by J. B. Havens
That sent her into another fit of hysterics that soon had her stomach hurting. She had to brace herself against the counter otherwise she would’ve ended up on the floor in a pile of mirth. “Oh shit, Nathan!”
“Why you laughin’ at me, woman?” he growled into the phone, but she could tell there was a smile behind his indignation. “That’s not very nice.”
“Oh, Nathan, trust me. Of the two of us, Jeremiah would much rather be taking you on a date, not me.”
There was a long pause, and she almost thought the call had dropped before she heard him say, “Wait, you mean . . .”
“Yup. He’s just a friend.”
“Thank fuck. I was ready to fight him for you.”
She gasped. “Seriously? Wow. That’s a first.” More relaxed now, she took a seat at the island.
“Are you kidding me? Of course, I’m serious. There’s nothing I want more than to get to know you better. To be, well, your man, your boyfriend, whatever term you’re comfortable with. I know it’s sudden, and we haven’t actually met yet, but I just . . . you’re special, Willow. I don’t know how I know that, I just do, and I’m not willing to let you go without finding out what this thing between us can be.”
Her breath caught in her lungs. Was he for real? Gone was his hesitation—now he seemed sure of himself and of her . . . of them. “Your confidence is a huge turn on.” She slapped her free hand over her mouth, shocked she’d said the words she’d been thinking out loud.
He groaned, long and deep. “Wannabe, you can’t say things like to me when I’m so far away. You trying to torture me? Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about being with you, in every way?”
Grinning, even as she felt her face heat, she traced an invisible figure eight with her finger on the countertop several times, wishing it was his bare chest. “Probably as long as I have been wondering the same thing. So, when can you get those few days off?”
“Next Saturday, I start a week of leave. Does this mean you want me to come see you? For real?”
“For reals.”
“Awesome! You’ve just made the happiest man on base.”
Laughing, she got comfortable at the island, propping her feet up and settling in. “You’re kind of a dork, aren’t you?”
Nathan couldn’t get enough of the sound of Willow’s voice. His boring day, full of meetings necessary for him to process out of the Army, had taken a turn for the better.
“Maybe I’m a bit of a dork, but you agreed to go out with me, so what does that say about you?”
“That I have good taste in men.”
Barking out a laugh, he ignored his growling stomach. He could switch the call over to his truck’s Bluetooth and drive home, but he didn’t want to stop talking to her even for the few seconds that would take. He’d spent his deployment counting down the days until he could come home to actually talk to Willow, and now he was counting down the days until he got to see her.
Their conversation continued, neither of them wanting to stop talking now that they’d begun. He loved the sound of her voice and laughter. She told him about her day, including the run-in with her ex. As angry as he was about that, he was delighted she’d pulled her shotgun on the fucker. He almost hoped that rat bastard would show up while he was there. He’d take great pleasure in explaining, in no uncertain terms, that Willow was taken and protected by a man capable of killing him with his bare hands. A man who would, in fact, take joy in the act. He didn’t tell Willow that, of course. He didn’t want her to think he was a bloodthirsty animal. His feelings for her seemed to bring a protective streak to the forefront.
After their call ended, Nathan was still reeling. Putting his car in gear, he headed right for a drive-thru for dinner, not wanting to take more time than necessary to feed himself. He needed to get home and look at flights. He was going to see his woman and hopefully claim her in every way.
Chapter Thirteen
Willow thought nothing could pierce the ecstatic mood she’d been in since her phone call with Nathan yesterday, but someone decided to prove her wrong. She still couldn’t believe he was coming to visit in just six days. They’d ended up talking on the phone for over an hour before he finally confessed he was starving and had to eat something to quiet his growling stomach. It’d been obvious he’d been as reluctant to end the call as she’d been.
