It's been a year now, and everything has worked out even better than I had hoped. I started my new career, and while it wasn't easy, I have been steadily working my way up the ladder.
Gavin Jr. was born healthy, and he has two happy parents, that were married shortly after he was born. You could say I’ve had my Boss’s baby…
THE END
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SEAL’d To The Cowboy
Lance
“Ready to go, Starling?”
I turned my head, locating the voice coming from the grizzled old man with the huge cowboy hat. It was good old Hank! He was here to take me back to the ranch. I should have known.
It had been a long, long journey, in more ways than one. Five years of service with the SEALs, and now it was almost over. The final leg was driving back to the ranch, which would take about half a day from the airport.
I ran a hand over my chin. Stubble had formed, I hadn’t had time to shave. Once the decision had been made, I just legged it. From Iraq to New York, and then another plane to Wyoming.
I held out my hand. “Hank, you’re gold,” I said to the man. His face split with a smile from ear to ear.
Hank was the head ranch hand at my ranch, the Starling Ridge. He had taken the reigns while I was on service, and since the old man had died. I hadn’t been back to the ranch in over two years.
“You look like shit,” Hank grinned, then enveloped me in a bear hug. Damn, it felt good. I had been through things lately that had made me miss home so bad, it almost twitched like the nerve endings from an absent limb.
Lance Starling. Special Forces SEAL. Hero. The names and labels that were once me. They felt like the drooping ribbons pinned to the chest of a child after winning a second-grade sprint.
“Hell, some things never change, Hank,” I told the old ranch hand. “Still full of compliments, you old son of a bitch.”
Hank laughed. It felt like old times. We made our way to the parking lot.
I stopped when we got to the car. “Old Betsy is still running?” I couldn’t believe it. The 1970’s Chevy pick-up was here in all her glory. I thought she would have been relegated to the scrap heap years ago.
“Still purrs like a woman under my hands,” Hank grinned. We climbed into the old girl. I smiled to myself. Travelling in Betsy, we’d be lucky to make it home before dusk. The old girl didn’t clock anything over fifty on the speedometer.
We got out onto the Interstate. Hank turned the dial to his favorite country station. The sound of Waylon Jennings crackled through the speakers, warbling about lost love.
I stared out the window. My eyes saw the mountains of my home state, but in my mind’s eye I could still see that arid desert in Iraq, where everything had gone to shit…
“Sorry about Jack.” Hank’s voice broke into my reverie. His voice was gruff.
“Yeah, I’m sorry too,” I replied. What was there to say, when your best friend since elementary school had just been killed?
“Want to talk about it?”
“You know I can’t, Hank.” I flicked a small spider that was crawling on the dash. “Classified.”
“Hell, Lance, I’m not asking for details,” Hank responded. His eyes were still on the road. “I know that you can’t talk about that. But how did he die, at least? His parents have been told nothing. I think they deserve to know a little. Gemma, too.”
Gemma.
The letters of her name hung in the air. Hank had brought her to life; it was almost like the scent of her perfume seemed to fill the old Chevy. And now I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Gemma Fox. Fox by name, and fox by nature.
Back at Clear Creek High, it had always been the three of us. Jack, Gemma, and I. She had been the one girl who had always done it for me; no one else even came close. There had been a time when I was almost there with her. But Jack had stepped in, and then it was all over. Done, dusted. They had gone steady since senior year, and written each other for a long time after Jack and I joined the SEALS.
But they had broken up by long distance two years ago. Jack had been tight lipped about it, I never knew what had gone wrong. I knew that Jack had played around, bedding quite a few of the women who hung around where we drank on our time off. I had always said how fucked up it was, with a woman like Gemma at home. How could you play around on that?
The thought of Gemma – luscious breasts, ample curves, lips like bee stung pillows – filled my mind, but I could never go there. There was just too much history between her and Jack.
“Lance?”
The spider started to crawl back up the dash from where I had flicked it. Crystal Gayle was crooning from the radio about not making her brown eyes blue.
“Things went wrong,” I said eventually. “The mission was supposed to be straight forward, but we were duped. Jack was caught in the crossfire.” I felt my hands ball into fists. It still rubbed, badly, that I couldn’t save him.
“Gemma will ask you when we get to the ranch,” Hank said.
“She’s at the ranch?” That got my attention.
Hank turned to look at me, taking his eyes off the road momentarily. “She’s been working as the ranch cook for a year now,” he drawled. “Ever since her bakery in Clear Creek went belly up. Your Pa took pity on her. She needed a job. And she’s the best damn cook in Wyoming. Her barbeque ribs are so sweet they make a grown man cry.”
I laughed, despite myself. Old Hank sure did have a neat turn of phrase.
But I was unsettled.
I wanted to see her. Oh God, I wanted to see her so badly I could feel my cock tighten at the thought. But as much as I wanted to, I didn’t want to.
Gemma brought memories to the surface, that a man wanted to forget.
And then there was the laptop.
I could almost feel it on the back seat of Betsy; it was burning through the canvas of the bag like some artefact out of an Indiana Jones flick.
