Wind River Cowboy

by Lindsay McKenna

  Garret expertly cut the omelet in half, placing each on a red ceramic plate. The toast popped and he quickly slathered it with butter and placed it over the eggs. He slid a plate toward her. “Now, eat. All of it. I’m gonna start weighing you once a week and keep tabs on your weight.”

  She smiled a little. “You’re really mother-henning me, Fleming. What gives?” She saw that lazy smile come to his face. In the past it had meant Garret was in a teasing mood, something she always loved about him when it happened.

  Garret sauntered to the fridge and drew out jars of strawberry and apricot jam. He then brought the coffeepot to the table and refilled their mugs. “I’ve always been a hen with chicks. You know that.”

  “Well,” she grumped good-naturedly, picking up the apricot jam jar and opening it, “that’s true. All the kids in the village, when they first met you, were scared to death of you. I’m sure you looked like the Jolly Green Giant to them.”

  “Yeah, I scared the hell outta them with my size,” he admitted, sitting down at her right elbow. Garret tackled the strawberry jam, taking no prisoners.

  “But later,” Kira archly reminded him, savoring the delicious omelet, “they found out you were a big, overstuffed teddy bear. All warm and fuzzy.”

  Garret groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. He opened them, staring at her. “Oh, come on! You’re not going to tell everyone here about that, are you?”

  Kira gave him a sly look. “I won’t if you don’t start calling me Trouble again.” That was her nickname in the team, and he’d been the one to give it to her and it stuck.

  Garret’s eyes glistened. His mouth curved ruefully. “I see where this is going.”

  “Better believe it. I’ll keep your secrets if you keep mine.” Kira discovered she was starving and rapidly ate everything on her plate. She had half an hour before she had to be over at Ray’s house. The thirty minutes was a pure, unexpected gift to her. Just getting to sit with Garret, to see strands of his short, sandy-colored hair dipping over his broad brow, that layer of sleepiness still in his eyes, made her want to reach out and cup his stubbled jaw, lean forward and curve her mouth over his smiling one.

  “What? Trouble suited you perfectly at the village. You were always getting into some kind of trouble there.”

  “Or I was getting out of it,” she reminded him, laughing. “You just remember the times when I needed one of you guys to help me.”

  “Yeah,” Garret said drolly, “like the time it had rained for three days straight one winter. And you took our Humvee out and was test driving it and ran into a puddle? Only the puddle was masking a four-foot-deep hole? It swallowed half that Humvee and flooded the floorboards with dirty water.”

  “Geeze,” Kira muttered, shaking her head, “you remember that?”

  He snickered and finished off his omelet. “How could I forget it?”

  “I hit the brakes, but it was too late, and I was too close to avoid the pothole,” she defended herself, relishing their repartee.

  “That was the story you told the guys,” Garret deadpanned, mopping up the leavings on his plate with the last of his toast. “Everyone bought your explanation except me.”

  She gave him a dirty look.

  “Hey, you got distracted.”

  “You never said anything about it then,” Kira accused, pushing her plate to one side, still grinning.

  Shrugging, Garret said, “Well, okay, here’s the truth of that little event. Everyone else was on the west side of the village when it happened. I was walking on the east side along the road. I saw a mother goat and her two kids run right in front of you.” Garret lowered his voice, holding her gaze. “Instead of hitting them, you swerved and landed in that mud hole.”

  “You knew?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why didn’t you rat me out?”

  Shrugging, Garret said quietly, “Because you’re a softy at heart, Kira, and if I’d been in your shoes that morning, I’d have done the same thing. Those other guys would have had goat steak for dinner that night and paid the owner for the loss of the animals in US dollars. Everyone would have walked away happy except the goats. You took the high road and did the right thing for the right reason.”

  “Hmm,” Kira said, sipping her coffee, eyeballing him. His voice had gone low and intimate, ruffling the edges of her lower body. Her skin riffled, as if he’d reached out and caressed her. He hadn’t, and Kira wished he would. “So, you do keep some secrets.” She knew Garret had never mentioned the night she’d had the terrible menstrual cramps to anyone else either. He’d protected her. If the other guys had heard about it, they would have razzed the daylights out of her. But he’d never said a peep to anyone. It had been their secret.