She’d stayed up late last night, making a list of everything she needed to do to prepare for his visit. There were still things she had to do around the house, like paint the walls in one of the spare bedrooms and buy a full-size bed, a nightstand, and a lamp to set up for him, at the very least. She hoped Nathan wouldn’t mind her putting him in there—even though she felt like she’d known him forever, the truth was they still had so much to learn about each other. Yes, she’d fantasized about sleeping with him often, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to actually do it. And what if the chemistry they seemed to have was all in their heads, and once he got there, they found out they weren’t really attracted to each other?
When she’d woken up that morning, she decided to go into town, get some paint from the hardware store, and stop into Shear Genius hair salon to see if she could get a trim. Ginger Moore, Cody’s sister, who Willow had met at the drunken Jenga night, had told her she worked there and to come in anytime and she would take care of her. Hopefully, she was working today, because she didn’t want to deal with Martha Watkins who’d already made her disdain of the Rock’s newest resident known.
The last time Willow had gotten a haircut was about five months ago in Philly, and she really needed to get rid of the dead ends at the very least. The last of her pink tips would be cut off, but that was okay. It was time for something new anyway, and she wanted to look nice when Nathan got there.
When she pulled the door to the little shop open, a little clapper bell tinkled, announcing her presence. It was apparent she’d interrupted a hen-house gossip session because the two stylists, Ginger and Martha, and three customers immediately shut their traps and turned their attention to the newcomer. Willow felt like a side-show freak as one much older woman sitting in Ginger’s chair regarded her, her lip curling in distaste as her eyes tracked along Willow’s tattoos. No doubt also noting her pierced nose.
“Hey, Willow! Did you have an appointment I forgot about?” Ginger asked after turning off the hair dryer she was using on the woman.
“Hi, Ginger, I didn’t make an appointment—sorry. I just need a quick trim and was hoping you could squeeze me in.” Willow really liked Ginger, who was about five years younger than her. They’d hit it off immediately at Jenga night, bonding over a love for rock bands, body art, and bright hair dye. Ginger kept her ink hidden from most people—it was on her hip—and had a beautiful electric-blue tint in her dark-brown hair. Surprisingly, none of the other women in the place seemed to have had a problem with her choice of color, so it must be Willow’s hot pink they had an aversion to. Or maybe it had nothing to do with her hair at all and what they had an aversion to was her. “If it’s not too much trouble. I can always come back another day.”
“It’s no problem at all. I’ll get you fixed up just as soon as I’m done with Mrs. Jenkins here.” Ginger patted the shoulder of the gray-haired, seventy-something-year-old woman in front of her. “Have a seat for a few minutes, and I’ll be right with you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She took a seat near the window where a few chairs were lined up. There was a stack of magazines on a small table beside her. Picking one up, she flipped through it absentmindedly while trying to ignore the conversation around her.
“Kids these days have no respect. Did you hear about what a group of those football players did?” Mrs. Jenkins nasally voice cut through the light chatter that’d started again like a knife through butter. “They took a steer onto the football field, painted it red, and took turns trying to ride it. That animal tore up the turf and ruined the field! In my day, that sort of thing was punished severely. Not this suspe
nsion nonsense. Kids don’t want to be at school. So how is giving them what they want a punishment?”
“It is a shame,” Ginger agreed. Her pacifying tone and expression told Willow she’d clearly had this conversation, or ones similar to it, with the older woman before and was simply humoring her.
“Jesus is what they need. Just like folks who choose to mark up their bodies with filth and fill it full of holes the good Lord didn’t put there.” Mrs. Jenkins cut her eyes to Willow, not hiding her contempt.
Ginger met Willow’s gaze over the older woman’s head, wincing in sympathy. “Now, Mrs. Jenkins, everyone has the right to make choices with their own bodies. It’s not for us to judge.” Willow understood the stylist’s diplomatic response to a paying customer, and she barely bit back a scathing retort herself.
Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t done with her preaching yet, however. “More church is what this world needs. Not rock music and those disgusting, shameful displays young folk call dancing. The world would be a better place if there were more bibles in hands and knees on the floor in prayer.”
Willow gritted her teeth, fury bubbling inside her. Keep your mouth shut. Putting this old biddy in her place isn’t worth it, even if it would be so satisfying. She cleared her throat and turned another page in her magazine. Her mother had taught her to respect her elders, even when they were being small-minded judgmental assholes.
