by Dawn McClure
Considering he was staying at her apartment for the unforeseeable future, he couldn’t let her make a fool of herself in the Longbranch. Not that she hadn’t done it a thousand times before, but when it came to Caroline, he felt a brotherly obligation to protect her. Lord knew no one else was going to step up and do it.
He checked his watch. It was only ten thirty. Plenty of time left to have a few drinks and catch up with everyone. He'd endured nearly two hours of war stories from all the old vets in town. Told a few of his own. Hadn't paid for a beer yet. Hell, he hadn't taken a sip. Three longnecks were sitting in front of him getting warm—all because he had to play babysitter.
He spotted an old friend who'd just arrived at the bar and couldn't be three sips into his beer. Perfect. “Hey Tucker, you want to take Caroline home? I think she's had enough.”
Tucker, a big guy who’d played football with him back in high school, widened his eyes over the beer he had halfway to his mouth. He slowly shook his head before he mouthed the words, “Fuck no.”
Great. He couldn't find anyone else that hadn't thrown at least two beers back. Yep, he was good and stuck.
Caroline giggled about something incoherent while she played with the front of his shirt. She undoubtedly thought she was sexy. He knew within the hour she'd likely throw up on him, so he had to work fast. “Come on, let's get you home.”
If her sudden hooded-eye look was any indication, she’d taken what he’d said the wrong way. She pursed her lips as only drunk girls could and leaned into him. He shot another desperate look at Tucker, but his old friend only threw his hands up and walked away.
That was the thing about Caroline that annoyed him the most. She’d been pushing to be more than friends since they were seniors in high school, but she’d never taken the hint that he wasn’t interested. Hell, he’d thrown out more than hints. He’d flat out told her how he’d felt.
Matt, the closest friend he'd ever had, stared at him from the other side of the dimly lit bar. He was probably reading this scenario completely wrong. David couldn't exactly go explain it to him, what with Caroline wrapped around him the way she was. He hadn't had a chance to talk to him, but once he dropped Caroline off at her apartment, he was coming back. Maybe Matt would still be here.
David half walked, half dragged her out of the bar. He knew her bartender shift had ended at five and she’d never come back to the apartment, so her car was still parked in the back of the lot. “We'll get your car in the morning.”
“M'kay.”
She leaned against him and slipped her hand under his T-shirt as they started down the sidewalk. He pulled her hand away from his abs as discretely as possible. He nodded at Paul, the manager at the bank, as he passed them, probably on his way to the bar. “I'll be right back. Just have to drop Caroline off at her place,” David said with a tight smile.
“Sure, buddy.” Paul's gaze zeroed in on Caroline's roaming hands then flicked back up to look at David. The crooked smile on his face said it all. “Take your time.”
There were a few distinct types of people in a small town. They could be put into three simple categories: the kids, the young, and the old. The kids rode their bikes around town and played with no fear of “stranger danger”. The young foamed at the mouth, wishing they were in a bigger city so they could have something to do. Since there was nothing to do in a small town, they usually ended up doing something stupid—and it almost always involved alcohol. And the old people talked about how cute the kids were and followed that with all the shit the young did the next day over coffee.
A small town was like a well-oiled machine. Work hard. Play hard. Church on Sundays. Gossip always. It was predictable and worked well, and as a young he'd just passed an old who was going to spread the rumor that he and Caroline had been screwing in an alley.
Damn, he loved this town. Predictability at its best. They really were good people, gossiping aside. They just wanted to know what was going on with everyone, half of whom they were related to, and sometimes stretching the truth kept your audience interested.
He'd missed this town something fierce while he'd been gone.
God willing, he wouldn't have to leave again. Most folks looked out for one another in towns this size, which was why he was putting up with Caroline's wandering hands. He gave her ten minutes—maybe fifteen—before she vomited. Still, there he was, half carrying her as they made their way down Main Street.
He pulled his keys out of his pocket, hoping they would get to his rental car before they ran into anyone else. It looked bad enough that he was staying with Caroline until he found a more permanent place, but thanks to their running into Paul, the rumor that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other was already going to run the length of this town. David sure as hell didn't think his father would greet him at the door with open arms, so he hadn’t had much of a choice. He had to bunk at Caroline’s—on her couch of course.
No such luck on hoping they made it to his truck without running into anyone. The few good folks in town were just coming out of the movie theater, and he'd parked on the other side of it.
“Hey Caroline, can you control yourself for five more minutes?” he asked, pulling her hand away from his nipple. He had one arm draped around her to keep her vertical, and the other in constant motion to keep their stroll through town somewhat decent. The keys in that hand jangled every time he moved, sounding like a shotgun blast in a deserted field.
She stumbled and smiled up at him as if she thought her drunken stupor was cute, which was ironic to say the least. Caroline could be gorgeous if she took half her makeup off and acted her age. Everyone knew that, except for her.
“And what happens after five minutes?” she asked.
“You're probably going to puke,” he said irritably.