  Garret gave her a narrow-eyed look. “I’m just full of secrets.”

  “Apparently, some about me.” Kira watched him give her a teasing grin, his eyes glinting, reminding her of a hunter who had his quarry sighted.

  “Oh, more than a few,” he assured her lightly, standing and picking up their empty plates. “But your secrets, Trouble, are all safe with me.”

  Kira burst out laughing, his teasing lifting her spirits higher than they’d been since she’d gotten wounded. Garret had never teased her meanly, not ever. Some of the other guys had, but it was just their way and she didn’t take it personally.

  She watched him rinse the plates and flatware, placing them in the dishwasher. Absorbing Garret’s presence into herself, Kira felt like she was in some kind of dream and was afraid she’d wake up and find it was just that: a dream. The months of suffering and grieving over not being able to find him after she’d been wounded had scored her to her soul. She’d had grief over the loss of ten friends to deal with. Even more for the man she’d fallen in love with and had disappeared off the face of the earth. Kira had thought Garret didn’t want to ever see her again, and that was why he’d never contacted her.

  How wrong she’d been. Appreciating his maleness as he turned, came back to the table and sat down, she felt a yearning coming from him. It was subtle, but it was there. Hungrily, she basked in his presence, grateful for any small, intimate moments she could share with him. Kira didn’t fool herself. She understood this was one-sided. But it was as if she were being given a second chance with Garret, and this time she didn’t have to hide how she felt toward him.

  What she did have to do was be patient. She was new to this ranch. It was a job, and one she desperately needed. She had to prove herself worthy of it to the ranch owners. Over time, if something just naturally blossomed between them, she would know. If it didn’t, she’d be disappointed, but at least she’d understand where Garret stood with her once and for all.

  Garret moved the cup between his hands, his brows dipping. “Listen, you need to go lightly with Ray Crawford. Listen a lot, say little. Okay?”

  “Yes,” she said, sobering, “I’ve got it.”

  “If he doesn’t like you, Kira, he’ll find some way to get you fired. Shay likes to think she’s free of her father’s influence, but she’s in denial, only fooling herself.”

  Horrified over that prospect, one she hadn’t thought about last night, Kira frowned, holding Garret’s troubled gaze. “How do I avoid that?”

  “Ray doesn’t respect women. You need to be like a subservient Afghan wife.”

  Kira snorted.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Oh, I know you are. But I hate that role, Garret. I’m not good at playing games. I’m only good at being myself.”

  “I understand. Ray’s a talker. Be a listener. Don’t give feedback to the bastard unless he asks for it. Take it all in, but don’t give him anything he could possibly use against you. The less he knows about you, the safer you’ll be and the fewer feathers will get ruffled as a result.”

  Her stress level was rising. She could feel it amping up like a hungry monster that had been awakened and was now prowling around inside her. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”

  “You’ll d
o all right, Kira. You were always so good at reading the Afghan people, the guys, even me. You’ll figure this out and then go into stealth mode with Crawford. Just pretend it’s a black ops situation. You’re in an enemy camp gathering intelligence.” He grinned a little.

  “I can do that,” she said, rising. “Thanks for breakfast. You really have spoiled me.” She saw a glittering look in Garret’s dark green-and-gold eyes. It took her back a pace as she stared down at him. What was that look all about? She was unsure, but it felt like a man wanting his woman. How ridiculous was that? Kira knew she was misreading Garret’s energy and expression. He’d never come on to her. Not once. This was her overactive imagination at work as usual.

  “I’ll make you breakfast every morning unless I’m gone on an assignment somewhere,” he promised. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the barn, oiling and greasing the machinery in there. What time are you coming home for lunch?”

  Home for lunch. Kira thought it sounded like a husband and wife talking about the day’s events. Home. Yes, this surely felt like a home with Garret unexpectedly in it. Kira was sure she was still in shock over the situation. “1300, one p.m.”