“Just like divorce. Marriage is a sacrament not to be broken by anything less than death. That’s why the vows are ‘until death do us part.’ Not until we get sick of each other.”
That’s it! Willow’s mouth opened and words poured out before she even realized it. “Marriage is a sacrament, but when one party decides he’d rather stick his prick in another woman, the sacrament is broken. Maybe God should be a little more understanding in that regard.”
It was as if a silent bomb had gone off in the room. All eyes were back on her, this time in shock. Mouths gaped. Ginger’s and Martha’s hands were frozen in the air above their clients’ heads. It was surprising when Martha seemed to recover first and quickly did some damage control. “Now, ladies, you’re here to enjoy an afternoon getting pampered. No need for us to be sniping at each other. Ginger, I think Mrs. Jenkins’s hair looks lovely. Why don’t you get her checked out, so she can enjoy the rest of her day and show off that lovely hairdo?”
Willow remained quiet, actually astonished that Martha hadn’t kicked her out of her shop after she’d snubbed Willow the previous time they’d crossed paths. Dropping her gaze to the magazine in front of her with an air of nonchalance, Willow did her level best to calm down and ignore the nasty older woman. Her week was going to be wonderful—Nathan was coming to stay with her—and she refused to let the poison the woman spewed to ruin it for her.
“You know,” Willow looked up to see Mrs. Jenkins standing in front of her with a pious look on her face, “like father, like daughter. I’m sure that awful man that sired you is burning in Hell. No doubt you’ll be right beside him.”
Stunned, Willow’s mouth fell open, but her temper rose faster than her shock. Somehow, she managed to keep her tone as sweet as molasses. “Since we’re all born sinners, I’ll be seeing you in Hell too, no doubt. Have a good day, Mrs. Jenkins, I’ll be praying for you.” She smiled as broadly as she could force herself, thinking that two could play at this game. If the old bitch was so shocked by her tattoos and nose ring, wouldn’t it just chap her ass to find out Willow had her nipples pierced too? Willow was almost tempted to whip those puppies out, just to see the other woman faint.
Mrs. Jenkins huffed and stormed out of the salon in a cloud of perfume and indignation.
Ginger coughed and ducked her head to hide her grin. “Willow? Ready, sweetie?”
“Sure am.” Setting her magazine aside, she followed Ginger to the back of the salon where the sink stations were as the other three women stared at her in shock. “I need to look good for my trip to Hell, right?”
Chapter Fourteen
Nathan sat nervously at the small desk in his bedroom in the apartment he shared with Sergeant Zach Ramsey near the base, with his laptop open in front of him. Willow had agreed to Skype him at 7:00 p.m. that night, and he’d sat down with fifteen minutes to spare, just in case she called a little early. He hoped he didn’t babble like an idiot when he was finally face-to-face with her. It was bad enough he’d sounded like a teenage dork when she’d surprised him with the phone call yesterday.
Taking a quick glance behind him for the third or tenth time since he’d sat down, he made sure everything was uncluttered and there were no stray dirty clothes in view. Being in the military for so long had instilled the need to be clean, orderly, and prompt, three traits that would probably follow him until the day he died.
His knee jiggled under the desk, and he double-checked the Skype app on the computer, making sure it was open and working. Damn, he was going to go nuts if she didn’t call soon. The clock in the upper right corner of the screen read 6:55.
He was just about to get up and quickly run to the kitchen to grab a soda from the fridge when the quirky Skype music for an incoming call erupted from the computer’s speakers. His nerves ratcheted up several notches as he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans and then clicked his mouse to accept the call. Suddenly, there she was, looking more beautiful than she’d been in her pictures. Her hair was perfectly styled, but the pink tips were gone, and she was wearing subtle makeup which only enhanced her facial features. The emerald-colored t-shirt she had on made her hazel eyes appear more green than brown. Squinting closer, he noticed the script on her shirt read “Stop Chicken Me Out” with a white outline of a chicken wearing sunglasses below the words.