Jack’s laptop. Along with some of his other stuff, which I had taken after it had happened, intending to give it to his parents.
I wasn’t searching for anything personal, I had just been looking for something that might lead to what had gone wrong on that mission.
But when I saw her email address, I just couldn’t resist.
I had read it all. The disintegration of their relationship, how she suspected he was cheating on her, and how lonely she was. How she was trying to stay true to him, but he was so distant.
And then there were other things…
I felt the tightening in my loins again. Gemma. A real, hot blooded woman. She liked to talk dirty, saying in detail the things she would like Jack to do to her.
Which Jack never did, apparently.
I stared out the window, watching those mountain ranges whizz past.
Every mile bringing me closer to her.
Gemma
“Woo hoo Gemma girl, you sure look good in that dress.”
I felt the hand on my ass and turned quickly to swat it away. Old Forbes again, of course. That man had stickier fingers than the icing on a cinnamon bun.
“Now, Forbes, what have I told you about keeping your hands to yourself?” I stood there, hands on hips, looking down at him. He was seated at the long wooden table, wolfing down his second bowl of my chilli. Or had been, before seeing me.
Forbes grinned sheepishly. “Ah, Miss Gemma, you know I don’t mean no harm.”
I kept frowning, but I couldn’t help it. A smile broke through. These old timers really didn’t mean harm, they had just been brought up in a different time, and their habits were hard to break. I wouldn’t tolerate the same from the younger ones.
“Okay.” I pretended to cuff him. “Know better for next time.”
I walked back to the kitchen, ready to check on the apple pies in the oven.
It had certainly been a learning curve working at the ranch. I had had to dust off all the old favorite recipes that the ranch hand
s demanded. Mostly variations on steak…chicken fried steak, bison steak, beef steak, Rocky Mountain oysters. I didn’t mind, I loved all the old stuff just as much as they did. It was Mumma’s home cooking, pure and simple.
I had been trying to do something different at my bakery, though.
Maybe too different. The good folk of Clear Creek hadn’t appreciated my chouquettes and Portuguese tarts so much. They just liked their regular bakery fare. I had good business for a while when they were checking me out and because they were a loyal bunch, but it had bottomed out after only a year. I had to close a few days before Christmas. Not even the holiday rush could get me through.
It had been depressing. I had sulked for a while, then dusted myself off and started looking for other work. I had to look to the future. Old Mr Starling had heard I was looking, and offered me the chance to be head cook on his ranch.
It was a good job, great pay, nice lifestyle. But I hesitated.
I knew in my heart it was because of Lance.
I hadn’t seen him in years, not since Jack and I had broken up. And I hadn’t seen much of him prior, either. It was like he wanted to keep his distance, which hurt. It hurt like hell. Shoot, we had once been so close, we had almost…
I shook my head, trying not to burn myself on the pies as I got them out of the oven. I couldn’t afford to get distracted in the kitchen – I could lose a finger, scald myself, anything. You had to concentrate all the time when you were head cook.
“Jessie, could you start cutting these up?” I instructed to my assistant. The girl smiled, grabbing a knife and attacking the pies like they were about to leap up and bite her.
Pies out, I leaned against the kitchen bench, staring out at the three long wooden tables where the ranch hands were wolfing down their lunch. I liked it here, I really did. But Lance was coming home today, and I was nervous. I had managed to keep busy all morning, but the thought kept pushing its way to the top of my mind.
What would he be like? And would he tell me anything about what had happened to Jack?
I was over Jack, I really was. But I was still shocked and sad when I heard he had been killed. We had a long history. We were high school sweethearts. He had taken me to the prom. I had thought then that it was forever. You know, the white dress, the picket fence, two kids in the back of the pick-up. Sitting beside each other in the retirement home.
But Jack had changed. He started to get short with me, and irritated with my emails. When he was on his missions, it was the way we mostly communicated.
Then I heard the rumors, whispers at first, then stronger. Of how he would play around when he was on shore leave. Sometimes I only knew after the fact that he had been home at all.
I put two and two together. I mightn’t have been top of the class in math, but I could figure that out.
“Gemma?”
I swung around. Jessie was standing there, awaiting orders.
“Start bringing them out. I’ll get the other bowls.”
I walked out to the tables with my trolley, stacking the dirty dishes onto it and sharing a smile and a laugh with the men. But I did it with half a mind. The other half was thinking about him. Lance.
Butterflies started rearing up in my stomach. You are being stupid, I told myself. Lance doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. He has made that clear. Just do your job, keep your head down, and keep out of his way.
Wheeling the trolley back into the kitchen, I started stacking the dishwashers. It was Jessie’s job, really, but I never wanted to play Big Boss.
Lunch over, I grabbed a bowl of chilli for myself and a cup of coffee, heading to the lookout over the mountains.
It was my favorite spot. White tipped mountains and eagles hovering high in the distance. I had to admit I loved being out here, on the vast land. The bakery in Clear Creek, nestled amongst the town gossips, had never felt as good.
I sipped my coffee, cursing slightly as the scalding liquid hit my lips.
