by Marnee Blake
“Interesting.” Rodriguez cut her off, turning her recorder off with a press, pocketing it. A click sounded next to Charlie, as loud as a cannon blast. Spike and his Nikon were next to her. She glared. She’d tried to avoid him, but the guy was like a tick she couldn’t shake.
As if Reporter Rodriguez had sent him some sort of silent signal, the two of them began to pack up their gear. Rodriguez smiled, offering them both her hand as Spike stowed his camera and lenses, zippering them all in with infinite care. “Thank you both for having us.”
Charlie didn’t see how she’d had a choice, but she tried for a smile. “I suppose it was a pleasure.”
“Of course.” Rodriguez’s smile was too sweet. She turned to Hunter, looking him over again. “It was a pleasure to spend so much time with you. You have my number? In case you’d like to keep in touch?”
Again, Charlie wasn’t sure if she imagined the innuendo. Hunter, though, continued his charming smile. She wondered if it hurt. “Of course. I have your card.”
“Wonderful.” She waved, following Spike. “I’ll email you with a link when the piece appears online.”
She didn’t wait, only wiggled her fingers and floated past the receptionist, out the door.
Charlie glared after her. “She’s awful.”
Hunter smirked. “Like a pretty viper.”
She laughed, but she couldn’t help feeling as if the reporter had taken her peace of mind with her.
* * * *
Hunter had never been happier to see someone leave. Hearing the door chime as the reporter and the photographer walked out filled him with relief.
He had done it. He had made it through the interviews and the picture-taking. After almost a year, he was going to be officially discharged from all the rehabilitation and therapy. Maybe everything had been on hold these past eleven months, but now he could pick up where he’d left off.
Charlie smiled at him, handing the file she’d been using to track his progress to Tracy, the receptionist. “Here’s Mr. Buchanan’s file. I think his discharge papers are on Leslie’s desk. I’ll run back and get them.”
As Charlie left him in the doorway, retreating to Leslie’s office in the back, he couldn’t help wondering about the strained set of her jaw and mouth.
If he’d been anxious about being interviewed, she’d been downright uncomfortable. The entire time, she’d done everything she could to stay out of the way, keeping her head down, answering questions with the simplest responses. It probably hadn’t been apparent to Rodriguez because she’d never met Charlie before, but to him, her behavior had been odd. Every other interaction he’d had with her, she’d been full of laughter, the center of the party. She had the kind of open smile that invited people to gather around her and that way of putting people at ease that had never come naturally to him. He could charm people, if he set his mind to, especially women, but that sort of natural charisma wasn’t part of who he was.
Today? She’d been in hiding.
Still, her presence had made the entire experience much easier for him. How, he wasn’t sure. He’d had a few other panic attacks over the past couple of months. The closer he got to boarding a plane and parachuting out, the worse they seemed to get. But the one before today had gone on much longer, been much worse. Something about Charlie’s presence had calmed him. Maybe it was having someone there, because the other times he’d been alone. Or maybe it was something about Charlie specifically. He didn’t know.
What he did know was that if she could do that today, maybe she could help him finish this up. He was going to get through rookie training. Every second for eleven months, he’d focused on that goal. He’d been derailed last year, but that wasn’t going to happen this year. He’d pushed hard, physically. He was running again, lifting again. All of it. In a couple of weeks, if he stuck with the training regimen he’d devised, he’d be in top shape. Just like before.
But was he ready to jump? He wasn’t sure. He’d been putting it off. He’d told himself he’d wait until he was physically fixed, until he was discharged. Except here he was, done with his rehab, and thinking about getting back in the air made his heartbeat kick up.
Charlie had helped, though. Somehow. He only needed to figure out how.
Sauntering over, he leaned against the doorjamb of Leslie’s office and wiped sweat out of his eyes, on the shoulder of his T-shirt. “Hey, thanks for your help.”
She didn’t look up, digging under a mountain of papers. “You’re welcome. I know the discharge papers are here. I’ll have Tracy get your insurance paperwork together and we’ll get you out of here.”
“No, not with the therapy.” He shrugged, crossing an arm over his chest and gripping his elbow, stretching out the shoulder he’d worked out. He’d pushed hard today, determined to prove to everyone that he was tip-top. Between the barometric pressure of the upcoming rain and his added effort, his recovered arm was sore. “I mean with what happened in here.” He nudged his head toward Leslie’s door.
“Oh.” Charlie glanced up, pausing in her search, and offered him a smile. Something about it made him want to smile back. “No problem.”
“No, really.” He didn’t like that she was waving her help off. “It would have been embarrassing to have that come out in the paper, that talking to a reporter made me panic.”
“Well, talking to reporters would make me panic, too,” she mumbled, her grin having faded. “Aha. Here are the forms.“ She lifted the paperwork, triumph on her face. She opened the drawer, and then started rooting around, a crinkle between her eyes.
“Can I help you find something?”
“I need a…pen….” The tip of her tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth in her concentration, and he found himself completely distracted by it. “There we go.” She clicked the pen and started scribbling her initials in a few places, unaware that her full lips had derailed him.
