The Soldier's Twin Surprise

by Judy Duarte

  “You on vacation?” he asked.

  She rarely shared intimate details about herself with strangers, but the guy seemed like a friendly sort. So she nodded and said, “Yes.” She had to report at the base before midnight on Sunday.

  “My buddies and I are checking out on Sunday morning,” Bullet said.

  She used her hand to shield the afternoon sun from her eyes. “I noticed your accents. Are you guys from Texas?”

  “Yep. We grew up in Wexler. It’s in south Texas, about two hours from Houston. Ever hear of it?”

  “Actually, I have. I was born in Houston and went to high school in Jeffersville, which is about fifty miles from there.”

  “No kidding? Small world.”

  “In some ways.” But it could be a great big world, too. And lonely.

  Bullet swept a muscular arm toward the water. “How ’bout that ocean? Ever see anything that blue?”

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” In fact, that’s why she spent a lot of her free time at the beach on the North Shore.

  “You here with friends?” he asked.

  “Not at the moment.” She glanced at the two women sitting together on a blanket in the sand. It might be nice to have someone with her today, someone to offer solace and a diversion. But she didn’t.

  “Just spending some alone time?” he asked.

  She didn’t see a need to reveal that she was staying by herself this weekend, although she was pretty damn good at defending herself—with a gun or in hand-to-hand combat. “I have two vacation days left,, so I rented that bungalow behind me.”

  “That makes us neighbors.” Bullet nodded toward his friends, who’d stopped playing and now stood with their hands on their hips, talking to two other women who’d just arrived. “We’re staying in the house next door.”

  She’d already come to that conclusion, but she didn’t comment.

  “We’re going to be grilling brats and hot dogs,” Bullet added. “And we’ve got plenty of beer on ice. Sodas, too. We even have a bottle of vodka and some OJ. You’re welcome to join us.”

  Erica looked at his buddies, her gaze returning to Bullet, her attraction growing by leaps and bounds.

  “Just so you know,” he added, “my friends and I are nice guys. Trustworthy and honorable. Especially Poncho. His day job is driving a squad car down Wexler’s main drag, keeping the residents safe.”

  One of them was a police officer? She hadn’t expected that.

  Erica was usually skeptical of flirtatious men, but something told her Bullet was honest. And that she’d be safe with the three Texas tourists.

  So in spite of her plan to spend the rest of the day and evening alone, she agreed to join them.

  “We’ll be starting the grill soon,” Bullet said. “How does an ice-cold beer sound?”

  Every bit of common sense she’d ever had prompted her to say that she’d reconsidered, that she was going to pass on the barbecue after all. She wasn’t especially fond of hot dogs. But the loneliness and grief were getting to her, so she felt compelled to say, “Sure. Why not?”

  “I’ll bring a beer over to you,” he said. “Unless you’d prefer a soda or mixed drink? I could make you a screwdriver.”

  “Actually, the beer is fine.”

  “You got it.” Then he turned and walked away, gracing her with a view of his broad shoulders and swim trunks that rode low on narrow hips and outlined a great pair of glutes. Dang. The guy had a heart-stopping swagger.

  Moments later, after she’d shoved the novel into her tote bag and brushed out her hair, he returned with two ice-cold longnecks and handed one to her. She looked at the label. It was the Longboard Island Lager, made by the Kona Brewing Company. Apparently, these guys wanted the whole Hawaii experience.

  “Mind if I sit here?” he asked.

  “Go ahead.” She moved the ice chest, making room for him to sit beside her on the towel.

  Instead, he chose the sand. She appreciated the humble move. She hated it when men tried to push boundaries. And the fact that Bullet seemed a bit shy and cordial was a bit of a turn-on.

  Who was she kidding? It was more than a little alluring.

  She took a long, refreshing drink. It had taken her a while to get used to the taste of beer, but after some time in the Army, she’d come to enjoy it after a hard day in the field.

  “Tell me something,” she said. “Honestly. Is Poncho really a cop?”

