by Sandra Owens
“That’s cool.” He stopped at the door to his truck and leaned against it. “Back to your schedule. I was thinking about taking Dakota for a short hike on Sunday. Would you and Rambo like to tag along?”
Her heart thumped. Was he thinking of it as a date, or did tag along just mean hanging out for a few hours with a friend? Her vote was on it being a date. “Sure. That sounds like fun.”
“Great. In the meantime, I guess I’ll see you on Friday for Rambo’s second lesson. Give me a call when you get home, and I’ll head over.”
“I will.” An awkward silence fell between them when he made no move to get in his truck. Was there more he wanted to say, or was he waiting for her to say something?
“So...” She trailed off. What? You’re the most interesting man I’ve met in a long time, maybe ever. Or, I love your eyes. They remind me of the sky on a beautiful spring day, and as soon as I get to my studio, I’m going to try to duplicate their color. Even better, would you like to kiss me?
Rambo jumped up on his legs, and she tore her gaze away from Jack’s face to look down at her dog. “It’s so embarrassing when he does that to people.”
“It’s a behavior you want to curb. For now, ignore him, and he’ll give up. If you react, even to scold him, he’s getting the attention he wants. Once he learns to sit on command, you can tell him to do that when he jumps on someone.”
“Then sitting needs to be his next lesson.”
“Noted.” He grinned. “I know it’s hard, but just keep reminding yourself that patience is a virtue.”
“Not one of my strengths.”
“Another thing we have in common.” He opened the truck door. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Nichole.”
“You, too.” Was it her imagination, or had his voice turned softer when he’d said her name? Probably her mind working overtime because that was what she wanted to believe. She watched him drive away until his taillights faded from view.
“Rambo, I think I’m toast.”
Chapter Four
The pain was intense. Jack had hoped that by now his arm and shoulder would feel like they were healing, but it wasn’t happening. Sweat dotted his forehead from the exercises his physical therapist put him through. He would get full use of his arm back, and he would return to his team. He just had to work harder.
“Three times a week isn’t cutting it, Heather. Start booking me in for Tuesdays and Thursdays, too.”
“You’re already pushing yourself too hard, Jack. You run the risk of doing even more damage.”
“Then make sure that doesn’t happen.” She didn’t get it. His team needed him. He knew no other life outside of the military.
“No additional sessions.” She sighed. “Look, I know how badly you want back with your team, but risking further injury isn’t the way to go about it. Have you made an appointment to see a doctor yet since coming home?” She shook her head when he didn’t answer. “You haven’t, have you?”
He didn’t need to see another doctor. He knew his body, and all he needed to be able to do was hold an assault rifle in his shooting hand without trembling. A little girl could hold seven pounds without shaking, and that he couldn’t made him want to put his fist through a wall.
“Five days a week, Heather. Either with you supervising or two days on my own.” He was already doing some of that anyway.
Heather Matthews was a ballbuster physical therapist, and he liked her for that. She worked him until he came close to begging for mercy. Not that he ever would, but she was exactly what he needed. Except when she didn’t fall in line with his plans. Her husband had been Delta Force, so military dudes pushing their weight around didn’t faze her.
“No to both. Not five days a week, or you going off on your own except for the exercises I gave you to do at home.” She glanced at her watch. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
While she was gone, Jack tried to lift his arm above his head. It refused to cooperate. “Damn,” he muttered as he rubbed the offending appendage.
Heather returned and handed him a card. “You have an appointment with Dr. Patel next Thursday. Be there.”
When he glared at her, she laughed. Not the reaction he was going for.
“Give it up, Jack. If a Delta Force guy can’t intimidate me, a SEAL doesn’t stand a chance.”
He snorted. “If I didn’t know I was badass, my feelings would be hurt.”
“Uh-huh. Just badass yourself to that appointment if you don’t want to see my mean side.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Maybe.
They walked out together, and her eyes lit up when she saw her husband in the lobby. “Hey, babe. This is a nice surprise.”
Jack had met Deke before when the man had been waiting for Heather to get off work. As he watched Deke slip his arm around his wife’s back and give her a quick kiss, the envy he felt surprised him.
What was that about? He’d be leaving soon and wasn’t looking for a relationship. An image of him on deployment, a smile on his face as he read a letter from Nichole, flashed through his mind. With his parents gone and no siblings, the only mail he got was from his grandmother. That hadn’t bothered him before, so why did the thought of getting letters from her please him? A lot.
He shook his head, getting that picture out of his mind. They wouldn’t be writing letters to each other. When he was gone, she’d forget about him. He frowned, not liking the idea of that. What was with all these stray thoughts going on in his head? He barely knew the woman, shouldn’t be thinking past the day he would leave, after which he’d never see her again.
“Jack, good to see you,” Deke said, offering his hand.
“You, too. How’s it going?” Jack wondered if he’d adjusted to life outside of the military. He wasn’t sure what the man did for a living. He thought he remembered Heather mentioning something about law enforcement, a cop maybe?
“Great. Just dropped by to say hi to my girl and bring her a treat.” He reached behind him and picked up an iced coffee from an end table, handing it to Heather.
“Aww, aren’t you sweet?”
