Spun Out

by Lorelei James

  Mercy. The musculature in her arms and shoulders indicated strength that he found as sexy as the curves of her hips. The sassy sergeant was a potent package.

  After opening the hatch on her SUV, she leaned forward to grab something out of the back. That maneuver gave him a front row seat to the nicest ass he’d ever seen.

  Streeter groaned. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her backside, especially when it wiggled and jiggled as she tugged an enormous laundry basket.

  Maybe you should offer to help her instead of helpin’ yourself to an eyeful of her ass.

  Playing fetch and carry would be the neighborly thing to do . . .

  Not if it’s in the guise of doin’ her.

  She disappeared around the corner.

  How the hell had she seen where she was going over that enormous pile of bedding? The woman was gonna fall and bust her very fine ass, and that’d be a damn cryin’ shame.

  Streeter jumped out of his truck and followed her, half expecting to see her sprawled on the wooden walkway, but she’d set the load down in front of the trailer on the opposite end of his.

  She unlocked the door, picked up the basket and went inside.

  He doubled back to her SUV and grabbed the two biggest suitcases. She hadn’t emerged from her trailer yet, so he said, “Knock, knock,” as he walked through the door. “Where do you want these?”

  “Set them down anywhere.”

  He put them next to the recliner and looked at her.

  “You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

  “Let’s get the rest of it unloaded.” He reached her car before she caught up to him.

  “I’ve got this,” she said tersely, practically hip-checking him out of the way.

  “Good lord, woman. Me lendin’ a hand ain’t a judgment on your ability to do it yourself.” He sidestepped her, opening the rear passenger door to pick up the cooler wedged in the back seat. Damn thing was heavy. He shot her a look. “Whatcha got in here? Beer?”

  “No.” Bailey flashed him a fake smile. “Grenades.”

  Jesus. He turned and headed toward her trailer.

  And like he expected, the little spitfire was right on his heels.

  She’d lugged a big crate filled with pans and other household items, which she half dropped on the floor.

  Which she had to bend over to reach.

  Which put that perfect heart-shaped backside of hers directly in front of him.

  He couldn’t have looked away if he’d wanted to.

  When she straightened up and spun around, he made sure his focus was on her face, but somehow it got stuck on her equally sexy mouth.

  “Look, Skeeter—”

  That redneck name had his annoyed gaze snapping up to hers. “My name isn’t Skeeter, Barley, as you well know.” He fucking hated being called Skeeter. Hated it. And it happened far more often than he liked.

  She laughed. “Barley. Good one.”

  And Streeter couldn’t think of another thing to say. He wasn’t a witty guy. He’d never done much flirting. Before she realized that he was nearly paralyzed by social interaction, he wheeled around and hoofed it back to her car. Two smallish suitcases, a box of food, a crate of books and a laptop bag piled onto another crate of computer equipment was what remained. He stacked the food on top of the books and passed her on the walkway.

  She muttered something about him being lucky he hadn’t stacked anything on her computer equipment.

  Her prickly, I-can-do-it-myself attitude amused him, and he smiled despite himself.

  After he set the box and crate on the floor, he took a moment to look around. The only difference between this space and his was his big-screen TV. The only room he’d “decorated” was Olivia’s bedroom. Besides the artwork hanging on the fridge and pinned to the bulletin board, their home looked much like this: impersonal as a cheap hotel. Like they’d just moved in—not that they’d lived there for three and a half years.

  Streeter had left every physical reminder of their old life behind. Bad juju surrounded those things. He’d kept the photos—although someone else had packed them up and he hadn’t looked at them since shoving them in storage—and Danica’s jewelry, the quilts and afghans his mother and grandmother had made, and a few family heirlooms he’d set aside for Olivia.

  Bailey breezed in carrying both suitcases. “Your girlfriend and your daughter are looking for you.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Yeah, you know, the hot little thing with the pink hair prancing around here.”

  The only hot little thing I’ve seen prancing around here is you, baby.

  He frowned at that inappropriate thought. “That’s Meghan, Olivia’s babysitter. Which means she’s young enough to be my kid, not my damn girlfriend.”

  She smirked.

  This woman poked every one of his buttons. He had to leave now before he started poking back. Without saying a word, he walked past her and into the sunshine.

  “Daddy!” Olivia shouted from the opposite end of the walkway.

  As he started toward her, he heard Bailey yell, “You’re welcome!” from inside her trailer.

  Unbelievable. She oughta be thanking him.

  All thoughts of his troublesome new neighbor vanished when he saw the happy look on his daughter’s face.

  He placed his hand on Olivia’s head after she’d run to him. Then he said, “Everything go all right?” to Meghan.

  “Everything went fine. We had a great time. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be Olivia’s regular caretaker, but I’ll be here at least once a week.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Olivia insisted on walking Meghan to her car. After she drove off, Olivia rested her weight against him. “Daddy, can we go to McDonald’s for supper?”

  He caught a glimpse of Bailey’s very fine ass as she rooted around in her back seat for something.

