn’t be a date.” She bit her lip, ready to second-guess herself. “We’d just be finishing our beers and calling it a night.”
Grady nodded, vowing to drink his as slowly as possible. “Definitely not a date.”
Aislin stood up, shaking her head. “You two need some serious therapy.”
And then she was gone.
And then they were alone.
But not on a date, dammit.
“You want to go back to my place and meet my cats?” Willa smiled.
Grady shook his head. “Nope.”
“Really?”
He picked up his beer and took a sip. “You said earlier that meeting cats was a second-date ritual.”
“I was kidding.” She leaned back against him, snuggling closer and making his pulse kick up.
“I’m sensing a trap here.” Grady resisted the urge to touch her hair. “Besides, if I leave you wanting, doesn’t it up my odds of more dates?”
She folded her arms over her chest and stared at him. “No, but why do you even want more dates? You said yourself you’re not looking for anything serious.”
He had said that, hadn’t he? But that was before he’d gotten to know her. He still wanted to know her. To find out more about what made her tick.
“I’m not after a relationship, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He clutched his pint glass, not sure if he was reminding himself or her. “The sex was good, right?”
Willa blinked. “Um—”
“Actually, I believe the words you used earlier were ‘stupendously amazing.’”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And I agree,” he said. “So we should either negotiate for more dates, or make sure we never actually hit that second date.”
“You’re a strange guy, Grady Billman.” She didn’t sound too upset about that.
“Maybe.” Grady breathed in the scent of her hair, loving the chance to be alone with her at last. “But I’m not taking any chances on canceling out our last date.”
“For a guy who jumps out of airplanes for a living, you’re very risk averse.”
“Only with the things that matter.” He drained the last of his beer and signaled the waitress, determined to settle in. Determined to make this the best non-date either of them had ever had.
Chapter Six
Less than two weeks later, Willa gripped the steering wheel and turned off the highway toward the airport, wondering what the hell she was doing.
You’re getting attached.
The warning from her subconscious was both unwelcome and untrue. Come on, this was just a friendly visit. Grady—her friend Grady—had mentioned how the Hart Valley Air Center was open for public tours, and had she ever been out to see it in person?
Willa had not. And as a resident of Hart Valley—and a citizen with an interest in public safety—she owed it to herself to take a tour, to get a sense of how the base operated and what was involved in fire suppression efforts launched from this Central Oregon base.
Keep telling yourself that.
“Shut up,” Willa muttered as her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.
She glanced over at it and saw the name on the readout. Pinpricks of unease poked her arms.
Dad.
Gripping the wheel tighter with one hand, she reached over with the other and hit the button to accept the call.
“Willie!” Her father’s voice echoed through the little Toyota, filling the air with his cigarette growl and the imagined smell of cheap beer. “Been trying to reach you all week, sweetheart.”
Willa tightened her fingers on the wheel and stared straight ahead at the road, determined not to miss any turns. “I’ve been working.”
“That’s my girl. Such a hard worker.” The harsh rasp in his voice gave the words a sort of mobster effect, and she imagined him sitting there with a glass of cheap whiskey in his hand.
No, Pabst Blue Ribbon. It wasn’t noon yet, and beer came before cheap whiskey. Her father was a man of principle.
“Wish I could be working.” Her father sounded wistful and far away.
“How’s the job hunt going, Pops?”
“Oh, you know.”
Willa did know, which was why she always hated this conversation. Hated it but kept having it over and over again.
“You don’t have to say it,” her father said. “I know I wasn’t supposed to quit one job without another lined up, but what can I say? The boss was an asshole.”
Willa closed her eyes, then opened them again because she was driving and didn’t want to die.
But she also didn’t want to hear her father’s excuses. The boss was a normal guy who wasn’t a fan of his employees showing up falling-down drunk to operate a forklift. Clearly that made the guy an asshole.
Willa bit back that comment. “Did you make it to your doctor’s appointment yesterday?” she asked. “The one I marked on your calendar on the fridge.”
“Aw, hell.” Another slosh of liquid. “I knew I forgot something.”
“Dad.” Willa bit her lip and gave up arguing. What was the point? She’d just have to make a new appointment, maybe take time off to bring him there herself.
“Have you been staying away from the casino?” she asked instead.
She didn’t know why she bothered asking. Yes, no, the answer didn’t matter. The truth was that her father spent every waking hour there that he could.
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said.
Of course it is.
