The colonel put his elbows on his desk, leaned closer. “Look, you know how this works, Captain. A Combat Rescue Officer has to be a hundred percent. If not, you put your whole team, your extractions and the mission at risk.”
“I know that.” Riley hadn’t intended to snap while talking to a superior officer, but he did. “But I have to be a CRO. There’s no other choice.”
The colonel made a sound to indicate otherwise. “If you fail the physical, you’ll either have to retrain into a different career field, one less physically demanding—”
“I don’t want a different career field.” And yeah, he snapped again.
“Then you’d have to resign your commission.”
To a civilian, those words might not mean much, but they sure as heck meant something to Riley. Resigning his commission would mean getting out of the Air Force.
He’d be ordinary again.
“I’m telling you all of this because you should prepare yourself for the worst,” the colonel added. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”
Riley went on autopilot, standing, then saluting the colonel before he did an about-face and walked out of the room. It felt as if his entire world had come crashing down on him.
Lucky stood when he saw his face, and his brother mumbled something Riley didn’t catch. Lucky went to him and gave him a pat on the back.
“Come on,” Lucky said. “I think you need some therapy. Not that kind of therapy,” he corrected when Riley just stared at him. “My version of therapy. In a couple of hours, I promise you that things are going to look a whole lot brighter.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THINGS DIDN’T LOOK brighter at all, but Riley had to admit that things weren’t feeling as shitty as they had. The shots of tequila had helped with that, but underneath the tequila haze, Riley knew this was a temporary lull. Tomorrow, he’d have to face a cold, hard reality.
But that was tomorrow.
Tonight, he was back at Calhoun’s Pub, drinking his troubles away.
Lucky had brought him here after they’d gotten back from the base. They’d made a quick trip to the house just so Riley could change out of his uniform. Lucky had said something about not wanting to disgrace it, and Riley had agreed.
He figured he’d get a full glass of disgracing tonight.
With several of the Nederlands cheering him on, Riley bit into the lime, took a shot of tequila and finished the ritual by licking the salt. At first all of this had felt very frat-party-ish, but after multiple bites, shots and licks, Riley wasn’t sure he cared. Neither did the Nederlands, who were doing two shots for Riley’s every one.
Of course, they were double his size, so it probably took that much tequila for them to get the same buzz that was going on in Riley’s head.
There’d be no brawls tonight—mainly because he was now drinking with the brawlers. Plus, there really wasn’t anyone to start any trouble. Other than the now-friendly Nederlands, there was just Lucky, him, the bartender and the petite blonde waitress who was flirting with Lucky. Naturally, Lucky was flirting back. Except it had moved past the flirting stage, Riley realized, when Lucky kissed her.
Seeing that kiss brought it all back. Not the flashback, thank God, but what had happened with Claire outside this very building. Oh, man. He could still taste her. Could still remember everything about those moments.
And he wanted more.
Of course, the tequila could be playing into that desire, but Riley didn’t think so. He didn’t need alcohol to make him want Claire. Plus, he did owe her that apology.
“Think I’ll go for a walk,” Riley said to no one in particular.
Lucky tore himself away from his flirting/kissing with the cocktail waitress and looked at him. “You want me to drive you?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
Lucky tore himself away even more. “You’re not driving, are you?”
Not a chance. He was well past his limit, and he wasn’t stupid.
“Nope. It’s a nice night for a walk.” Maybe it was. Riley didn’t have a clue. But he didn’t want Lucky driving him to Claire’s. That would feel more like junior high than a frat party.
Besides, Claire’s place wasn’t far, and he could get there, apologize. Maybe kiss her good-night. And then head on home. If there ended up being more than one good-night kiss, even better.
Seven would be ideal. That would equal the amount of tequila shots he’d taken.
It turned out, though, that it really wasn’t a good night for a walk. It was still hot, and he’d drank so much that he was sweating tequila by the time he made it the handful of blocks to her place. When he saw her lights were still on, Riley took that as a good sign, especially since he’d forgotten to check the time. It could have been anywhere between eight at night and three in the morning.
He made it up the steps of her porch, knocked and did a breath test by blowing against his palm. On the first attempt, he missed his palm and had to do it again. Too bad he didn’t have a mint or something, but maybe the lime would mask the tequila.
Or not.
Claire opened the door, cautiously, as if she expected Jack the Ripper to be on her porch. She took one look at him. One whiff, too. “You’re drunk?”
It was possible that it wasn’t even a question, but Riley chose to put a question mark at the end of what she’d just said.
“Tequila shots with Lucky,” he explained.
“Of course,” she said as if this were a normal occurrence. She glanced behind him. “How’d you get here?”
Now, that was a question. “Walked from Calhoun’s.” Was he slurring? Hell. Yeah, he was. “I wanted to say I was sorry.”
She folded her arms over her chest and that’s when Riley realized she was wearing just a T-shirt and nothing else. It was a longish T-shirt that hit her midthigh, but the arm folding hiked it up a bit.
“You packed your clothes. Are you here to tell me goodbye?” she asked. Now, that was a real question.