  Getting away from here—and her—for a few hours had him herding Olivia to his SUV. “Sounds like a great idea.”

  Chapter Five

  On a boring Sunday afternoon at WWC, Bailey decided to work on her camp curriculum since camp started in five days.

  Thirty minutes had passed and all she’d accomplished was drawing clouds on the notebook in front of her.

  How was she supposed to occupy ten kids for ten hours a day?

  Break it down. Start with what you know.

  Food. Give the kids half an hour for breakfast, an hour for lunch, and two fifteen-minute snack breaks. Presto. Two hours accounted for.

  Which left her with eight hours to fill.

  If she really meant to treat it like a boot camp, she’d have to use military terms for everything.

  A morning roll call—insist on campers using “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir” to her and one another, which would teach them respect. They’d revisit the camp rules and review the daily schedule. She’d need to set up an area for makeshift lockers, which would be subject to inspection during this time.

  PT would follow roll call—wouldn’t hurt the kids to run; they chased each other all over the place anyway. Then they’d receive morning assignments, team-building tasks like picking up trash or helping around the resort, followed by morning snacks. A prelunch skills class would be anything from archery practice to running an obstacle course.

  In the afternoon they could watch training films—aka movies—for a quiet time. She’d make them responsible for setting up their own bedrolls. Then late-afternoon PT. Following afternoon snacks, they’d have craft time. Not the usual kind. The older kids could create dioramas, build models of bridges and buildings with toothpicks and Popsicle sticks. The younger kids could make masks and work on a ghillie suit or color maps of the world.

  Lastly they’d clean up and be dismissed.

  Boom. Ten hours filled.

  As s
he recopied her ideas, it allowed her to be excited for this odd venture after seeing the camp in terms she understood.

  Her phone rang. Caller ID read: LIBERTY.

  Bailey answered, “Heya. I’m putting you on speaker.”

  “If this is an attempt to keep me from swearing, you’re fucked, Sergeant.”

  Bailey laughed. “Good to hear from you, although I’m surprised since it’s probably the middle of the night over there. Where are you?”

  “At a military base in Germany. And it’s midnight here. Devin and the band are still signing autographs and talking to their fans.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Drinking the free booze and waiting to jump my man when he’s done.”

  “Nikki is tucked in for the night?”

  “Finally. That kid goes until she drops. Goddamned Energizer bunny. Just like her dad.”

  “Suck it up, soldier. You’re the one who married an internationally famous country music superstar and then bore him the golden child. And if she can sing? Dude. You could quit your job.”

  “Fuck off. No way am I quitting. I got a promotion before I started this tour.”

  Bailey stopped doodling. “Another promotion?”

  “Yep. Senior security advisor to A-list clients.”

  “Congrats, Lib! That’s huge!”

  “Thanks. I almost didn’t take the position.”

  Please don’t say because Devin didn’t want you to. “Why not?”

  “It means more hours at the office every week. Time away from Devin and Nikki.”

  “But you’re still in Denver. Nikki is three. She has zero concept of time. Plus, you have an awesome nanny.”

  “True.” The sound of glassware tinkling echoed from the background. “Now that I’m one of the big bosses, I’ve been thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Convincing you to come to work for me now that your gig is up in the army.”

  Bailey switched the phone off speaker. “Uh, Lib, that bit of information is still on the down-low.”

  Silence stretched.

  “You haven’t told anyone yet?”

  That I failed my FFD evaluation? Uh, no.

  “Bails?”

  “Nope.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want Harper to think I’m here only because I didn’t have anywhere else to go, okay?”

  A heavy sigh. “All right. That I do understand.”

  “I’ll know when the time is right to tell her. And trust me, she doesn’t need another damn thing on her plate right now.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “She’s been honest with me about feeling overwhelmed. When she’s at home she wants to be at work and vice versa. From what I’ve seen, Angel is a good baby. She sleeps, she eats on schedule, she’s not fussy, she’ll let anyone hold her. With this being their fourth kid, Harper doesn’t insist on doing everything baby related, but Angel does come to work with her most days.”

  “I imagine it’d be hard for even a great dad like Bran to check cattle with an infant in a car seat,” Liberty mused.

  “Not that he hasn’t tried. Bran is so head over heels for his baby girl it’s ridiculous.” Bailey smiled. “It’s sweet. But at the same time, Tate and Jake take advantage of their parents’ distraction over the new baby. Gage gets left out and then he acts out to get attention. They’re wilder than ever. Bran has the boys-will-be-boys attitude, so unless they’re constantly entertained, they’re making their own entertainment. They’re not bad kids, they’re just . . .”

  “Ranch kids,” Liberty inserted.

  Bailey sighed. “How can that be an excuse?”

  “I don’t know. We weren’t ranch kids. Without sounding stupid, being raised on a ranch means they’re a different kind of kid. When Devin tells me some of the stuff he and his buddies used to do, I’m like . . . we’re never letting Nikki spend time at the Turner Ranch without us being right there.”

  “Smart. But I might’ve done a not-so-smart thing.”

  “What did you do?”