  “I like Zulu time.”

  She smiled and pushed the chair beneath the table. “We’re military through and through. We’ll probably never take that skin off ourselves.” Drowning in the warmth she saw in Garret’s eyes as he studied her, Kira felt suddenly nervous. That same feeling, of being wanted by him, embraced her powerfully. This time Kira knew she wasn’t imagining things.

  Hurrying to the sink, she dumped the last of her coffee and rinsed the cup. “What are you going to make for us?”

  “I don’t know. What do you like?”

  You. Kira gulped, biting down on her lower lip, the word almost leaping out of her mouth. “I—don’t know.”

  “How about if I surprise you?”

  She picked up the purse she’d hung on a wooden peg after pulling on her nylon parka. Slinging the leather strap across her left shoulder, she said, “Surprises aren’t high on my list, if you know what I mean.” Because any surprise—a sudden noise, a sudden movement—spiraled her anxiety and shot it through the roof.

  Garret twisted around in the chair. “Okay, how about grilled tuna fish sandwiches with Swiss cheese melted on them?”

  Kira opened the door. “That sounds really good. Thank you.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me yet, Trouble.”

  She grinned and said flippantly, “How many people have you poisoned with your food, Fleming?”

  Chuckling, Garret raised his thick, dark brows. “None so far. Want to be the first?”

  Her eyes danced with laughter. “I’m done with surprises, being a guinea pig and being first in anything. I’m opting for a very quiet, uneventful life. Aren’t you?”

  Garret gave her a burning look. “With the right person, life takes on some pretty damned nice aspects.”

  Kira tilted her head, unsure of what he was referring to, but that burning look was back in his eyes. “I gotta run.” She lifted her hand. “See you at 1300, one p.m.”

  “I’ll be here, Trouble.”

  She laughed softly, shaking her finger in his direction. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a bad boy trying to act good, Fleming?”

  Shrugging noncommittally, Garret murmured, “I’ve always been a bad boy. I just hid it from you when you knew me before. Now the gloves come off . . .”

  “Uh-oh,” Kira teased with a lilting laugh, “then I’m the one who’s in trouble!” She saw Garret give her a searing look that made her breasts instantly tighten and her whole lower body take off, howling for hot, raw sex with him. The awareness jolted through her, taking her breath away for a moment. The look Garret was giving her was one a woman could very accurately read. He wanted her . . .

  Chapter Five

  Kira tried to settle her nerves as she knocked on and entered the back door that led to Ray Crawford’s kitchen. He was at the kitchen counter, frowning. When he saw her, his scowl deepened.

  “You’re late!” he snapped.

  Kira felt the slap of his anger as she shut the door. “Shay told me to come over at 0700 to make you breakfast,” she said, her gut tightening instantly. The man’s small, close-set brown eyes were filled with rage. She felt it as if it were the Taliban about ready to kill her. Her heart began to hammer and she felt adrenaline spike through her, making her feel as if she were in combat. At least Ray wasn’t pointing a gun at her. Yet. He looked angry enough to hit her as he stood stiffly at the counter, his hands curving into fists.

  “I hate that military shit! Speak to me in English, girl.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, struggling out of her parka and hanging it up on a wall peg.

  “And don’t you sir me, either. Where the hell is my coffee?” and he jerked his hand across the counter, the parts and pieces of the coffeemaker strewn across it.

  Kira walked over, quickly gathering the parts, her hands shaking. She didn’t like being this close to Crawford. He might be partially paralyzed, but he was a big, intimidating man. She hated the glare he gave her. “If you’ll go sit down at the table, Mr. Crawford, I’ll get your coffee made and then your breakfast.” Her voice was wobbling, she was so shocked and frightened by his unexpected attack.

  Snorting, Crawford grabbed the one crutch leaning against the counter. “I hope like hell you make good coffee.”

  Relief swam through her as he hobbled awkwardly to the table on the one crutch beneath his left armpit. She winced as he jerked out a chair, the legs scraping loudly against the oak floor. Trying to settle her shot nerves, Kira looked through the cupboards until she located a tin of coffee. Some of the coffee spilled on the counter because she couldn’t stop her hands from trembling.

