THE RE-ENLISTED GROOM

by Amy J. Fetzer

  He had to make other arrangements. That was all there was to it. Maybe the park service had something else, and he decided he would go check.

  Raking his fingers through his hair, he grabbed up his seabag and strode to the entrance, but stopped abruptly when he saw her cross the yard to a horse trailer hitched behind a black Range Rover. She's tucked her shirt in, he thought as she released the trailer door, lowering it to the ground, then disappeared inside, coming out seconds later leading a chestnut mare by the bridle. Her moves were confident as she led the animal into the paddock and out of his sight.

  Kyle tried not to crane his neck for a better look and stormed to his chopper. How could he hunger for a glimpse of her and curse the urge at the same time?

  Outside, the wind howled around her Range Rover, and Maxie keyed the engine, letting the vehicle warm up. Closing her eyes, she pressed her forehead to the cold steering wheel and warned herself not to cry.

  This was the worst, she thought. The absolute worst. That kiss—no—that mauling in the barn warned her not to give Kyle an inch. She smacked the steering wheel, angry with him for taunting her like that and herself for falling for him like a starry-eyed schoolgirl. Being weak-kneed around a man hadn't happened to her … in seven years.

  Oh, why did he have to show up now? Her priorities had been screwed up for years, and now that she'd gotten them in order, she didn't want him coming in and fouling everything up. She was happy, for crying out loud. And for whatever reason Kyle was here, other than being a part of the standby rescue team for the park service, was meaningless. He no longer rated a priority in her life. She told herself that over and over, forcing herself to recall the look in his eyes after he'd kissed her, as if disgusted that the desire they'd once shared was stronger than ever. He was a bitter, angry man, and seeing him again only served to bring back the guilty pain. Just being within five feet of him was proof enough that her decision all those years ago had been the correct one. And she wasn't letting him back into her life.

  She threw the truck into gear and drove off.

  Maybe he wouldn't be needed. Maybe enough of the crew was well enough to work. Maybe the storm predictions were wrong, and he would just disappear again. Yeah, right, a voice pestered. And maybe everything would fall apart just when you got the glue to stick.

  Maxie drove, blinking back the tears she refused to shed for him.

  Please go away, she prayed as his helicopter passed overhead. Because it was only going to get worse. Worse when he discovered that not only did she leave him at the altar, but he had a six-year-old daughter with a woman he loathed.

  * * *

  Two

  « ^ »

  In the rescue station, Kyle stared at the men and women relaxing in the worn leather sofas and chairs arranged around a couple of coffee tables.

  "Okay, so what are you guys not telling me?" he said after another crew member refused to trade sleeping arrangements with him. He was willing to sleep anywhere if it meant he didn't have to look at Maxie before coffee. Unfortunately no one was cooperating.

  "Parrish is a lousy cook," a man finally admitted, sinking back into the body-molding leather chair.

  "You know this for a fact?" The idea that half of these men knew Maxie's cooking soured his mood even further.

  A few exchanged knowing glances. "Reputations have a way of escalating."

  "So don't eat at her place."

  "I could say the same to you, Hayden," his temporary boss, Jackson Temple, said on a laugh as he passed the cluster of personnel.

  Kyle made a frustrated sound. "Look, I'll make switching worth it." He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

  Hoots and whistles sounded seconds later. Kyle didn't have the sense to be embarrassed. Seeing Maxie on a regular basis was too unpleasant to even consider.

  "Watch out folks, he's desperate," someone said.

  A black-haired man frowned curiously. "How much we talking here, Hayden?"

  "A hundred?" Good Lord, he sounded pathetic, Kyle thought.

  "Food mean that much to you, flyboy?" came from another team member.

  "No," he muttered, fisting cash. His sanity did.

  "Then why?"

  Jackson Temple cleared his throat, then nodded slightly at the doors.

  The conversation died a quick, painful death as Kyle looked up, his gaze colliding with a pair of green eyes so aloof he couldn't begin to speculate on what she was thinking. He only knew that she'd heard. Everything.

  Then she crossed to the office and murmured smugly, "Bet the back seat of that chopper's looking real good right now," as she passed him.

  Kyle closed his eyes briefly, feeling like a heel. He didn't know if it was the smirk on her face she tried to pass off as a smile or the way she brushed aside the discussion he was a jackass for even starting with people he'd just met but these were her friends. He didn't want to embarrass her. What went on between them had nothing to do with the life she'd made for herself here.

