Tank

by Zoe Dawson

  He stared down into her eyes and something shifted there in those deep brown, so intense depths. Where in the past he would withdraw and gloss over anything to do with what he was feeling. He backed away from her and slipped his hand into his back pocket, one of his fists clenched, and he huffed out an unsteady, heavy breath.

  “You are tenacious, and believe it or not, you don’t know everything.”

  “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I use that to keep people at a distance so that they don’t really see me for who I am. But this isn’t about me. This is about you, Echo, and Petty Officer Beckett—Blue.”

  “Ocean,” Tank said, his voice strangled. He blinked rapidly. “He’s a surfer, you know. Knows how to become one with the ocean. He said his parents, hippie surfer people, named him after their favorite part of Mother Nature. They thought it would make him a strong man when he grew up.”

  “There’s still no word about him?”

  He walked to the front window and leaned against the casement, passing his hand over his eyes, then rubbing at his rough jaw. “No. Not a thing. It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth.”

  She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, setting her face against his heavily muscled back. “That was a very tough op for you, especially because of Echo.”

  “It’s war, Alyssa.”

  She squeezed him. “I know that. Combat is organized chaos. Your instincts, all your senses and your training had you focus on Echo. He was your responsibility. I’m sure that talking about your feelings wouldn’t be your first choice, but Tank, deciding to help your K9 partner isn’t in any way the wrong choice.”

  “I didn’t really make a choice, Alyssa.” He took a ragged breath, his voice clogged with emotion now. “I reacted to Echo in distress, a threat still not neutralized.”

  “Agreed. If you hadn’t, all of you would have most likely died if that rebel had set off the detonator in his hand.

  He nodded. “Still doesn’t make it any easier for me to deal with Blue missing. My responsibility was to him, too.”

  “I understand. Losing him doesn’t make it any easier. Then your loss of Echo…we’re not talking about equipment here or weapons. Those are inanimate objects. Echo is as loyal and fierce a warrior as you are. You’ve been with him for so long, and the bond with a dog goes so deep, I don’t think we really realize how deep. Your whole routine, everything you did on a daily basis involved him. There is no status quo here anymore, and everything has changed both within your team and within your established unit. It’s more than losing a partner, he’s family. Now you have to deal not only with loss in your everyday working life, but you have to deal with the personal and very real emotion that goes with it. You have to deal with those dog prints on your heart.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered.

  She experienced such a rush of feeling for him, for Echo, and for Bronte who, from what Alyssa could see, wanted to please him. But that resistance in Tank was confusing her when he needed to bond with her. He was still raw from Echo, from dealing with his feelings at both Blue and Echo’s absences, and Alyssa understood the kind of grit and determination it took to set that aside and do his job.

  “Everything you’re feeling is going down that leash to Bronte. She’s sensitive like all dogs. You might not be conscious of it, but your resistance is very clear to her, and that causes a disconnect. She doesn’t trust you because you’re not trusting her.”

  “You’re right. I’m struggling with this. Echo was my shield. I protected everyone in my life, but he protected me. We relied on each other. Nothing feels right without him.”

  “Oh, Thorn, I’m so very sorry.” She couldn’t say anything more as she circled him and put her arms around him. Pulling his head against her shoulder, she eased in a careful, constricted breath, her tears, like his releasing the pressure in her chest.

  For an instant he simply stood there in her arms. Then he let his breath go and put his arms around her. Alyssa closed her eyes and cradled his head against her, tears slipping relentlessly down her face.

  Sensing how raw and stripped he felt—knowing without a doubt that it wasn’t in his nature to lean, that he had been the rock, the foundation in every life he’d touch—she hung onto him, finally, finally understanding the source of his reserve, his wariness. She wanted to be within that select circle of people he depended on, that he cherished, that he trusted.

  Dashing away her tears, Alyssa swallowed hard, struggling to achieve a degree of self-control, an outward calm. It wasn’t finished. Somehow, she had to find the key to unlock the rest.