Shaking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest. What the hell? He shouldn’t be staring at her mouth. He definitely shouldn’t notice how full and appealing the shape of it was. “Well, thank you for everything, seriously.”
“No big deal.” She tucked the page into a folder before holding it out to him. “There you go.”
The phone on the desk beeped. “Miss Jones? One of your personal training clients is on the phone. Mr. Stephenson.”
She leaned forward and pushed a button. “Thanks, Tracy. Tell Marcus I’ll be with him in a moment.”
“Personal training?”
“I do personal training on the side, through a local gym.” She shrugged. “For extra cash. Anyway, tell Meg I said hey and that we need to get together for drinks. I’ll text her this weekend.”
“Will do.” He could tell she was busy and wanted to dismiss him. She was working. But, irrationally, it bothered him that she wanted him to go. Because he wasn’t as eager to leave her company. Why, he wasn’t sure, and he refused to think too hard about it.
Besides, this was exactly the opportunity he needed. “Hey, do you have space for another client right now?”
She blinked up at him. Her eyes were a pretty brown, he noticed offhand, rimmed with thick lashes. “You’re done with physical therapy.”
“No, I mean as a personal training client.” Not that he actually needed a trainer. He was fit and advanced enough that he could probably be a trainer himself. But hiring her would be the perfect excuse to spend more time with her. The way she’d helped him through his panic attack? If she had secret tips on how to do that, he needed to learn them.
He could probably ask, but if he did, he’d have to acknowledge that the attacks were more of an issue than he’d led her to believe. Not that they were, granted. A few bouts of anxiety weren’t a problem. Once he got through a jump, he’d be fine. He was sure of it.
“You need a personal trainer?” She trailed her gaze over him, skeptical. And was that apprecia
tion?
No. He was imagining that.
Thinking fast, he nodded. “It would be a big help. I’m supposed to start rookie training in a couple weeks.” He left out that Mitch hadn’t exactly cleared him yet. Need-to-know basis. “And I could use an extra push.”
“You want me,” she glanced down at herself, “to train you?”
Correction: “You want me”—she glanced down at herself—“to train you?” She waved her hand over him.
Fine, when she said it like that, he could see why she might wonder. Not that she wasn’t in good shape. The workout gear she was wearing now, leggings and a tank top over a sports bra, revealed toned muscles, a flat belly, and shapely legs. Not that he had noticed before.
It’s only that he was at least a foot taller than her petite frame. And, well, he’d already been training hard. He wouldn’t brag, but he was all muscle right now.
“Not to point it out, Hunter, but you don’t look like you need me. I usually work with people who are, I don’t know, losing weight to take pressure off prior injuries. Or trying to get their blood sugar or cholesterol under control. Stuff like that. You?” Again, her eyes swept over him. Whatever was in that gaze made him want her to keep looking at him. “You don’t need me.”
She motioned to her phone. “I need to get this.”
“Right.” He didn’t know how to convince her without sounding like a complete dick. “Thanks, though. I appreciated your help today.”
She grinned, obviously thankful that he was dropping it. “Hey, no problem.”
She nodded again. He backed away, and again, he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t really want to leave. He should be running out of here.
Snagging his gym bag, he slung it over his shoulder and headed toward the door. Her voice stopped him. “Hey, Hunter?”
“Yeah?”
She waved, this time her smile almost wistful. “Take care, okay?”
He waved back, swallowing around a surprisingly tight throat. What was going on here? “Will do, Charlie.”
With nothing else to do, he left.
Chapter Four
“So Charlie does personal training, huh?” Hunter followed his sister into the kitchen of their mom’s house the next night, depositing the dishes he’d gathered into the sink. He scraped the scraps into the garbage before rinsing the dishes and loading them in the dishwasher.
These family dinners had become more frequent this past year. They weren’t always on the same day of the week thanks to everyone’s erratic schedules, but they were nearly weekly.
His sister paused while putting leftovers into Tupperware to toss him a quizzical look. “My friend Charlie? Or is there a Charlie at the air center I don’t know?”
“Your friend. Charlie.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She used the serving spoon to force the potatoes in before she sealed the lid. “Olivia works out with her. Says she’s good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She wrinkled her brow. “Why are you asking?” There was the skeptical sister routine.
“Well, I was thinking maybe she might be able to help me. You know, I need to hit it hard before training.” That was true enough, if not the whole truth.
She washed her hands, drying them before reaching into her purse on the table to grab her phone. “Here, let me get her contact information.”
“Actually, I was wondering if you could maybe ask her for me.” He leaned back against the sink, playing it cool. Not because he didn’t want to hang out with Charlie, but because Meg was his sister. There would be questions.
There were always questions.
“I think she’d be fine if you called. Here, let me send you her contact.” Meg hadn’t looked up from her phone.
Damn it. “It would be great if you could talk to her.”
“Wait.” She glanced up, phone in hand. Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
He almost rolled his eyes. Questions, as predicted. None of his brothers was this wary. What was it about his sister that she had to question everything?
Then again, growing up with two older brothers and two younger brothers might be the reason she was so suspicious.
He sighed. “Because I already asked her.”
