by Sarah Storme
“We’ve been through some shit together, haven’t we?”
“Yeah, we have.” Tucker turned and grinned at him. “I’m sure glad you’re here.”
“Yeah,” Jake said, “me, too.”
Tucker turned the key and cranked the engine. “Time for more low-level flying.”
Jake nodded as he grabbed the dash and the arm of the seat.
~~**~~**~~
Heather sat at the kitchen table, ledger open, calculator to her right, adding numbers for the fourth time. The answer didn’t change.
She couldn’t see any way around it; she’d have to dip into her savings by Friday if business didn’t pick up, even if the kitchen opened again.
Coop walked in, beer in hand, and sat in a chair across from her. “How’s it going?”
She glanced at the beer. “Aren’t you starting a little early?”
He shrugged. “It’s after noon.”
She checked the clock. It was three minutes after twelve.
“Oh, then I guess it’s all right to get plastered.” How could he take everything so lightly?
“Now, that’s no way to treat your old man, is it?”
Heather returned to the calculations.
“Money problems?” Coop asked.
“Yes, money problems. As in, we don’t have enough to pay the bills.”
She glanced up to find him seriously studying her.
“Isn’t there some place to cut back?” he asked.
Heather couldn’t contain her frustration. “No, Coop, there’s no place left to cut back. We’ve done away with every luxury. I haven’t bought a new pair of pants in six months, and you don’t have any shirts without holes in them.”
“That’s all right, I don’t mind—”
“I mind. I want to be able to go out to a movie once every couple of years, you know?”
He stared, mouth closed.
“Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you just don’t understand. Is that why my mother left?”
He flinched and frowned at her, and then slowly rose and walked outside.
Heather dropped her head to the table. Why did she say things to hurt him? He was only trying to help.
She stood, closed the ledger, and walked to the door. “Coop?”
From the top of the steps, she didn’t see him anywhere.
“Coop? Coop!”
She found him sitting on the back steps of the bar, smoking a cigarette and staring out at the horizon.
“Coop, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
He looked up at her and smiled sadly. “It’s no big deal.”
She sat beside him and put her arm around his shoulders. “Yes, it is. I don’t know why I say those things when I get mad. It’s not your fault we’re having problems.”
“You’re right,” he said, “she left because she couldn’t count on me. I think the flashbacks were as bad for her as they were for me. Maybe worse.” He studied Heather for several moments. Then he sighed and slid his gaze to the horizon. “I used to wake up in the middle of the night and I’d be back in the jungle, waiting, listening. I’d be crouched next to Sammy Blair, waiting for Charlie to pop his head up somewhere.”
Heather watched her father’s face, understanding the importance of the moment. He’d never before spoken to her of the war.
“It’s always the same night, when I’m back there. We hear gunfire, but only a few rounds, like snipers. So Sammy and I go out together. We’re going to find the bastards and light ‘em up. We’re being real quiet, because they can hide standing right in front of you.
“Then there’s a flash, like the whole world has exploded. I don’t hear anything, just see this white light, and I’m flying through the air. I hit something, a tree maybe, and I jump up. I’m pissed because my shoulder hurts and my leg’s on fire. I listen for Sammy, expecting him to shoot. But there’s nothing, no answer, no nothing.
“It’s dark. It’s so goddamn dark, I can’t tell if my eyes are open or not. I’m crawling forward on my hands and knees, feeling around for my weapon.
“Then I find a boot. It has to be Sammy. I figure he’s unconscious, that’s why he isn’t shooting. I pull on his foot so I can work my way up his body to wake him up. There’s almost no resistance. His boot slides along the ground. I know why, but my mind just won’t take it in, so I run my hand up the outside of his pants to his knee, and there’s nothing else there—it’s just part of his leg. God, I wish I hadn’t found that boot.”
Tears started down her face as she held him tighter. His shoulders shook as if he were sitting in a freezer.
“Coop, it’s okay now. You’re with me.”
He nodded and took a long drag on the cigarette before flicking it away. “I loved your mother, Deuce. It wasn’t her fault she left. I should never have asked her to live in my hell. I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“I know,” she said. “You didn’t choose to go to war.”
Tears filled his eyes, but he smiled at her. “I thank my lucky stars every day that I have you,” he said. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”
Heather kissed her father’s whiskered cheek and rested her head on his shoulder, swallowing hard to hide her emotion. She hadn’t felt as close to her father in years as she did at that moment.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she said. “I’m just afraid I won’t have enough money to finish school.”
“I’m worried about that, too,” he said. “I’ll sell the bar if I need to.”
She didn’t mention that selling the bar would barely pay off the bills.
“You know,” she said, “we probably won’t have enough business today to justify staying open.”
“No?”
She shook her head against his shoulder.
“Then, why don’t we do something together?”
“Okay.” She raised her head. “Let’s go fishing.”
He looked at her, eyes wide. “Really?”
Heather nodded.
Coop smiled and kissed her forehead.