  Stroking over his thick hair, she closed her eyes and forced herself to get the words out. “Tell me how you’re feeling,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I want your trust, Tank.”

  His chest expanded, then he tried to pull away, but she simply tightened her arms around him, determined not to let him go. Waiting for another contraction in her throat to ease, she cupped the back of his head, pressing her face against his. “Tell me,” she whispered. “You’re safe with me.”

  He remained rigid and silent in her arms, then he took a deep jagged breath and started talking. She wanted to absorb everything he said.

  “I’m afraid for Blue. If he’d been killed in action, it wouldn’t be so torturous. We would all know. We talk around his absence. We declare that we’re never going to leave him behind. We make sure that we maintain that warrior status quo. Talking about our fears isn’t easy for us. It’s something we bury to keep going. I don’t have to outline the horrors of being captured by someone as ruthless and depraved as the Golovkins. They have members of Team Seven, and we’re already planning to go after them as soon as we discover where they’re being held. But Blue is our medic, and like Echo, there’s a strong bond, and even though that guy can take of himself, we’re protective of him. He’s a badass warrior, but he’s so much more and I love him like a brother, like I love them all.”

  Meeting her gaze, he toyed with her hair, straightening a tendril that had escaped her tight ponytail, his expression drawn. The effect of telling her had taken a toll. And his eyes—oh, God, his eyes. Refusing to give in to the feelings churning inside her, she freed her arms, then took his face between her hands, wanting him to understand. “I’m here for you—twenty-four/seven. Don’t ever feel that you can’t come to me whenever you need to. I will never judge you. Like Echo, you have my unconditional attention.”

  “That’s significant, Alyssa. I would never dismiss that offer.” Shifting his gaze, he caught one of her hands, then carefully laced his fingers through hers. His voice was husky and a little unsteady when he went on. “We have every intention of getting all those team members back.” His voice wavered, and he stopped and rubbed his eyes; Alyssa felt him try to swallow. It took a while before he could continue. “I swear that, but we’ll pull out all the stops to find Blue and the rest of them and bring everyone home.”

  Alyssa had been fighting the good fight; she’d thought she had everything under control, but that roughly spoken admission, that statement of commitment, completely did her in. Unable to see, unable to speak, she clenched her arms around his shoulders, and Tank held her hard, his face turned against her neck.

  It was a long time before Alyssa could ease her hold. She felt as if she’d been wrung out to dry.

  “I have no doubt you will do everything humanly possible to bring those men home alive,” she whispered unevenly. “But don’t forget that you need self-care and to think about moving on from Echo to Bronte. I know that you love what you do. I see it in your eyes. Training with her will save lives, and your team needs you and her to work together for them.”

  His chest expanded sharply; then he hugged her so hard that she couldn’t breathe, and she hugged him back, knowing that if Thorn “Tank” Hunt had ever needed to hear that, it was now. She held him until she felt the awful tension ease and then shifted her head, smoothing her hand up his neck. He needed her. He needed sweetness and solace.
And soft, soft loving. “Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered. He went still; then he inhaled sharply and gathered her up in a hard, enveloping embrace.

  Later that night, Alyssa lay in bed in Tank’s arms, listening to his rhythmic breathing. His bedroom was masculine and rugged, the big bed warm and comfortable. She absently fondled his hair, thinking it would have been a perfect night for a walk on the beach. But they had made long, leisurely love instead and then had watched the stars in the black night sky before he’d fallen asleep. She smiled. At least she assumed he was asleep. He’d been boneless and quiet for the last thirty minutes.

  Shifting her head, she gazed at him, liking the feeling of his big body next to hers, the possessive way he held her with his arm tucked around her waist. Her face was turned toward his, and she smoothed her thumb along his temple, through his glossy beard, then tucked her chin and brushed a kiss against his sexy mouth, smiling when he made a soft humming sound.