  Kyle jammed his cash into his pocket and waved off a crewman who looked guilty enough to concede. He looked up as she shut the office door, closing Jackson in with her. Through the glass, she met his gaze, her expression unreadable. It was hard to believe she was the same woman who'd turned to liquid heat in his arms a couple hours ago, and just the memory, the taste of her still on his lips, made his body tighten. Then she closed the blinds, shutting him out. Nothing new there, he thought, moving to a soda machine and dropping change into the slot, nearly knocking the thing over when he punched his selection. He had to get out of this somehow, he thought, pulling the tab and tipping it to his lips. He drained the soda, trying not to look at the office door, to the room where she was hiding from him. Again.

  Inside the office, Maxie paced, not even bothering to take off her parka. On the way over, she'd radioed Jackson and without revealing why, she'd told him she didn't want Kyle at her place. Jackson wasn't cooperating.

  "I thought you were my friend, Jackson. Move him to a hotel."

  The team chief chuckled, his chair creaking as he leaned back and watched her eat the carpet with her strides. "You've had boarders before, Parrish, what's the deal?" She paused and leveled him a dark look, and the older man cringed dramatically, throwing his hands up. "Okay, okay, I won't pry. Not that you'd ever give details."

  "You made the assignment." She slapped her hands down on the desk and loomed. "Change it."

  "I can't. There was no other choice." He waved to the charts.

  "There has to be." Maxie already recognized the danger of being in the same state with Kyle, let alone seeing him every day, all day until his contract with the rescue team was finished.

  "Not for a chopper. Fuel is too expensive to have him land anywhere else. Your ranch is the best place to set one down. Close. Low wind, lots of unobstructed area. You know that." Her expression pleaded for a little understanding, and Jackson frowned. "I've never seen you like this, Maxine. He's got you scared."

  She blinked, straightening. Scared? Of Kyle? She peeled off her jacket and tossed it aside before she plopped onto the sofa. Bracing her boots on the scarred table, she folded her arms over her middle and stared at nothing. She was not afraid of him. Just of him touching her. Her mind went blank when he did. And she couldn't afford a single incoherent thought for her daughter's sake. Mimi depended on her mom keeping it together.

  For the ride over here, for the time it took to feed and water the horses and mules on loan here, she'd done nothing but brood and stomp around, having herself a real nice pity party. She was glad Mimi was at her grandma's for the next couple of days or she would be deflecting questions instead of old feelings. Mimi had a talent for seeing to the center of a problem and pestering till she had the entire truth. Or telling Maxie what she believed to be the truth, whether her mother wanted to hear it or not. It was one of the things Maxie liked best about her daughter, her candidness.

  "I like him," Jackson said.

  Only her gaze shifted
. "You would."

  "Apparently you did, too, at one time."

  She looked away. Yes, she'd loved him, or thought she had. Her timing was lousy when she'd wised up and realized it was mostly lust. Good lust, but not enough to base a lifetime on. Yet it was the immature way she'd left him that still haunted her.

  Jackson's words came back to her. Kyle had her running scared. She wouldn't, not this time. She'd vanished on her wedding day, only to discover three weeks later that she'd jilted the father of her child. By then he was in Saudi with a broken heart and didn't need to hear from her; he needed to think about staying alive. She had refused to run to him just because she was pregnant, yet knew he had a right to know about Mimi. As soon as his unit had returned, she'd called, left a message and got a terse reply via his big brother. "Don't call back, he doesn't want to see you again."

  She'd written him anyway, the hardest letter she'd ever had to pen. And it came back to her, unopened. The message was painfully clear.

  But now he was here, and her daughter's happiness was in jeopardy. Mimi was her first and only concern. She'd suffered the "almost my dad" attachment once too often, and Maxie would endure anything, even Kyle's cruel remarks and glares, before she would allow her daughter to be hurt by her mistakes again. Suddenly she lurched off the couch and grabbed her jacket, donning it as she headed to the door.

  "Maxine?"

  "You need him to move the chopper, right?"

  "Yeah," Jackson said, eyeing her warily.

  Maxie looked at him. "Then tell him to do it. I'll be out at my place, waiting."

  "Are you saying he's stuck with you?"