  “Yep. In fact, he was just promoted to detective.”

  “I suppose he looks more like an authority figure in his uniform.”

  Bullet laughed. “I don’t blame you for being surprised. Poncho used to be the rowdy one who led me and Duck astray, but once he turned twenty-one, he shocked the entire town, if not the high school, by joining the Wexler Police Department.”

  “And Duck?” she asked. “Is he in law enforcement, too?”

  “No, he’d rather be a lawbreaker.”

  “Seriously?”

  Bullet chuckled. “Maybe back in our high school days, but not so much anymore. Actually, he’s a rodeo cowboy. And a good one.”

  She tended to be skeptical by nature, especially of men she’d just met, but Duck had a soft Texas twang and a lanky, muscular build. Of course, looks could be deceiving. Yet something in Bullet’s eyes suggested he wasn’t giving her a line of bull.

  “What about you?” she asked, more curious about Bullet than the others.

  He didn’t answer right away, then offered her a charming smile that dimpled his lightly bristled cheeks and made him appear both rugged and boyish at the same time. “Let’s just say that I can outride, out rope and outshoot both of them.”

  That surprised her, although she wasn’t sure why it would. And he’d admitted that he was a better cowboy than the others, which just might be true. At least he hadn’t bragged about the number of silver belt buckles he’d won in the rodeo.

  Erica had pretty much outgrown the type of guys she’d known as a teenager back in Jeffersville. Nevertheless, she found Bullet far more attractive than she should.

  “How long will you be in Hawaii?” Bullet asked. Erica wasn’t about to reveal too many personal details with a guy she’d just met, no matter how hunky he was or how trustworthy she thought he might be. But then again, she didn’t see any reason not to be somewhat honest. If she kept the story simple, he wouldn’t have enough information about her to find her again—if he turned out to be a jerk. He didn’t need to know that she was stationed in Honolulu for the time being.

  “Actually,” she said, “I just flew in from Houston.” It was the truth, of course. And it supported her comment about having two days left of her vacation. But she’d actually just returned from bereavement leave.

  Several weeks ago, she’d gotten an early-morning call from the Texas hospital where her parents had been taken after the accident. Her father had suffered a massive coronary while driving home from church. The car had crashed through a guardrail and rolled down an embankment. He was pronounced dead on arrival, and her mom died from her injuries a few hours later.

  Erica sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. It had been a long month, a sad and lonely one. She’d gone to Texas to bury the parents who’d adopted her.

  But the worst was past. She had two days left of her leave before she had to report to duty at Schofield Barracks, so she’d rented the bungalow through Airbnb, where she hoped the warm sun, the soft tropical breeze and the sound of waves lapping on the sand would provide a healing balm.

  She and Bullet sat there awhile, both caught up in their own thoughts. Or so it seemed.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  She could have told him anything at that point—Jennifer, Heather, Alexis. She’d heard that it was a game some women played. They’d create fake careers and backgrounds, too. But Erica wouldn’t go that far. Instead, since he and his friends referred to each other with nicknames, she’d offer him one, too. The one her twin sister had given her years ago.
“My name is Rickie.”

  He nodded, as if making a mental note, then took a chug of beer. Since he hadn’t offered up his real name, she didn’t ask. What was the point? She didn’t expect to see him after she checked out and returned to base.

  It was weird, though. She hadn’t been called Rickie since the night Lainie had gone to the hospital for the surgery that failed. At the memory, at the thought of the final words they’d shared with each other, a pang of grief shot through her, reminding her that she’d lost her entire family. Two of them, in fact. Not many people could claim to be orphaned twice, but this time around, at twenty-five, it was a lot easier than when she and Lainie had been eight.

  Under the circumstances, she probably should keep to herself tonight so she could dwell on her emotions and come up with a good game plan to face the future. Wasn’t that why she’d come to North Shore this weekend?