Because his head was suddenly whirling, it took him a moment to wrap his mind around what she was saying. “No. I’m here to apologize and to kiss you seven times.” The last part was something he shouldn’t have said aloud. “Sorry. That was the tequila talking.”
“Obviously.” She huffed, unfolded her arms so she could put her hand on his waist and led him inside.
No kiss, though, and Riley was so dizzy, he wasn’t even sure if he could locate her mouth. Any attempt at this point might result in an ear kiss.
“Is Ethan up?” he asked.
“No. It’s ten thirty. He’s been in bed for hours.”
Ten thirty didn’t sound that late to him, but he’d forgotten that Claire’s schedule probably included turning in early so she could then get up early with Ethan. Did that mean he’d woken her? Maybe. But there were some boxes in the living room so maybe she’d been doing more sorting.
He wondered if she’d tossed the journal. Wondered, too, if he was sober enough to work that into the conversation.
No, Riley decided. He wasn’t sober enough for that.
She led him to the sofa, had him sit. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle of water. “What happened? Did you have another flashback?”
“No. I was at the base, got some...news.”
“Bad news?”
“Twenty-eighty.” Riley didn’t expect her to get that, and maybe she didn’t, but she made a sound that could have been one of understanding.
“You can stay in the guest room,” she said, motioning for him to follow her. “And I can drive you home in the morning. Logan’s at your house, and I doubt you want to run into him tonight. Not like this anyway.”
Riley didn’t. He didn’t want to know the things he’d say to his big brother while under the influence
of Jose Cuervo. “How did you know Logan was there?”
“He called earlier to find out if I knew where you and Lucky were. He mentioned he was at the house and that he’d be spending the night because another shipment of horses is scheduled to arrive in the morning.” She paused. “What’s he doing with all those horses anyway?”
“Making money, I’m sure. And setting a trap to snare Lucky and me into adding a cutting-horse empire to the cattle empire he already runs.”
Of course there was more to it than that. Their father had always wanted to bring in cutting horses, and maybe that’s what was fueling Logan. Maybe he wanted to keep being Daddy’s good boy. It was hard to know since Logan wasn’t the feeling-sharing type.
One thing for certain—Logan was the money-sharing type. Even though he ran the business, he split the profits four ways. Riley had never touched his portion. It was in his accounts being invested and reinvested by Logan’s financial gurus. But Riley always figured if he touched it that it would obligate him to do a lot more than he wanted to do—like stay in Spring Hill.
Riley knew where the guest room was. He’d helped Claire’s grandmother haul some old furniture out of there when he’d been about sixteen or so. Despite the other changes in the house—stripped wallpaper and some fresh paint—the room hadn’t changed in all that time. Even with the tequila messing with his head, he thought maybe that was the same quilted bedspread. And because the tequila was messing with his head, Riley had no choice but to drop down on it.
Claire didn’t drop down, though. She pulled back the covers for him on the other side of the bed and started helping with this boots. Good thing, too, because Riley wasn’t sure he could see his boots, much less take them off.
He made a mental note to avoid all forms of bite, drink and lick in the future. Tomorrow, he probably wouldn’t remember that mental note, but he was certain his head would remind him.
Certain that Claire would, too.
“I don’t suppose Lucky or you will fall in to this trap Logan is setting?” she asked.
“Not a chance.” He chuckled but quit when he saw that it wasn’t funny to her. Just the opposite.
“Anna said you packed your things when you heard about the meeting at the base,” Claire tossed out there.
Hell’s bells. “Anna called you, too?”
Claire nodded, pulled off the second boot. “She’s worried about you. Everyone’s worried about you.”
“Does that include you?” he asked.
“I thought I made that pretty clear when I said everyone.” And she didn’t sound at all happy about that.
This sure wasn’t going the way Riley had thought it would. A shame. Since Claire looked darn amazing in that old *NSYNC T-shirt. And that wasn’t the tequila talking. She always looked amazing.
Always looked kissable, too.
“Sleep,” she insisted. “We’ll talk in the morning.” Then she did something else amazing.
Claire kissed him.
Not on the cheek, either. It was full on the mouth.
Well, he got the good-night kiss after all, but Riley wasn’t in any shape to do anything about it. Nor did Claire wait around for him to do anything about it. She pulled the covers over him, turned off the lights and walked out.
* * *
“TOOKIE?”
The word seemed to come out of nowhere, and it forced its way into Riley’s dream. Not a nightmare. He was dreaming about Claire. Specifically, Claire kissing him, and he wanted to hang on to that dream as long as possible.
The jab to his cheek put an end to it, though.
Riley forced open his eyes, caught a glimpse of Ethan and was so glad he was able to bite back the profanity that was trying to leap out of his mouth. The pain shot through his head. Not the other kinds of pain he’d been feeling, either. This was fresh, new and raw. Really raw. Added to that his mouth felt as if skunks had nested in it.
In short, he had a hangover.
And Ethan was there, holding a cookie under Riley’s nose.
It took Riley a couple of seconds to realize that Ethan and the cookie weren’t part of the dream. They were real. And so was the bed he was sleeping in. Claire’s bed. Or rather the bed in Claire’s guest room. It all came rushing back to him then in perfect detail. He’d gotten drunk, shown up at her house and she’d put him to bed to sleep it off.