Staring at her, he almost swallowed his tongue. He’d tried searching for her on social media sites, to see if there were any other pictures of her on them but hadn’t been able to find her accounts. When they’d spoken on the phone last night, he’d learned she wasn’t on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or any other sites anymore. There wasn’t anyone from her past she really wanted to stay connected to, so there’d been no reason to keep the accounts she’d made years ago, since she never used them. Nathan didn’t blame her. He only had a Facebook account that had all the security measures in place so no one could track him down unless he wanted them to. He stayed in touch with a few high school classmates, two cousins from California, who he hadn’t seen in person since his family’s funeral, and a bunch of Army buddies who were scattered around the globe, but that was it.
“Oh my God, Nathan. Is that really you?” Willow asked in a husky, nearly breathless tone that sent a shiver down his spine. He hadn’t gotten around to sending her a photograph of himself without all his gear on, so this was the first time she was really seeing him. He’d been worried that she wouldn’t find him attractive, but her next words squashed that fear. “Holy crap, you’re hot!” Her eyes widened in shock as she slapped a hand over her mouth for a moment. “Oh, shit. I didn’t just say that out loud, did I? Please tell me I didn’t. God, I’m such a babbling idiot.” She groaned softly and sighed. “Shutting up now.”
He smiled and chuckled at her. Damn, she was so cute. “You did say it out loud, but I promise I won’t hold it against you. In fact, I’ll say it right back at you. Holy crap, you’re hot!” His grin grew as she giggled at him. “Actually, the words I really want to use are beautiful, stunning, captivating, beautiful . . .”
His voice trailed off as he watched a blush stain her cheeks. She was clearly flustered by his compliments.
“You—you said beautiful twice.”
“It was worth mentioning twice.” There was a long pause of silence between them as they studied each other, and then Nathan cleared his throat. He felt like he had the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, but this woman disarmed him completely. “Um, so I booked my flight for Saturday. I’ll email you the itinerary later.”
She smiled and sat up straighter. From the looks of it, she was on a couch, probably in
her living room. He could see a painting of the ocean behind her on the wall, but the details were too hard to make out. “Great, I can’t wait to show you around the metropolis known as Antelope Rock! The tour should take a whopping twenty minutes or so, but it’s definitely worth it. And there’ll be a quiz afterward,” she added with a wink.
“I’ll try to pay attention, but I’m sure I’ll be distracted by the tour guide. What do I get if I pass the quiz?”
“Hmm. I’ll have to get back to you on that. How was work today?”
As they chatted, he felt the earlier apprehensive tension in his shoulders subside. She was so easy to talk to—there was no room for nerves. “A lot better than it’s been for the last eleven months. It feels amazing to be back on US soil doing mundane work and not have to worry about getting shot or blown up.” His stomach dropped when she gaped at him in horror. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. It—it wasn’t that bad, Willow. There were just days that were worse than others. But I’m home safe and sound now, so there’s nothing for you to worry about anymore.”
She swallowed hard, and he could swear he saw her eyes well up, but no tears fell. “I-I tried not to think about what you were doing over there . . . what you were facing. I kept telling myself, whatever your job was, it didn’t put you in any danger. It was scary to think otherwise and to know if something did happen to you, I’d probably never know other than your letters would have stopped coming.”
He didn’t tell her that he’d added a death letter to his footlocker over there after receiving her care package. It was the first letter he’d put in there since he’d ripped up the one for his parents and sister in his grief after they’d died. If he’d been killed or seriously injured in action, someone would’ve notified Willow for him and let her know how much he’d cherished her letters and friendship over the last several months. He hadn’t wanted what she’d been worried about to happen. If his letters had stopped coming, she wouldn’t have had to wonder if he’d been killed or so badly hurt that he couldn’t write, as opposed to if he hadn’t wanted to continue writing to her—which would have never happened. Those letters had been a lifeline for him, one he hadn’t known he’d needed.