  He made her feel so damn beautiful with the way he touched her, the way he looked at her. Owning herself, that was something she had always done intellectually. Her mind had been her vehicle. But she’d only discovered the physical was just as potent, something she’d downplayed for so damn long. Her father’s disapproval made her squirm inside with a restless need for freedom from this need to not disappoint him. Like Tank had said, it was better to do that than disappoint herself. Her father wanted her to make it in a man’s world on his terms.

  Now, after experiencing Tank who made her think, she wanted to experience the world on her own terms. She’d just have to figure out for herself what that meant.

  12

  Blue spread around the chicken feed like Elena had taught him. The hungry hens made clucking sounds as they gobbled up the yellow mixture. She was gathering the eggs of the recently abandoned roosts, placing them in a basket she’d made herself. He marveled how resourceful and accomplished she was.

  The sun was just breaking fully over the tree line in the far distance, at the back of the lower fields, making him shade his eyes

  He couldn’t seem to stop looking at her. She was so beautiful that she took his breath away. She moved with a deliberate grace, no waste of energy. His breath fogged the air as he dragged his eyes from her.

  He grabbed up the cart with the feed and drove it over the rutted path back to the main barn. A heavy mist hung in the air, chilling his skin. He understood why he was having these feelings. It was clear from the way he’d assessed the injury to his head that he was a medic in one of the branches of the military. At least he could only guess, since he had no recollection of who he was or what happened to put him here. He could have stolen the uniform Elena had carefully hidden.

  He was making use of her father’s clothes that were just a tad too short and a bit baggy. He looked out at the unfamiliar landscape, feeling suddenly a bit shaky and unsettled. This wasn’t his country. Her farm was nestled in a fertile valley she’d named Vskhozhiy. Huddling in her father’s coat, he stared out across the panorama, the jagged gray mountains covered with snow, and he shivered. He realized even if he was home in the US, he would still be looking at unfamiliar sights.

  She’d told him that mass cotton cultivating farms, introduced by the Soviets, dotted the valley, but after her parents were murdered and their land taken, she didn’t have enough real estate to grow cotton, so she’d focused on grains, fruits and vegetables.

  He could attest to her ability with all three. The fresh dishes she made were not only filling, but so tasty.

  While he went to the barn to milk the cow, she headed to the house to take care of the eggs. She’d also taught him to do this. He was sure he’d never done it in his past. It seemed that technical things like his ability to pull medical data from his brain would make the information on how to milk a cow second nature. He was no farm boy.

  She came into the barn. “I will throw down the hay,” she said.

  “Want me to do that? Those bales are heavy.”

  She smiled at him and nudged him with her hip, sending heat traveling to all parts of his body. “How did I ever manage without you?” she asked wryly, then laughed and climbed up into the loft. She was right. She’d been working this place since she was a little girl and had taken over after her parents’ deaths.

  A couple of bales hit the barn floor just as he finished the task. He rose and went to them, but looked to see her climbing back down the wobbly ladder. He went to her and steadied it, but she lost her footing on the last rung. An instant later, his hands were around her slender waist, steadying her as both feet reached the ground. Putting his hands on her might steady her, but it was doing crazy things to him. He tried to keep his thoughts neutral, but they had a mind of their own as he thought about putting his hands on her while they were both naked amongst tousled sheets.

  Then he was turning her around, and she was so close, her blue eyes level with his. The temperature seemed to rise several degrees.

  Even in her farm clothes, the woman looked like she’d just stepped off the pages of the latest Ralph Lauren ad. She made farm worker look so damn sexy as he worked to fight off the waves of desire she inspired just by breathing.

  “Looks like you needed my help after all.”

  Her hands clenched on his shoulders as if she was having a difficult time forming words.

  A smile played around her lips. “Looks like I did. Thank you.”

  He should have removed his hands; their situation was complicated enough as it was, and he was susceptible to her beauty and the way she had nursed him to health with her care and attention. Hell, he had no idea if he was married or had a girlfriend. His ring-less left hand made him think that he wasn’t involved with anyone.