  For someone determined to keep to herself, she couldn’t explain why she’d let herself be enticed by the hunky, football-playing tourists. Maybe it was some sort of coping mechanism preventing her from dealing with her own issues, her own sadness.

  If she could distract herself with the antics of a trio of strangers reliving their glory days on the beach, then she wouldn’t be forced to think about her recent loss.

  But she’d much rather laugh than cry. And these guys were playful and entertaining. Intriguing and handsome. Especially Bullet. Besides, she didn’t have to tell him that she was in the Army and actually lived nearby.

  Why get so personal when, after Sunday morning, she’d never see him again?

  Chapter Two

  By the time the sun went down, and a couple of automatic porch lights from the nearby beach house kicked on, Clay’s buddies had moved closer to the blonde and the redhead. But Clay was right where he wanted to be, sitting on the sand and enjoying a second cold beer with Rickie. Things seemed to have clicked between them, which was a little surprising.

  He hadn’t planned to hook up with any women this week, but he also hadn’t expected Rickie to be so easy to talk to. She was a little on the quiet side, but she was bright. And her laugh, which he’d only heard a time or two, had a mesmerizing lilt.

  Hey. The night was still young...

  Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t being realistic. She’d be returning to her life in Texas soon, and after he drove his buddies to the airport Sunday morning, he’d head back to Wheeler Army Airfield. Still, that left them thirty-six hours. More or less.

  “Are you ready for another beer?” he asked.

  She looked at her nearly empty bottle. “No, I think I’ll switch to soda—if you have any left.”

  Clay got up, headed for the ice chest and retrieved two cans—one cola and a lemon-lime. Then he took a moment to walk to the grassy area near their beach house, where Duck had set up the small grill about fifteen minutes earlier. The coals were coming along okay.

  He glanced over at his buddies. Duck, who’d just said something to make the redhead laugh, glanced up and caught Clay’s eye. Clay nodded at the grill, gave him the thumbs-up sign and returned to Rickie.

  He offered her both cans. “Take your pick.”

  She chose the cola. “Thanks.”

  “We’ll be putting those dogs on the grill soon,” he said. “Are you getting hungry?”

  “A little.” She scanned the beach, her gaze landing on the others, who’d moved over to the grassy area, near the grill and within the perimeter of light coming from the porch. “You know, even though I said I’d join you guys tonight, I’m not really in the mood for a party.”

  Neither was Clay. In fact, he’d rather sit here all evening, enjoying what little time he and Rickie had left. “Why don’t I bring over a couple of hot dogs for us once they’re cooked?”

  “That’d be nice. Thanks.” She made a little hole in the sand, one big enough to hold the bottom of her can. Once she set it down, she turned to him and blessed him with a pretty smile. “So what was it like growing up in Wexler?”

  “I doubt it was much different from your neck of the woods. I lived on a ranch, though. So I had a lot of chores to do each day, plus a cow to milk and a couple of chickens to feed.”

  “That’s cool. I never had any pets.”

  Clay wouldn’t call an old milk cow or four harpy hens pets.

  “Do you still live in Wexler?” she asked.

  “No, after high school I moved on.” He nearly added, to bigger and better things, but there was no reason to share his West Point experience. And his military career was still off the table.

  “Do you miss it?” she asked.

  “The ranch? No, not at all.” He didn’t consider himself a small-town boy anymore. He was a soldier now. And Army proud.

  “When I was in high school, I lived on a quiet street in Jeffersville,” she said. “The houses were all two-story and pretty similar, except we were the only ones who had a pool in our backyard. Actually, I guess I still have one.”

  The comment struck him as a little odd. “So you live with your parents?”

  “No, they both passed away recently. In a car accident. So the house belongs to me now.”

  “I’m sorry. That must have been tough.”

  She shrugged. “It was, but I’m dealing with it.”

  He was about to say something, but the shadow that touched her gaze passed faster than a ghost, so he let it go at that. He didn’t want to stir up any sad memories for her.