Willa kept both hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead at the road, willing herself not to react. “Why’s that, Pops?”
“Well, see, I could use a loan. Not a big one,” he added quickly. “And only till I get back on my feet. Shouldn’t take more than a week or two. Then I’ll pay you back with interest.”
Willa breathed in and out, gaze trained straight ahead on the asphalt. The sign for the Hart Valley Air Center flashed by in her peripheral vision, and she tapped the brakes. Dammit. She’d have to turn aroun
d.
“What happened to the last loan I gave you?” she asked.
“Damn cheating sonofabitch.”
It was anyone’s guess who he meant this time. Willa took a shaky breath and eased her car into the gravel shoulder off the side of the road. “I can’t keep giving you money,” she said. “I’m barely staying afloat as it is. My financial planner says—”
“Financial planner,” her father said. “Man alive. You ever think back when it was just you and me without two nickels to rub together that you’d end up having a fancy financial planner?” The wistfulness of his chuckle sent sharp little daggers into Willa’s gut. “Your mama would have been so proud.”
Past tense. Willa took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time for that conversation.
“I might have a chance to bid a job for TechTel,” she said slowly. “Mom’s dream company, remember? She always wanted to work there.”
“Isn’t that something?” His tone made it clear he didn’t remember. He had no idea what she was talking about.
It was just as well. Sometimes, Willa wished for the same big gaps in her memories.
“Anyway,” she continued, “the financial planner is free. We have a trade agreement where I do his website and he helps me out with planning.”
“That’s my girl, Willa. Always got a plan.”
She spotted a place to turn around and aimed for it, annoyed with herself for missing the entrance. Annoyed with herself for a lot of things, actually.
I’m just trying to make sure I don’t end up like we were. Like we lived when I was little.
She wasn’t cruel enough to say the words out loud, but she thought them. Thought them every single day.
“How much do you need?” She stomped the brake, sending gravel spitting out behind her tires. She hated those words for falling from her lips again. Hated herself for being weak.
It was easier than hating him. She couldn’t hate him. He was her father.
“Two hundred oughta do it,” he said. “I’ll pay you back, of course.”
“Of course.”
And Willa would wake up tomorrow to find herself living on a Caribbean island with her own private jet.
Gripping the wheel, she eased the car onto the shoulder and did a quick U-turn.
“I’ll transfer two hundred tonight,” she said. “Please work on the job hunt, okay, Pops?”
“You’re the best daughter in the world, you know that?”
Willa did not know that. She also didn’t know why she kept giving this man money when he was only going to piss it away.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” she said.
“I love you.”
The low cadence of his voice, the sincerity of his words, had her heart twisting up in her chest. This. This was why.
“I love you, too.”
And she did. As much as she hated to admit it, she loved the man who’d fed her and clothed her and kept her safe after her mother was gone. Not well—he hadn’t done any of those things well. But he’d done them, if only sporadically, which was still a lot more than anyone else in her life had done.
This was why she worked so hard. To create the stability she’d so desperately needed back then and still wanted to this day.
She disconnected the call as she pulled in at the Hart Valley Air Center. Signs pointed their way to bases for the Hotshots, for the tanker planes she guessed must be those huge ones that dropped retardant on fires.
But Willa followed the signs to the smokejumpers, parking her car right next to a dorm facility where Grady had told her some of the younger guys lived. Not him—he had his own place, which he’d refused to show her no matter how much she’d pleaded with him.
“I’m saving myself,” he’d teased, cupping her ass as he bent to kiss her on the front porch several nights ago. “For our real second date.”
Willa had ground against him, eliciting a growl and a tighter ass grab from Grady.
“Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” she’d whispered in his ear.
He laughed and swatted her butt before stepping back to put some distance between them. “Maybe I want more than milk,” he said.
“We could just call this our second date and—”
“Whipped cream,” he said, backing away from her as he headed for his truck. “Butter. A nice double-cream brie with—”
“What?”
“That’s what I want,” he told her. “More than just milk.”
“Jesus, Grady.” She’d let him go, not sure when a recitation of dairy products became such a turn-on. Just one more thing that had changed since she met Grady Billman.
Willa shook off the memory as she eased her car into a parking spot marked “Guest”. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t much—just mascara and lip gloss—but her blue and white sundress gave her an easy, breezy look. No coincidence the spaghetti straps left her shoulders bare. She’d caught Grady checking them out, so she’d made an effort to leave them uncovered as often as possible.