“Tookie?” Ethan offered him again. He had two, both half-eaten, and he was offering Riley one of the halves.
“Ethan, you’d better not be into those cookies again,” Claire called out.
For a kid who didn’t talk much, Ethan certainly had no trouble communicating. His eyes widened, and he knew he was in a boatload of trouble. Probably because Claire didn’t want her son to eat cookies for breakfast.
Or rather lunch.
Riley checked his watch and nearly bolted from the bed. Hell, it was almost noon. He hadn’t slept that late since he’d gone in the military. He was usually an up-before-the-sun kind of guy. That only reinforced his vow never to touch tequila again—and never to go drinking with Lucky.
“Ethan?” Claire said, the sound of her footsteps headed right toward the guest room. It was probably a violation of some parenting rule, but Riley took both cookie halves from Ethan and started eating the evidence.
His stomach protested right off, but he kept eating. However, he wasn’t finished when Claire poked her head around the doorjamb. She didn’t have to say words, either, for her expression to scold Ethan.
“He brought me some cookies for lunch,” Riley volunteered.
Claire looked skeptical. Ethan looked skeptical, too, probably knowing that his mom wouldn’t buy the little white lie that Riley had told. But Claire didn’t address the white lying. That’s because she was hopping around, trying to put on her shoes. No more *NSYNC T-shirt or mussed bedtime hair. She was wearing a slim blue skirt and top. Makeup, too.
“An engagement photo shoot had to be moved to today,” she said, “and I have to head out like—” she did a watch check, as well “—now. The sitter can’t be here for another half hour so I was wondering if you could watch Ethan until she arrives?”
Ethan looked as skeptical as Riley felt. Instead of expressing that, he said to Claire, “Of course. No problem.”
“You’re sure? I wouldn’t want to interfere with the PT exercises you’ve been doing.”
Even with the fuzzy head, Riley knew what that meant. One of his siblings had no doubt told her about the hours of exercises he’d been doing each day. If it had been Anna doing the telling, she would have gotten her info from Della or Stella, and the sisters would have told his own sister that he was overdoing it.
“I’ll have time,” he assured her. Later, he’d call each of his siblings and tell them to quit blabbing to Claire.
“Good. Thanks so much for this. If you need to go to the bathroom, you should do that now while I’m still here.”
She was talking to him, Riley realized. And he hobbled off to do as she suggested. When he got back, Claire scooped up Ethan, kissed him. “Be a good boy for Riley.”
Ethan rattled off something that Riley didn’t catch, and ran out of the room. That was Riley’s cue to get moving, too. But he didn’t exactly move with the same speed and enthusiasm as Ethan. Riley finally caught up with them in the living room.
“Ethan’s had his lunch,” Claire said, hurrying to the front door. “No more treats, though. I think those cookies you two shared are more than enough dessert.”
So, Riley had been right about the cookie eating not fooling anyone. He’d upset his stomach for nothing.
“Plus, if Ethan has too much sugar,” Claire went on, snatching up her purse, camera bag and keys, “you’ll have to peel him off the ceiling. Oh, you already have my cell number, but I left the number of where I’l
l be. The sitter’s and Livvy’s, too, along with the contact info for Ethan’s pediatrician on the table by the door. There’s a cup of coffee for you, too.”
With that, Claire blew a kiss—Riley decided to claim that one for himself—and hurried out. Riley went straight for the coffee. It wouldn’t cure his hangover, but it might stop the woodpecker that had set up shop in his head. It also might wash out that family of skunks in his mouth.
Ethan looked at him as if sizing up not only him but this situation. “Tookie?” Ethan asked.
“Sorry, buddy. That ceiling’s too high for me to reach to peel you off it.” But then, what did you do with a two-year-old other than dose him up on sugar?
Ethan solved that problem for him. He dumped out a huge basket of cars in the middle of the living room floor. Riley had seen Ethan play with cars before, and as expected, the crashes started almost immediately. Normally, a few toy crashes wouldn’t have caused him to lift an eyebrow, but with the other things going on in his head, Riley’s brain must have thought it was an okay time for a flashback.
No.
Not this, not now.
But it didn’t come in that dark, sandy wave like it usually did. This was just a flash of the kid.
The other kid.
The extraction. Riley got just a glimmer of him, and his trick-playing mind decided to impose that glimmer right over Ethan’s face.
Ethan laughed, snapping Riley back, and Riley realized he was humming “Jingle Bells.” However, he didn’t think it was the song that’d worked for him that time but rather Ethan’s laughter. Maybe he could record that laughter to take with him when he went back on duty. He refused to put an if anywhere in that. He would get back in uniform as a CRO.
Some movement on the coffee table caught Riley’s eye. It was the slideshow screen saver on the laptop that Claire had left there. Pictures of Ethan scrolled by, and when it got to the beginning, he saw Ethan as a newborn. Claire was in a hospital bed, Ethan bundled in her arms, and she was smiling. The kind of smile that made him smile, too. Riley went closer for a better look, and he sank down on the floor next to the coffee table.
Texas on My Mind Page 16