“And?” Now her eyebrows were up.
“And she said no.” He tried not to glare but probably failed.
“Huh.” She locked her phone screen and slipped it into her back pocket, returning to the leftovers.
That didn’t give him any answers. He glared at her auburn ponytail. “So, will you help me?”
“If she said no, then no. There have to be other trainers around. I can ask at my gym. I need to go run tonight anyway.” She cast him a grin over her shoulder. “I’m on the downhill stretch of my training.”
She was training for a marathon. Hunter didn’t understand her fascination with running. He ran because he had to, for cardio and endurance. His weirdo sister thought it was fun. “After a full turkey dinner?”
“It’s only a few miles.”
“Right.” At that, he did roll his eyes. Couldn’t help it. “Listen, I’d rather it be her.”
“Why?”
“Why?” he repeated.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Well.” He didn’t understand why it was this important that it was her. She’d helped him through his panic this morning. But he couldn’t exactly tell Meg that. “Well, she’s familiar with my recovery.”
“She wasn’t your physical therapist, right?”
“No,” he hedged. “But she works there. She knows what Leslie did, I’m sure.” He wasn’t actually sure, but it was a good argument. “And, she’s nice.” Meg couldn’t exactly refute that. Charlie was one of her friends. “She smiles a lot.”
He had no idea why he’d added that. His sister must have wondered, too, because she gave him a look that said he was nuts. It was true, though. Charlie had an amazing smile. It made things better. Lighter, maybe. Like being in the sunshine.
He shook his head. Jesus. He wasn’t this poetic.
“I think she’s a good fit and I don’t have time to test out someone else. I need to get going.” True enough. Because the sooner he tackled whatever was going on and got jumping out of a plane again, the better.
“Seriously, I don’t know why you can’t call her yourself.” Meg folded her arms over her chest, offering him a stubborn glare.
“Meg, honey, can’t you see that your brother wants you to go to bat for him with a pretty girl?” Meg’s boyfriend, Lance Roberts, carried a mostly empty casserole dish into the kitchen. “Look at him. He obviously needs help in the dating department. Who would want to go out with that guy?”
Hunter punched him in the arm, but he couldn’t help grinning at the guy. When they were boys, they’d been the best of friends. After their fathers were killed jumping a wildfire and Lance’s dad was blamed for the death of his and Meg’s father, they’d grown apart—too much awfulness between them all. When Lance had returned last year to join the rookie training, everything had come out about what actually had transpired that day. In the end, Lance’s father’s name had been cleared and Hunter’s uncle had killed himself, unable to deal with his own guilt, having set in motion the events that resulted in both men’s deaths.
Since then, things had been better between him and Lance. It helped that Lance had saved Hunter’s life, cutting the twisted parachute that would have interfered in his reserve parachute’s deployment. If it hadn’t been for Lance, Hunter would have died when his parachute hadn’t opened. Instead, he’d been severely injured, barely escaping with his life.
Not that he’d been lucky. But he could acknowledge that it could have been worse.
That Lance clearly adored his sister didn’t hurt his opinion of the guy either.
“Shut up, dickhead.”
“G
ood comeback, asshole.”
Hunter retaliated by throwing the towel at Lance’s head. But his grin faded when he caught Meg’s calculating stare. He wanted to deny that he was interested in Charlie. This wasn’t about that. Sure, Charlie was attractive. Not exactly pretty in the conventional way, but she had nice eyes and a wide mouth. And her body, well, her body was smoking hot. She was shorter than he usually dated. He was a tall guy, so he usually dated taller girls. But something about her petite, strong, and compact body definitely did it for him.
Not that it was about that, either, though.
But he couldn’t say that to Meg. Because whatever got her to call Charlie and convince her to help him would further his agenda.
Meg pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped on the face for a second before slipping it back there and turning to the dishes again.
“Well?” he asked her. Seriously, sisters could be so annoying.
“I texted her. I’ll see if she wants to get coffee or something tomorrow, after I run in the morning. It’s Sunday, so she’ll probably sleep in long enough for me to get some miles in.”
He resisted the urge to fist pump, trying to play it cool, and ignored Lance’s too-astute gaze. “Thanks, Meg. I owe you one.”
* * * *
“So,” Charlie started, sipping her smoothie. “What’s this visit about?”
Though she always enjoyed getting together with Meg, the impromptu coffee talks and dessert breaks had been few and far between these past few months. Meg had been working longer hours, trying to bank her time so that when she cut back to start rookie training again, it wouldn’t impact her checkbook. But, more, she was spending a lot of time with Lance.
Which was what Charlie suspected this early Sunday smoothie run was really about. Meg and Lance had been together for almost a year. She wondered if they were ready to take the next step.
She hoped so. She liked Lance, but mostly she loved how happy her friend was. Meg deserved all the best in the world.
“What? I need a special reason to come hang out with my friend?”
“Early on a Sunday? Yes,” Charlie deadpanned. When Meg laughed, Charlie lowered her smoothie. Banana and peanut butter. One of her favorites. “Seriously, though. You didn’t drive up here on a weekend just to get breakfast with me.”