  Apparently, she didn’t want to dwell on them, either, because, after a couple of beats, she asked, “Does your family still live on that ranch?”

  “My mom does. My dad died when I was young. When I was a teenager, she and I moved in with my paternal grandfather and my step-grandmother.”

  Rickie turned toward him, her knee drawn up and bent, her hands clasped around her shin. “Tell me about her.”

  “Who? My mom?” He hadn’t seen that coming.

  “Yes, I’m curious about her. My real mother died when I was really young, so I never had the chance to know her.”

  “I thought you said your parents died recently.”

  “They did. I was orphaned the first time when I was eight and then adopted when I was nine.” She cast a glance his way. When their eyes met, she seemed to reel him into her story. Into her life. “My adoptive mother was good to me, but she wasn’t very maternal. At least, not the way I imagined a mom should be. Know what I mean?”

  Not really. But he nodded just the same.

  “I’m not complaining. It’s just that I had a super-cool foster mom once.” She seemed to brighten from the memory, rebounding easily, which was a relief. Clay didn’t like the sad, pensive look that had touched her expression a few moments ago.

  Hoping to prolong the happier thoughts, he asked, “What was cool about her?”

  “Pretty much everything.” Rickie’s smile deepened, her mood transformed. “Her name was Mama Kate—at least, that’s what we called her. I have no idea how old she was. Probably in her sixties. She was heavyset with an easy laugh and a loving heart. She never turned down a kid needing placement, so her house was packed with children. Yet she always found special time for each of us. And she was a whiz in the kitchen. She made the best meals—healthy and tasty at the same time. And her cookie jar was always full.”

  Clay’s mom was a good cook, too, although she didn’t do much baking anymore. At least, he didn’t think she did. It had been a long time since he’d seen her face-to-face. They talked on the phone, of course. Usually on Sundays. But he didn’t go home too often. Just for Christmas—and only if he wasn’t deployed or stationed too far away.

  “How long did you get to live with Mama Kate?” he asked.

  “Not long enough.”

  She didn’t explain, but Clay sensed a sadness about her. Without a conscious thought, he reached out and placed his hand on her bent knee, offering his comfort and support. Or maybe he just wanted an opportunity to touch her.

  “It sounds li
ke Mama Kate set a good example for you,” he said.

  Rickie smiled, and this time, when their eyes met, something warm surged between them. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d made some kind of emotional connection, one that might linger indefinitely. But they really hadn’t. How could they? They’d just met. And they’d never see each other again.

  Yet the longer they sat in the soft glow emanating from the porch lights, the more surreal the evening seemed. Sure, Rickie was just as pretty, just as sexy as ever, but there was so much more to her. And if she lived around here...

  But she didn’t.

  Reluctantly, he removed his hand from her knee. “I grew up without a father, but my granddad tried to set a pretty good example for me. He was tough as nails, but he also had a soft side.”

  Again, she smiled. “So you grew up with a lot of love.”

  “Too much at times.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “My mom was one of those helicopter parents. She hovered over me, hell-bent on keeping me safe, close to home and under her wing.”

  At that, Rickie drew up both knees. Her smile deepened, sparking something in her pretty brown eyes. It felt pretty damn good to think that he’d done or said something that had caused her pleasure. But for some reason, he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about him or his mother.

  “You might think that’s cool,” he said, “but you have no idea how tough it was to live with a mom like mine. Our relationship was pretty strained most of the time, which caused me to rebel every chance I got.”

  Rickie cocked her head to the side, causing her curls to tumble over her shoulder. He was tempted to reach out, to touch them, to see if they were just as soft as they looked. But this time, he kept his hand to himself.

  “In what ways did you rebel?” she asked.

  He thought for a moment, wanting to choose the right example to share. For some dumb reason, he didn’t want to tell her about the time he and Duck got caught drinking Granddad’s Jack Daniel’s behind the barn. Or when he and Poncho lit up cigars in the old lot near the ball field and set the dried grass on fire.