Since when do you care what a man thinks?
She got out of the car, reminding herself she was just making the most of the short time she’d have with Grady. That’s what this homemade lunch was all about, too. A long lunch on a workday, no less, since that’s the only time the air base was open for public tours. Willa hadn’t taken a long lunch on a weekday in… Had she ever?
Clutching the small cooler in one hand, she made her way toward the reception building. A warm breeze fluttered the hem of her dress, swirling her in a cloud of juniper berries and faint smoke. Must be the wildfire up in Canada or maybe Northern Washington. Grady had mentioned some of his crewmates had been sent out to that one.
She stepped into the air-conditioned lobby and made her way to a desk bearing a placard that said, “Guests sign in here.” A grandmotherly receptionist in a red T-shirt stepped forward, wearing a name tag that identified her as Lyla.
“Just fill out this form here.” The woman handed her a clipboard, and Willa scrawled all her information, including her full first name. Christ. She was surprised to see so many other names on the sign-in sheet. Grady wasn’t kidding about the popularity of these base tours.
“You’ve got someone meeting you over there?” she asked.
“Grady Billman,” she said, annoyed with herself for feeling a flutter of excitement when she said his name. “He’s giving me a tour.”
“I’ll page him to meet you out front.”
“Thank you.”
The woman hit a door buzzer, and Willa walked outside into the warm Central Oregon sunshine. She breathed deeply, picking up on a hint of ozone in the air that suggested rain was on the way.
Grady appeared like a mirage on the sweltering sidewalk, grinning as he approached. “You made it.”
“You thought I wouldn’t?”
“Wasn’t sure,” he said, mopping his brow with a yellow towel. “Sorry, we just got done with PT.”
Which explained why he was shirtless. And why Willa had the sudden urge to drool down the front of her dress. No man should be built this perfectly, with sculpted abs and a broad chest and—
“You want it?”
She jerked her eyes back to his face. “What?”
“The tour.” He grinned like he knew damn well where her mind had just gone. “You want the tour now, or did you want to start with lunch?”
“Oh. Either way.” She hoisted the small cooler she’d brought from home. “There’s ice in here, so it’ll keep a while.”
“Thanks again for doing that,” he said. “You don’t owe me food, but I appreciate it.”
“You bought the pizza the other night, so it’s only fair.”
“That was damn good pizza.” He smiled, possibly remembering what had happened after pizza.
And no
w she was blushing again.
“Come on,” Grady said, taking the cooler from her hand. “We can set this in the break room, and then I’ll show you around.”
He led her to a small room near the entrance where a battered steel table held a napkin dispenser and a pile of paper plates. “Sorry about the mess,” he said as two shirtless men wandered through with towels draped around their necks.
Kayla and Aislin would love this.
Willa kept her eyes fixed on Grady, pretty sure his abs could put everyone else’s to shame. He tucked the cooler in a corner next to an older-looking refrigerator, giving Willa a chance to admire the muscles in his back. Had she ever admired back muscles before?
“Let me just grab a T-shirt and I’ll show you around,” he said.
“I don’t mind,” she said, her voice a little wobbly. “If you wanted to skip the shirt.”
Grady laughed and walked to a bank of lockers in the hallway. He spun the dial on one of them as two more shirtless guys walked past.
“Yo, Billman. Oh, hey, Willa.”
“Tony,” she said. “Good to see you again. How was the concert?”
She knew damn well how the concert had gone, as well as how the rest of Tony’s night had unfolded with Kayla in his bed. She hadn’t stopped gushing about it since the following morning.
“Great,” he said, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and twisting the top. “Tell Kayla I said hi.” He wandered away as Grady finished pulling on a shirt.
“Sounds like our friends hit it off,” Willa said.
“Yeah.” Grady grinned, giving nothing away. “Come on, we’ll start in the rigging room.”
He led her down a hallway to a brightly lit room with tall ceilings and enormous counters lined up in rows. At one end, a guy with close-cropped hair and a black T-shirt was folding a giant parachute. He looked up and smiled.
“Hey, Grady,” he said.
“Ryan, this is Willa. Willa, meet Ryan.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” she said. “You’re the drummer, right?”
“Right.” He grinned, and Willa could see right away why Aislin had picked him out of the crowd. She hadn’t called him—probably hadn’t even kept his number after Grady gave it to her—but he was definitely her type.