  He released her, and they walked to the bales of hay and started pulling them apart to feed the cow, pig, goats and horses—a ravenous lot.

  He could feel her behind him, his awareness of her ass finely tuned as his senses were to his surroundings. Except with her, there was all that sexual energy jacking things up. He cleared his throat and steeled himself. The light was bright behind her, caught her golden hair and set it aglow, setting her face in shadow, enhancing how impossibly thick her eyelashes were.

  He tried to stop looking at her mouth. But the sensuous line of her lips kept drawing his eyes. He was sure if he could remember, he bet his knees had never been this weak. The morning air might have cleared his head, but his body hadn’t gotten the message at all.

  Walking to a small room, they both reached for the buckets to fill with grain. “Oh, sorry,” he said as their hands collided.

  “My fault,” she said in a flustered way that just wasn’t like Elena. She waited a heartbeat too long for him to move first. He couldn’t seem to get the command to register in his brain.

  They stared at each other; the silence in the enclosed barn crackled with energy, singeing the air between them. The space seemed to shrink down to the two of them from one heartbeat to the next. The sun hadn’t risen enough to slice through the panels of the roof, leaving them deep in shadows, with thin beams of gray dawn providing the only light. There was a light bulb overhead, but the switch was behind her and he didn’t dare get any closer.

  She stepped forward. “Blue—”

  “Elena—”

  They spoke at the same time, then both broke off.

  She said, “Let me go first. I think you feel that same way I do, but at the risk of making a fool out of myself, I think we should be cautious. There are so many unknowns and you don’t even have your memory or are fully well.”

  “None of that seems to matter. And if you’re a fool, so am I.”

  He might not have his memory, but he didn’t need it to know that the way she was looking at him wasn’t about making sure he was healed. There was nothing that innocent in the visceral way he felt when he looked at her.

  She took another step closer, and his breath suddenly felt trapped inside his chest.

  “We don’t know what tomorrow will b
ring,” she whispered. “We could be running on borrowed time.” She stepped closer, still invading his personal space. Again.

  “I know. We might not get out of the country alive.”

  “I can’t go with you, Blue. They won’t let me,” she said with sorrow, tipping her chin up slightly as she shifted closer. He felt the solid wall at his back.

  “I’m not leaving here without you,” he said, his voice flat and firm.

  She closed her eyes, desperation on her face. “Don’t say that. You must go. You would never be safe here.”

  Her eyes were so dark, so deep, he was drowning in them. And her sad expression made his heart clench.

  She lifted her hand, barely brushing against the length of his jaw, before trailing her thumb over his mouth. “You are the most beautiful man I think I’ve seen,” she whispered. “I think about you when I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t take advantage of your situation, your vulnerability. It’s not fair to you.”

  His skin tingled as if the words themselves had brushed against him.

  “You saved my life, but how I feel about you is clear. My mind isn’t clouded about that,” he said fiercely as his mouth lowered to hers. His lips brushed across hers, and she gasped softly when he slid his fingers along the back of her neck, beneath the heavy fall of silky hair. He coaxed her to kiss him back, but she backed up, tears welling in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks.

  “I can’t. It’s too difficult,” she said, then grabbed the buckets and filled them with grain. After a moment, he helped her, his heart heavy. He’d been serious when he’d told her his mind was clear. He was falling for his rescuer, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  After the chores were done, she cooked breakfast, cleaned up the house, and did some wash.

  He grabbed his coat and left the cabin. The ground was hard, the new snow creaking beneath his borrowed boots as he aimlessly walked through the fields. The branches of the trees glistened with white as he made his way down the trail through the trees along the brow of the hill. He inhaled deeply, the sharp, cold air scoring his lungs. But it was good to move. The physical activity good for his muscles. He’d been serious when he’d told her he wasn’t leaving without her. If the rebels got even a whiff of a clue that she’d been hiding him right under their noses, they wouldn’t hesitate to make an example out of her. He couldn’t risk that, and he couldn’t, in good conscience, go home and figure out his life while she was here in constant danger.