~~**~~**~~
By the time they worked their way back to Boyer Bay, they were running on the reserve tank. Several small boats and two wind surfers had replaced Parks and Wildlife.
Tucker slowed the engine and the boat settled back down, rolling forward on the wake. Jake picked up the binoculars and checked the other vessels, curious to see who spent time on the water.
Two older men fished from an ancient ski boat. Another boat held four teenagers who appeared to be sunbathing in little to nothing. The third, a small bass boat with an outboard, carried a man and a woman. Jake sharpened the focus on the glasses.
“Why don’t you ease over to that one,” he said, pointing to the third boat.
Coop raised a beer can as they approached. “Hey, Chief!”
“Having any luck?” Jake asked.
Coop shrugged. “Caught a few fish and killed a few beers. I guess that’s about as good as it gets. You want one?” He reached into the ice chest.
“Sure,” Tucker said.
Coop tossed the can into the air and Tucker caught it with one hand.
Jake waved off the offer. “You know my neighbors?” he asked Tucker. “Bill Cooper, and his daughter, Heather?”
Tucker nodded. “Coop and I run into each other now and then. But, I haven’t officially met Miss Cooper.”
“Heather, this is Dave Tucker, a friend.”
Tucker tipped his ball cap and Heather nodded.
She was almost smiling when she looked up at Jake. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but he knew how beautiful they were. Her bare arms glistened, and the low neckline of her sleeveless T-shirt fired his imagination.
“I didn’t know you liked to fish,” he said.
“Someone has to keep an eye on him.” She shoved her father’s shoulder playfully.
Coop nodded. “That’s true.”
“Coop,” Tucker said, “why don’t you and your daughter come up to my place tomorrow eveni
ng? I’m having a party. Nothing fancy, just beer and music.”
“I never turn down free beer,” Coop said. “We’ll be there.”
A frown flashed across Heather’s face, but she didn’t say anything.
“Good. Fun starts at seven. See you then.” Tucker eased the throttle forward and pulled away in a slow circle.
Reluctantly, Jake pulled his gaze from Heather and returned to watching their path. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering if her skin smelled like warm coconut oil.
Tucker crossed the rest of the bay quickly and steered the boat alongside the dock with an expert hand. Jake tied off the lines, pulling the boat snugly to the bumpers.
Tucker turned his chair, stopped, and looked up at Jake. “You’ve already winked at that girl, haven’t you?”
Jake laughed and shook his head. “I think maybe she winked at me.”
“What? You mean she’s got the elusive Ace Starks on the hook?”
“Could be.”
“I’m sorry, I just don’t believe it.”
Jake had a hard time believing it, too. But there was no doubt that just the thought of her affected him.
~~**~~**~~
Eight p.m. found Coop more sober than usual. He grinned as he chewed and washed the fish down with beer. “There’s nothing like fresh flounder, fried in beer batter.”
Heather had to agree; the fish was the best she’d had in ages. Having caught some of it herself while enjoying time with her father probably sweetened the taste.
Fried fish pieces still half-filled the bowl between them after they’d eaten all they could.
“You know,” Coop said, “it’s really a shame to have all this delicious fish go to waste. Especially when there’s a guy about a hundred yards away probably making do with ravioli from a can.”
Heather straightened. “What are you suggesting?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought you might want to offer the chief some fish to make up for being so rude to him.”
“Rude to him?”
“Yes. Friday, when he came in the bar, you were a little harsh.”
“Harsh? Are you nuts?”
“Probably.” Coop’s grin widened across his face. “But I’ll make you a deal. If you take some fish over to our neighbor, I’ll clean up.”
Heather glanced at the greasy stove and counter full of utensils and bowls. She’d dreaded the impending mess as soon as Coop announced his plan to make dinner.
Then she returned her attention to her father. Was he trying to play matchmaker?
Did she really care? Having an excuse to see Starks was more thrilling than it should have been.
“All right,” she said, biting back a smile. “But you have to wash the counters, too.”
“Done.”
Heather wrapped most of the fish in aluminum foil as Coop cleared the table.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, pushing the screen door open.
“Take your time. And don’t forget to tell him it’s from me, too.”
“Don’t worry.”
Fish in hand, she took the trail around the back of the bar. Then she walked up to the road and followed the edge of the pavement. The bar’s porch lights and a single streetlight lit her path most of the way, but the illumination faded as she approached Starks’.
She stopped at the end of the driveway and studied the house where only one interior light shone through the curtains. She saw no sign of movement inside. Was he already asleep?
What was she doing? She felt like a schoolgirl, considering a stroll through the boy’s locker room. Her entire body started to shake.
She turned back.
Before she could get away, the half-tailed dog ran down the driveway, barking. Heather put her hand out for him to sniff. Almost immediately, the porch light came on and the door opened.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s, um, me. Heather Cooper.”
“Really?” Starks flashed an impish grin into the darkness.
Heather’s face burned. She walked slowly forward, giving the blood time to return to the rest of her body.