“There’s not a sweet bone in my body, but you just keep on believing that, sweetheart.”
Jack took his leave. It was Friday, which meant that he would get to see Nichole. He had three hours before he could knock on her door, more than enough time to go home, take Dakota for a walk, and then jump in the shower. Maybe he’d take Dakota for a ride to use up more time.
“Jack, wait up.” Deke jogged toward him. “I got an hour to kill before Heather gets off. Want to go for a beer?”
Perfect, but... “Did your evil wife send you on a mission to get my promise to keep the doctor’s appointment she made for me? Without my permission I should add.”
Deke laughed as he slapped Jack on the back. “She is evil, isn’t she? But no, she didn’t send me on a mission, and I know nothing about her plans for you.” He held up a hand. “Swear. In your place, though, I’d be very afraid. Which is why you should let me buy you a beer.”
“Why not?” He liked the man, and because Deke had been Delta Force, he would know better than to pry into things Jack didn’t want to talk about.
They were soon sitting on stools at the bar in a hole-in-the-wall place near the physical therapy center. As soon as they each had a beer in front of them, Deke’s gaze fell to the arm Jack was absently massaging. “You tried shooting with that arm yet?”
Or maybe Deke wouldn’t have any problem prying. Yes, Jack had been to the gun range. It hadn’t been pretty. His arm had trembled so much that he’d missed the target completely. He hadn’t been back.
“Not sure I’m ready for that yet.” It wasn’t a lie, and yes, he was avoiding the question, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that a baby could shoot better than him right now.
Deke tapped his fingers on the bar, his gaze studying
the contents of his mug, and Jack had the impression he was debating his next words. Whatever was coming, Jack was sure he wasn’t going to like it.
“I never thought I’d retire from the military. Delta Force was my life.” He glanced over at Jack. “I know you get that. Then I was shot in the leg. Messed up my knee pretty bad. Had to have a few operations. I didn’t handle it well. The idea of not being able to return to my team was hard to swallow. I didn’t know anything else.”
Jack could sure relate to that.
“I arrived for my first appointment with Heather depressed and carrying a lot of attitude.” He grinned when Jack widened his eyes. “Yeah, she was my therapist. That girl didn’t put up with any of my shit. She was exactly what I needed, someone who got in my face and told me like it was.”
“She does do that.” And he’d never admit it to her, but he kind of liked that. Mostly.
“To make a long story short, my knee will never be like it was, but with Heather’s help I got it fit enough to pass the physical requirements to join the police force.”
“And you got the girl.”
Deke grinned. “That I did, making me one lucky son of a bitch.”
“So why are you telling me all this?” Jack frowned. “Did Heather tell you that I needed a pep talk?”
“Lord no. She doesn’t talk about her patients with me. Ever. I don’t even know what you’re in therapy for. Assumed it was your arm since you were rubbing it. I just needed a beer buddy for an hour. But I will say this. I see that haunted look in your eyes that used to be in mine. So, if you ever need to unload, give me a call. I’m always up for a beer.”
“A man can never have too many beer buddies. What’s your number?”
He didn’t need a sympathetic ear because he had nothing to be depressed about. He was going to heal, and he was returning to his team.
* * *
Jack stepped out of the shower. In less than an hour he would be knocking on Nichole’s door. Hearing Deke’s voice go soft every time he said Heather’s name had put crazy thoughts in his mind. What would it be like to have someone like that whose eyes lit up at seeing him the way Heather’s had when she’d spied Deke? An image of Nichole flashed through his mind, of the laughter in her eyes as she’d looked up at him when tangled up in Rambo’s leash.
Did he even want someone like that in his life? He’d always thought he would in the distant future, after he was out of the military. That had been his plan. So why did seeing Deke and Heather together have him picturing Nichole looking at him like that? Would she even want to after seeing his scars?
Shortly after arriving home, he’d gone to a downtown nightclub. He hadn’t been with a woman since leaving on his deployment eight months earlier. All he’d wanted was to lose himself in the soft feel of a woman. He’d wanted a few hours of forgetting about the pain he’d endured, some time out from worrying about his future and how long it would take before he was healed so he could return to his team.
The woman he met that night—danced with, flirted with—had invited him home with her. The moment he’d stood in her bedroom and taken off his shirt was ingrained in his memory. She’d gasped as her gaze locked on his arm. “Oh my God. What happened to you?” She’d backed away as if his arm was a contagious disease-ridden thing. “I’m sorry, but I... I just can’t.” Her cheeks had turned red from embarrassment as she apologized.
He’d put his shirt back on and hadn’t tried to hook up since. He turned and studied his right side in the mirror. His arm did look slightly better than it had that night, but it was still an ugly mess, the reason he always wore a long-sleeve shirt. Angry-looking red welts and puckered white skin stretched from his shoulder to below his elbow. He ran his palm over his arm, something he did each day, checking to see if feeling had returned. It was still mostly numb.
He eyed his leg. That wasn’t so bad. The burns there had only been first and second degree, and eventually the scars would fade to almost unnoticeable. But there was an ugly hole where a piece of shrapnel had gouged his thigh. Fortunately, it hadn’t damaged any muscles or nerves in his leg.