One of the streetlamps towered over the front of the theater and cast light over the crowd that headed toward their vehicles. The closer he and Caroline got to his rental, the more people stared at them. He felt like a criminal. And stumbling down the sidewalk from the bar, they certainly looked the part—horny, drunk redhead wrapped around a tall, tattooed man.
Damn, he'd left this town with a black mark on his person, and here he was, not back for more than a week and already strolling down the street looking like he was about to have a one-night stand.
He’d never call what happened between him and Misty a one-night stand though.
As if thinking of Misty made fate comply with David's desire to see her, she glided out of the theater with her hand linked to a blond man. David’s heart tried to break out of his chest as he came to a dead standstill. Caroline didn't. She pitched forward with a grunt, and he managed to get her standing straight again without taking his gaze off Misty.
Her sun-kissed blonde hair was longer than it had been in high school. It curled and weaved down her back in several thick strands. She wore a simple cotton dress and cowgirl boots. After taking several mental pictures of her in his head, he turned his attention to the man with her.
Brandon? She was dating Brandon Reynolds? The same Brandon who'd been on the track and golf team and kept a 4.0 all through high school? The only person who'd given Brandon a run for valedictorian had been Misty. David grimaced as he noticed they were both the same height and very blond. With Brandon wearing khaki shorts and a white polo shirt, and Misty in a little dress and cowgirl boots, they made for one odd-looking couple.
They didn't actually, but he enjoyed believing they did.
Brandon had been in his class from kindergarten through senior year, just like Misty and Matt, but he and Brandon had never hung out after school. David's mom had worked for Brandon's dad in his law office on Main Street as his secretary for a few years, but other than that the two had no ties. He didn’t really know Brandon all that well.
David turned his attention back to the person he had known. Misty's blonde hair looked angelic under the light of the streetlamp as she walked toward them, as opposed to the devilish re
d of the sorority girl currently trying to undo his zipper.
He couldn't take his gaze from Misty. She couldn't seem to take her gaze off Brandon.
If fate had given him a high-five so he could see Misty, fate screwed him when Misty, who he'd hoped would keep walking and miss seeing him and Caroline together, suddenly turned her head. Misty leveled her gaze directly on him...and then to the red-clawed hand currently attached to his crotch.
Misty's gaze snapped back to his face. David opened his mouth to explain that he was only making sure Caroline got home when Brandon, Ken Doll replica extraordinaire, held out his hand to shake. Couldn't the dumbass see he had his hands full of redhead? David unwrapped his arm for a quick shake. Caroline teetered backward on her hooker shoes, but he quickly righted her again.
He wished he was back in the sand getting shot at.
Misty leaned toward him and nailed him with a glare. “Already playing the Good Samaritan?”
It was a good dig, he'd give her that, but completely unlike the Misty he'd known. Caroline didn't help when she hiccupped and muttered in a singsong voice, “Awkwaaaard.”
Awkward didn't begin to describe the situation. “Just making sure she gets home all right,” he said in his defense.
If the look on Misty’s face was any indication, she wasn't buying it. Instead, she glared at both of them. She looked at Caroline mostly in disgust, and him somewhere between acidic hate and violence. He could literally feel her laser-like stare on his arm as his tattoos garnered her attention. He knew Misty didn't care for tats. Girls like her usually didn't, but girls like Caroline ate them up.
He'd bet his next paycheck Brandon didn't have tattoos and would never consider getting one.
Boy, seeing Misty after all these years was really doing a number on him. He'd almost forgotten the light blue color of her eyes—so light they were almost teal. And they were narrowed on him, spitting out so much hate he felt the need to cup himself.
But Caroline was doing a good job of that.
He put his keys back in his pocket, snatched Caroline’s hand away from his groin, and squeezed her fist until she let out a yelp. “Just helping out a friend,” he said through clenched teeth.
Caroline pressed up against him. “He's good at that. Isn't he, Misty?”
Lord help him, he was going to kill her.
Misty's face bypassed a simple blush and went straight to crimson. Brandon, full of indignation for his date, girlfriend—whatever she was—stood straighter, until amazingly he was standing taller than the gorgeous blonde he was with.
Now that David thought about it, what exactly were Brandon and Misty? Just out on a date? Something more? They couldn’t be boyfriend and girlfriend. Caroline had never mentioned the two were together. Whatever they were, David had enough.
“I'm taking her home and that's all there is to it.” The second the words were out of his stupid mouth, he knew he'd made a mistake. They'd been the same words he'd said to Matt the night he'd taken Misty home—the long way, of course.
Leaning toward him again, Misty didn't disappoint when she said, “Now where have I heard that before?”
Caroline howled with laughter while Brandon tightened his hold on Misty to bring her back to his side as though she were his possession. David looked between the two, still trying to figure them out. Yeah, from the placement of Brandon’s hands, he’d say they were more than dating. More than friends.
Don’t want to think about it.