He held the door with one hand. The other hand he hid behind his back. His open shirt revealed the muscles she’d suspected, and a line of dark hair down the middle of his chest.
Blood rushed back to her face as she looked up into his sparkling eyes.
“Come on in,” he said.
Heather squeezed past him, careful not to actually touch him. The heat from his body made her stomach flutter. Once inside the main room, she turned around to face him.
Starks stuck a small revolver into a leather holster on a shelf just inside the door and then buttoned his shirt.
“Coop sent over some fried flounder,” she said, holding out the package.
He took it, his grin growing, and walked to the table. “Thank him for me.”
She nodded.
“Will you join me?” he asked, pointing to the kitchen table.
“We just ate.”
“How about a cold drink? I could use the company.” He took two cans of iced tea from the refrigerator, handed her one, opened the other, and sat.
Unable to come up with a reason for refusing his offer, Heather popped the top and sat across from him. She drank as he opened the foil and sampled the fish.
Starks looked up and grinned again. She wished he wouldn’t do that.
“Wow, this is fantastic.” He held up a chuck of fish, studied it, and then popped it into his mouth. “Ummm.”
“Fried fish is Coop’s specialty.”
Starks ate several pieces quickly, and then leaned back with his cold drink and smiled at her. “You and your dad are close, aren’t you?”
“I guess so. We have our problems, but it’s been the two of us for most of my life.”
“What happened to your mother?”
Heather dropped her gaze to her can. Again, it was none of his business, yet, she felt compelled to answer. “My mother left when I was three.”
“Do you hear from her?”
“No.”
He looked down at the table as if lost in thought. After a long moment, his eyes jumped to hers. “I was just thinking about my kids.”
“You have kids?”
He nodded. “Two girls. I haven’t seen them in a long time.”
She hadn’t thought of Starks as a father. Somehow, it softened her image of him.
“Why not?”
“When my ex remarried, I signed custody over to her husband. He’s a decent guy, a teacher. I figured it would be better for the girls if they considered him their father.” He shrugged a little. “I was pretty screwed up at the time. It wouldn’t have been good for them to be around me.”
“When was that?”
“Nine years ago.”
She thought about her mother, gone from her life all these years. “Do you wonder about them, what they’re like now?”
“Yeah, I do. I’ve thought about finding them just to see what they look like. Watch from a distance.” He took a long draw from his drink and then sighed. “Maybe someday.”
The sorrow in his voice made her throat constrict. He’d never do it.
“What kind of engineer are you?” he asked.
“I’m not any kind, yet, but I plan to be an environmental engineer.”
“What does an environmental engineer do?”
She raised one shoulder. “It depends. I could work for the EPA or the state, or for a consulting firm. I’m interested in water quality in coastal areas.”
“So, you might end up testing the water out here in the bay?”
“Maybe. But I’d rather get into the research side, more variety.”
He nodded. “Are you going back to school in January?”
“I hope.” She glanced into his eyes and then looked at her tea again. “Money’s a little tight.”
“I guess this business with the restaurant isn’t helping.”
“No, it’s
not.”
“I hope we get it straightened out quickly.”
When she glanced up again, she caught him studying her, his smile gone. His eyes held hers in the strangest way, as if he were looking into her soul. She couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t until one corner of his mouth rose in a half smile that she was able to break the hold.
“I better get back,” she said, teetering a bit as she stood. “Coop’s liable to make a mess of the dishes.”
He walked around her to the door, held it open, and stood in the doorway.
Heather paused beside him and looked up.
Starks examined her face, as if memorizing details. His gaze stopped on her mouth and he leaned forward a little. His hand on her arm startled her, and burned her skin like a brand.
“Tell Coop I said thanks for the fish,” he said, his voice deep. Then he straightened and released her arm.
Heather’s stomach flipped over.
She turned and tried to take the steps nonchalantly, but stumbled on the last one. Fortunately, she didn’t actually fall.
He watched her walk down the driveway. She could feel his gaze. Behind her, the door squeaked as he closed it slowly.
Heather took several deep breaths of cool, night air and blew them out as she walked. His handprint tingled on her arm.
The man was more tempting than chocolate.
~~**~~**~~
Jake stared at the foil as he took another bite of fish.
To hell with not getting involved. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his nights alone.
He wanted to spend them wrapped in Heather Cooper’s long, sexy legs.
He’d eventually be sorry, but it didn’t matter. The woman already had possession of his fantasies. As long as he guarded his heart, he’d be all right.
Jake rose and walked slowly to the door. He handed Dog the last two pieces of fish. After locking the house, he stretched out on the sofa.
The bed felt too big to sleep in alone in his frame of mind. He closed his eyes and covered them with one arm.
Yes, he’d have to do something about Heather Cooper. Soon.
CHAPTER 5
“Hey there, darlin’.”
Jake looked up at the sound of Red’s voice in the outer office as the patrolman greeted dispatcher Helen Potts.
Red appeared as jovial as he sounded when he rapped on the open office door. “Morning, Chief.”