After shaving and brushing his teeth, he walked into the bedroom to dress. Stretched out on the floor, Dakota watched with interest as he pulled on jeans. “Don’t get excited, girl. You’re not going anywhere.” As if she understood him—and he often thought she did—she lowered her chin to rest on her paws and peered up at him with sad eyes.
He picked up the blue button-down shirt he’d planned to wear, stared at it a moment, then made a decision. It was time to find out if Nichole was going to have a problem with his arm. He hadn’t worn a short-sleeve T-shirt in public since getting hurt, and after slipping one on, he went back into the bathroom to look in the mirror. The worst of it—his shoulder and upper arm—was hidden under the shirt, but there was no mistaking that he’d been burned.
Dakota followed him, and he glanced at her. “Does this gross you out?” he asked, turning so his bad arm was facing her. She grinned. “You’re a dog. If sniffing another dog’s ass doesn’t disgust you, I doubt my arm bothers you.” But would it Nichole?
* * *
Jack hadn’t said anything about dinner, but Nichole decided to have something on hand just in case. Other than pizza, she didn’t know what he liked, but a variety of lunchmeats, cheeses, and bread seemed safe. She’d also added a bag of chips and assorted cookies from the grocery store bakery to her cart. That should be enough food for a man with a good appetite.
She still wasn’t sure if he was interested in her or just being a nice guy willing to help her train her dog. Hopefully she’d get an answer to that question tonight. Also hopefully, the answer was a definitive yes. And maybe a kiss. A girl could dream, right?
Instead of one of her preferred sundresses, she opted for capris and one of her favorite potter T-shirts since the purpose of Jack’s visit was to work with Rambo. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and then applied some cherry-flavored lip gloss. The doorbell rang, and she glanced at the clock. Jack was early.
Rambo barked as he scrambled to the door. He loved doorbells. They meant people, and people meant attention and belly rubs. She’d played with him before showering to drain some of his energy, but he was giddily bouncing like a lunatic as he stared at the door, willing it to open.
“One of your favorite persons is here to see you.”
Only it wasn’t Jack. As soon as she opened the door to find Lane standing on her porch, she mentally cursed herself for not checking through the peephole to make sure it wasn’t an unwanted visitor on the other side.
To keep her ex from coming inside, she pushed Rambo back with her foot before stepping out and closing the door behind her. “What are you doing here?”
She’d told Lane more than once she didn’t want to see him. She glanced at the chromed-out motorcycle parked on her driveway. Why hadn’t she heard it when he’d arrived? Had he coasted up so she wouldn’t know he was here? Probably, since he would have guessed that she wouldn’t open the door to him.
“Still playing hard to get, babe?” He smirked.
“There’s no playing about it, Lane. And I’m not your babe. I want you to leave.” She didn’t want him here when Jack arrived. Lane was unpredictable, and he considered her his property. Jack would be a trespasser, and Lane would act first and ask questions later. That typically meant fists would be involved.
Lane wore “bad boy” well, from the messy mop of dark brown hair down to the motorcycle boots. The tribal tattoo covering one arm used to fascinate her, more so the dragon on his back. He knew that, which was probably why he put his hand on the doorframe, strategically positioning his arm so the tat was near her face.
There had been a time when she’d been drawn to men like Lane Gregory, the ones who thumbed their noses at the rules, who had a dangerous edge. She hadn’t needed therapy sessions to know that Tate had left her with unfi
nished business. Tate had been her first bad boy, and she’d fallen hard for the always-dressed-in-black, motorcycle-riding boy her senior year of high school. It had been a surprise when he showed an interest in her, the overachiever good girl.
At first she’d ignored him when he would say hi to her in the halls, but she couldn’t deny that he was cute. Over time she got to know him, and beneath the swagger and bravado was a boy with a gentle heart, and she’d loved him as much as a teenage girl could love a boy. He had broken her heart, although unintentionally. He’d left this world doing what he loved best, riding his motorcycle.
Looking back, she could honestly say that Lane had been an attempt to recreate those few months during high school when she’d felt like she was floating on a cloud. At first, she had thought she’d found another Tate, because Lane had hidden his true nature well. But he hadn’t been able to sustain it. His anger and aggression began to show in small ways. Hard grips on her arm, flashes of temper when she didn’t please him. When his treatment of her and others escalated into violence, she ended things with him. That hadn’t gone over well, and he’d showed his displeasure by hitting her.
Problem was, he refused, even now, a year later, to accept that they were done. “Go away, Lane.” She reached behind her for the doorknob. “And stay away.”
He put his hand over hers, stopping her from opening the door. “Look, I know you’re still pissed about me hitting you. That was wrong and won’t happen again. Besides, I didn’t hit you that hard. I’d never hurt you, Nichole.”
That he could say that with a straight face didn’t surprise her. He really believed that he hadn’t hurt her. From experience, she knew there was no reasoning with him, and it disturbed her that she wanted to slap him. He was the reason she hated violence with a passion.
“Move your hand. In fact, remove yourself from my property.” Jack would arrive any minute now, and a confrontation between the two of them was the last thing she wanted.