He would be here in a couple of hours. I had to finish my lunch quickly, finish the cleaning and prep for tonight’s dinner, then vamoose. If I wanted to keep my job here, I knew I would run into him. But every fibre of my being was telling me to play it safe and run while I still could.
Lance. My first true love, before Jack. It was still a mystery to me how Jack had come between us, how Jack and I had become the item, not me and Lance. It had always been Lance, before that. Lance was the one that I dreamed of, Lance was my first kiss, Lance had been my first everything…
I shivered slightly. I could still feel the touch of his skin, and the feel of his lips.
He had become even more attractive after he joined the SEALs, his naturally athletic frame had just become more buff. He looked like a Greek god, for Christ’s sake. I tried not to look at him too much when I did occasionally see him, it was bittersweet. And I knew there couldn’t be anything between us, anymore, after Jack. The Bro code, and all that.
Shit. I shielded my eyes against the sun, looking down the track. Was that the sound of Betsy?
It was. I was trapped.
It pulled up. Hank emerging from the driver’s side.
Then slowly, slowly. A long leg climbed out of the passenger’s side, followed by another. His tawny hair, buzz cut to an inch of its life, sparkled in the sun.
His eyes found mine, those baby blues that had always left me breathless.
“Gemma.” He wasn’t smiling. “It’s been too long.”
Lance
She was just as gorgeous as I remembered.
I couldn’t believe that it was really her. That she was standing there as we pulled up, like the sexiest welcoming party you ever saw. Her ample curves were displayed to full advantage in a 1950’s style green sundress, her generous bosom, her wide hips and long, long legs. She had always been more Marilyn than Audrey, a voluptuous siren rather than an elegant waif. Just the way I liked a woman, lots and lots to hang onto.
Her green eyes were hesitant, however. I could see her stiffen as I got out of Betsy and walked toward her.
“Lance,” she said, after I had greeted her. “It’s been so long, it seems a lifetime ago.”
I had to acknowledge the truth of that. The days at Clear Creek High seemed like they had happened to another man. I had been out in the world, caught up in my missions. I knew the ranch would be there for me, when I wanted to go back, but I always put it off.
Another mission, and then another. Until the last, when it had all gone belly up and exploded like fireworks in my face.
“You’re looking good,” I told her now, my eyes slowly raking over her. She hadn’t cut her hair, it was still the mass of long, golden honey curls it had always been. I had a sudden vision of my hands in that hair, pulling it backwards, snaking fingers through it…
“Thanks, Lance,” she answered, but her eyes were still wary. She looked at me as if I were a grenade that might trigger at any moment.
“Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you coffee,” she said now, walking back to the main house. “You must be tired after your trip.”
Yes, indeed I was, more tired than I could ever remember. But something about being back here, in the pure mountain air of Wyoming, on the ranch, it had given me a second wind. I felt like I could start preparing for a new mission, I was suddenly so energised. Could run 200 miles and swim half the ocean.
I tried to ignore that the feeling probably had something to do with seeing Gemma as well.
We sat at the kitchen table, Gemma pouring coffees for Hank and myself. The old ranch hand had joined us. I had a feeling they wanted answers, and had much to say themselves. I could feel myself tensing.
“So,” Gemma sat down opposite me. “Tell me… Jack?” Her voice had a fine tremor in it.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair, what there was of it.
“What do you want me to say, Gemma?” My voice when it finally came, was rougher than I intended. She stiffened.
“I think we deserv
e to know a little more than the official version,” she spat back. “All the O’Grady’s got was ‘Killed in Active Service.’ How do you think that feels, for them? And me, as well?”
“It is what it is,” I responded. “You have all known the drill for a long time now. It’s part of being a SEAL. We do covert operations, and we get that things can go wrong at any time. Men die, Gemma.”
“But what happened to Jack?”
“Jack was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I finally responded. “Shit, you know I can’t give you details of the mission. It’s so classified even the goddamn vice-president probably doesn’t know anything about it.”
She looked down, studying her coffee cup. “Was it quick, or was he tortured?”
“It was quick,” I said. It had been no such thing, but she didn’t need to know that. None of them did. How could it help their grief, to have all the intricate details of how a man can die at war?
Her lip started quivering. Shit, she was about to burst into tears.
“Hey.” I reached for her hand across the table. She pulled hers back as if my touch was tainted with poison ivy.
“I don’t want platitudes, Lance,” she whispered. Her eyes were swimming with tears. “You both said you’d look out for each other, that you would have each other’s backs through it all. Why didn’t you have Jack’s?”
I flinched, as if she had struck me. “I did my best, Gemma.” Keep it together, I told myself. “I tried to save him. It all just went to shit, very quickly. I couldn’t get there in time.”
I felt like the words were being pulled out of me by draught horses. Why was she probing this pain? Didn’t she realise that Jack was like a brother to me, that I would have given my life for his? That I couldn’t sleep at night, as I replayed it over and over in my head. Trying to figure out how I could have saved him.
Fake Fiancé Next Door_A Small Town Romance Page 36