  She paced around the edge of the counter. “Oh, last week I informed the parents who own this place, as well as parents who work here, that all their kids are hellions in need of discipline.”

  “Christ, Bails, you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did. So guess who’s in charge of the Split Rock boot camp starting on Friday?”

  Liberty laughed so hard that Bailey made ten laps around the store before she stopped. “Damn, girl, talk about going balls to the wall.”

  “It’s only one day a week. And three of the ten kids are my nephews, so I’ve convinced myself that I’ll have at least a thirty percent success rate.”

  “Please take videos,” she begged. “I wanna see Sergeant Masterson forcing kids to do push-ups and pull-ups or they’re denied their ration of Pudding Pops.”

  Her sister busted a gut again.

  Coolly, Bailey said, “Are you done yet?”

  “Yeah. But in all seriousness, you’ll do great.”

  “Thanks.” At least she had one vote of confidence. “The other perk of employment at the Split Rock is they assigned me a trailer at the complex.”

  Liberty went quiet.

  “What?”

  “Are you sure being by yourself is a good idea?”

  “I won’t be by myself all the time. I have neighbors.”

  Streeter’s handsome face came to mind, but she shoved that possibility aside. He’d avoided any interaction with her since he’d helped her move in.

  “Don’t take this wrong, but are you sure you can handle all of this?”

  “I guess we’ll see if I hold up or if I end up in a straitjacket talking to myself.”

  “Don’t be flip,” Liberty warned. “I have a legitimate reason to worry.”

  “I know.” And her big sister had no idea how much she hated that.

  “Are you taking your meds regularly? No issues getting refills?”

  “Yes, Mom, do you need proof that I set a damn timer every day so I don’t forget?”

  It’s only because she cares about you.

  “Sorry.” Bailey took a couple of breaths. “Yes, I’m taking them. And last week, I started attending my mandatory appointments in Casper.”

  “That medical records transfer happened fast for the government.”

  “It’s almost like they want me out of uniform.”

  “Bailey.”

  “Anyway, just for shits and giggles when I’m in Casper, I’ll be taking tests, figuring out what ‘real world’ job my military experience qualifies me for. And I expect my suspicions to be confirmed that inventory record keeping is the same regardless if it’s for AR-15s or boxes of tissue paper, which is what I’ve been doing the last two years.”

  “Which is why you need to come to Denver and work for me. You’ve got experience securing munitions and have computer know-how.”

  “Is ‘know-how’ a technical term in the security biz?” she said with a snicker.

  “Piss off, smart-ass. How about . . . your mad genius computer skills are in high demand in the private sector?”

  “Better. It almost sounds like I have actual, usable skills when you put it that way.”

  “You do. Plus, the cherry on top of living in the Mile-High City is the VA here is ah-mazing.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” She sighed again. “Know what really sucks? It doesn’t matter if I stay here or move to Denver. Either way I’m sponging off one of my sisters.”

  “Bails. I wouldn’t see it that way and I doubt Harper does either.”

  “But I do.” Bailey rang the cowbell on the door. “Sorry, sis, I have a customer and I have to go. Love you, kiss Nikki and Dev from me. We’ll talk soon.” She hung up.

  She didn’t
have the energy to think about her future, so she forced herself to do as her counselor suggested and focused on the present.

  * * *

  The next morning Bailey finished typing her camp list and sent it as an email to all the parents. Then she cleared a space in the back for the benches and lockers for her campers.

  The cowbell rang and Bailey returned up front to see Penelope, Harper’s full-time employee, rush in, all apologies. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Traffic was a bitch?” Bailey said drolly.

  “I might’ve hit a tumbleweed on my way here.” Penelope skirted the counter and disappeared into the back room.

  Bailey followed her, taking in Penelope’s outfit: red stilettos, a red and black plaid A-line skirt, a sleeveless black silk shirt with a Peter Pan collar. Penelope dressed as if she worked in a clothing boutique—a feat Bailey had yet to master. She fought the urge to straighten the cuffs on her white capris or readjust the sleeves of her polka-dotted cold-shoulder blouse, silently lamenting that her life had been so much easier in uniform.

  Penelope sent her a look over her shoulder. “Why is there an open space on the wall where the clothing racks were?”

  “That’s where the lockers for the kids’ boot camp will go.”

  “What boot camp?”

  After Bailey explained, Penelope put her hands together in a prayerlike manner and said, “Please, please, please consider letting my daughter Jessamyn participate.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Six going on sixteen,” she said wryly, “which means boot camp would be perfect.”

  Another girl would balance the group out genderwise. “If you’re interested, talk to Janie. She’s handling the payments and scheduling.”

  “I definitely will during my break today. Thank you.”

  After tackling the list Harper had left, and crossing off the items they’d completed, Bailey noticed that Penelope seemed tense. “Is there a problem I missed or something I did wrong? Because you don’t seem happy we’re nearly done with the list.”

  “I’m not happy.” Penelope’s dark brown eyes narrowed at her. “And I’ll tell you why if I’m talking to Bailey my coworker and not Bailey my boss’s sister.”