David imagined his meeting with Misty would go somewhat along these lines, but without Brandon and Caroline balancing on every word. Their presence made his muttered comeback a little vanilla. “You know damn well that was different.”
Misty raked him with a glare, slipped her arm though Brandon’s, and pivoted away from him and Caroline. She practically dragged Brandon alongside her as she marched across the street in indignant horror. The simple maroon dress she wore swayed back and forth against the middle of her tanned thighs. Her blonde hair bounced violently against her back as if it, too, were angry at him.
“David... I don't feel good.”
That was all the warning he got. At least they hadn't been in his rental car.
With her head hanging in some unlucky bushes, Caroline gave a good show to those who were still milling around outside the theater. David stood on the sidewalk like a lightning rod: tall, unbending, and ready for the next strike that was surely going to burn his ass.
Hell, seeing Misty with Brandon made him want to vomit. He'd returned to Garner with one goal uppermost in his mind. He wanted to mend fences with his old man. From what his mother had said, his dad wasn’t doing too well in the health department, and she wanted David home to help on the ranch.
At first he’d considered not returning to Garner, even though he’d missed the town. He and his dad had butted heads when he'd been in high school, and David had done his damnedest to make his dad proud of him. Never happened. He'd given up trying to include his dad in his life right around his senior year in high school. David had turned to drinking, and he’d shut out two of his closest friends.
Until the night he and Misty had taken things a whole lot further than either had anticipated.
Watching Misty walk away on the arm of another man reminded him of the other reason he'd come home. The main reason he’d come home. He wanted more than to mend fences with his old man. He wanted to make a life in Garner. Being stuck in Southern California for most of his time in the Corps had made him ache for simple country life again.
Yes, he wanted to build a life here. And he wanted to build that life with Misty Evans.
Chapter 2
David white-knuckled the steering wheel of his rental car as he drove down the dirt driveway to the ranch he’d grown up on. Dread warred with excitement, and a cold sense of determination ran through him as he left a cloud of dust behind the car. The feeling mirrored what he’d felt when he’d walked off the military transport in Afghanistan and had seen his new command for the first time. The amplified feelings of dread and determination as he made his way down his old driveway didn’t surprise him.
What was one war zone to the next?
David parked his car in front of the barn and cut the engine. Time hadn't changed much from what he could see. The red paint on the barn was still peeling in places, tall grass inching up the sides as though the earth was trying to claim its land back. His old Ford pickup was parked next to the barn, looking like an ancient relic left to rot. The tires were flat, weeds had taken residence in the wheel wells, and the back window was cracked in several places. The dent from that damn telephone pole was still prominent on the front left side from trying to avoid hitting a doe.
It didn't look like his dad had even started the truck in the past four years, let alone drove it. David would still get it running by the end of the week though. He wasn’t about to blow through his savings by purchasing a new truck.
He looked over at the old hired hand's guesthouse. It was a decent looking place with dark tan siding and charcoal gray shudders. The roof looked like it needed some new shingles. The task was something else he could do if his dad didn't kick him off the property upon seeing him.
David had called and told his mom that he'd be stopping by today, and she'd sounded excited. She thanked him profusely as though Big Mike’s health was the only reason he was back. She’d said he could stay in the guesthouse, but David hadn't wanted to move anything on to the ranch until he'd talked with his dad personally. Their last conversation, if he could call it that, hadn't gone well.
Looking back, he couldn't blame his dad for that particular blowout, but all the shit that had come before David's trip down the bottle he sure could. Maybe Big Mike had changed. Maybe not. Time to find out.
He opened the car door and wasn't surprised to hear his dad before he saw him. The angry, deep sound of his dad's voice jacked David back to when he was a thirteen-year-old kid. He'd skirted his dad whenever he'd heard that particular tone
until Big Mike’s mood had improved, which had taken days on some occasions.
A sane person would wonder why David even bothered to come back, but there had been a time his dad hadn't been such an asshole. There’d been a time when his dad had done fatherly things with him. He’d taken him fishing, taught him to ride a horse, ride a bike, and how to swim. He’d always had time for his son, and David had looked up to him. Had loved him. That was the man David was always trying to reach for. The man who proved to be too far out of reach since David had been in high school.
“What the hell do you mean in a couple of days? I don't have that much time.”
David followed the sound of his dad's booming voice, his heart rate kicking up several notches. When he rounded the side of the barn he spotted Big Mike instantly. How could he not? He stood with one hand on his hip, the other holding a cell phone to his ear, as he stared up at a large green sprayer. Lord, his dad had to be pushing three hundred pounds. Add that to his height of six-foot-three and he seemed like a giant. A seriously out of shape WWE wrestler. He sounded like one too.
“Damn thing's been throwing codes at me all morning and you can't send a tech up my way? You know how much business I do with you, don't you?” Big Mike bellowed into the phone.
No, time hadn’t changed much. His dad still yelled instead of talked. The smell of diesel fuel smacked David in the face as he went farther into the barn. The scent was as familiar to him as baby powder was to an infant.