  “You’re late, you know.”

  Kira plugged in the coffeemaker and turned. “Your daughter told me to be here at seven a.m., Mr. Crawford. I’m sorry if you’re upset that I’m late. Is there a better time for me to be over here to make you breakfast?” Kira felt herself crumpling up inwardly, her stomach tightening. She wanted to run. The urge was so powerful, she had to anchor herself at the counter.

  “I told Shay six thirty a.m.! What the hell! Women are so goddamned stupid!”

  Anger stirred through Kira and her eyes narrowed on Crawford’s angry face. “People make mistakes. I’ll be here at that time tomorrow morning,” she said in as soothing a tone as possible. Right now she wanted to get the hell away from this man as fast as she could. Her dad was a gentle person who had never raised his voice to her; he’d been her support when she was growing up.

  This man, if she could ever possibly look at him as father material, was a raging bull in comparison. Kira suddenly felt very sorry for Shay. Had he been like this when Shay was growing up? She couldn’t even begin to understand how she had become as nice as she was. This man was abusive, just as Garret had warned her he would be.

  Kira needed this job and she had to get through this bad patch with Ray, who was sitting there breathing hard, his hands in fists on the table, glaring nonstop at her. Garret had said Crawford didn’t respect women. Check that box.

  “I’m hungry, dammit!”

  “What would you like for breakfast?” Kira asked, trying to sound pleasant. Her throat was tight with tension. Her body was trembling inwardly, and it was all she could do to stand and look relaxed.

  “I thought Shay told you what I liked to eat!”

  “She did,” and Kira started naming off about ten dishes she’d mentioned. She saw Crawford’s tight face ease a little.

  “Well, you’ve got a good memory, I’ll give you that. I want pancakes.”

  It would have been nice if he’d added a please with his request, but Kira knew Crawford wasn’t interested in being social. He struck her as an embittered, angry person. “Coming up,” she said cheerfully, turning to find the items she’d need to make them.

  “How soon will my coffee be ready?”

 
; Kira knew he could see the glass pot on the coffeemaker just as well as she could. Bending down, looking in a cupboard for some stainless-steel bowls, she said, “Looks to be halfway done. I’ll pour you a cup as soon as it’s ready.”

  Silence settled over the brittle tension in the kitchen. Jumpy, her nerves screaming for relief, Kira’s hands were anything but steady. She got this way in severe, stressful circumstances. Wishing she could control it, she tried to focus on making the pancake batter. One of the symptoms of PTSD was the inability to concentrate. Her mind was soaked in adrenaline and cortisol now, the fight-or-flight hormones. Kira struggled by the second to keep her mind on the ingredients.

  “Get my coffee!”

  Crawford’s voice whipped over her. Cringing, Kira looked up to realize the coffee was ready. Distracted, she moved too soon, the spoon flipping out of the bowl, the batter splattering beneath the cupboards and onto the tile backsplash and counter. Panic hit her and she froze, her eyes widening as she saw the batter dripping off the bottom of the cupboards. Oh, God . . .

  “I want it now. Not tomorrow, girl.”

  Clenching her teeth, something she did when a panic attack struck, Kira moved jerkily toward the cupboard where the cups were kept. She brought one down. Coffee splashed around the cup, her hand shaking. Taking deep breaths, one after another, she tried to force down the worst of the panic.

  “Do you like sugar or milk, Mr. Crawford?”

  “Both.”

  Kira hurried to the fridge and found a quart of milk. It took her a long minute to locate the sugar. And then she had to find a small bowl to pour some of it into, not wanting to hand him the five-pound package. Hurrying, she took the coffee and set it in front of him. Kira knew better than to try to juggle all three items in her hands at once. Not when she was feeling out of sorts like this. Sweat began to trickle down from beneath her armpits. She felt shaky, dying for some fresh, cold air.

  After delivering the items, she started back toward the batter on the counter.