  "I don't have much choice, do I? I agreed in writing to let the rescue service use my land for their choppers. Besides—" she shrugged "—it's a big place. A big house." She could go an entire day without running into him if she tried hard enough. And she would.

  Maxie threw the door open and smacked into Kyle's chest. It was like hitting a brick wall, and he caught her shoulders, steadying her, yet keeping her close. Her gaze jerked to his, her hands flattened on his chest. For a long moment neither moved—Maxie lost in the familiar feel of his body molding to hers and the memories that came with it, Kyle wanting to touch more than her shoulders.

  Someone cleared his throat. Kyle's lips curved ever so slightly. But it was the self-satisfied twist to them that sent Maxie backpedaling … right into Jackson. From behind, Jackson settled his hands on her shoulders, and Kyle's features tightened.

  Even if Temple were in peak physical shape, he was a good dozen years older than Maxine, Kyle thought, then was angry with himself for the need to justify another man touching her.

  "Fire up that bird, flyboy," Jackson said. "Time to move it."

  Kyle lowered his gaze to Maxie's and he found only resignation in her expression.

  "It appears you're staying at my place."

  So she could stick pins in a festering wound? "I'll pass."

  The old rebellion he remembered in her rose to the surface.

  "I think we can be adults about this."

  His eyes darkened and he scoffed. "That's a first."

  She smirked, folding her arms. "Being your usual witty self, I see."

  Kyle knew she was referring to the ugly remarks he'd made this morning. He regretted that his emotions got the best of him and was determined not to let it happen again. He just wished she still didn't turn him on like a tight switch.

  Jackson squeezed her shoulders, silencing another dig, and Maxie patted Jackson's fingers, then glanced back at him. "See ya."

  Kyle's eyes narrowed as she pushed past walking briskly to the doors. He watched her go, then brought his gaze back to Jackson. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. If Maxie could appear casual about the arrangements, then so could he.

  "Not a room available anywhere, flyboy, so what will it be? Maxine's—" Jackson's lips curved "—or the back seat of your chopper?"

  Still Kyle fought the inevitable. "I could sleep here." He'd seen four cots in a small room at the back of the station. And it was a tremendous waste of fuel to head home each night and get here when, and if, they needed him.

  Jackson shook his head. "For the team on call, sorry."

  Kyle rubbed the back of his neck and muttered a curse. "Not much of a selection left, then, huh?"

  Jackson fought a grin and ever the diplomat, gestured inside the office. "Let's get you some gear."

  Kyle followed. Jackson Temple was his boss for the next week or two, and although they'd only met earlier this morning, before seeing Maxie, Kyle liked him.

  Kyle stood back as Jackson went to the cabinet and threw open the doors, withdrawing coils of nylon rope, extra rigs for mountain climbing, medical kits, a hand radio, a booklet of rules and regulations, authorization passes and stickers and the standard flame orange jacket the crew wore, fur lined and heavy. He stacked the gear on the sofa. "Check the radio—we've had a couple of duds lately."

  Kyle did, then started arranging the equipment in a spare duffel bag while Jackson wrote "Hayden" on a plastic tag and slipped it into the clear window above the chest pocket of the orange jacket

  "Thanks for showing up, Hayden," he said, offering the jacket. Kyle looked up, accepting it frowning. Jackson shrugged, then moved to the coffeemaker and poured a cup. "We're badly shorthanded, with the flu going around. I appreciate your loan of the chopper." He handed the steaming mug to Kyle. "I know this cuts into your paying business."

  "Just so you know, no one flies her but me."

  Jackson grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Possessive, huh?"

  Kyle sipped. "Yeah, me and the bank are that way about things that aren't paid for." He set the cup aside to load gear.

  Jackson chuckled, dropping into the seat behind the desk. He propped his boots on the edge. "So … how long have you known Maxine?"

  Kyle stilled, frowning, then jammed ropes into the corner of the duffel. Maxine. He hadn't heard anyone call her that since her father was yelling at her to come home, and she was ignoring him, riding away on the back of Kyle's motorcycle.

  "Years."

  Jackson frowned. "How many exactly?"

  "Eight or so." Kyle shrugged, zipping the bag closed. He met Jackson's gaze. "You?"

  "'Bout three, ever since she an—ah … moved up here. And no, we're just friends." He sent Kyle a look that said dating Maxie was robbing the cradle in his eyes. "'Sides. No one gets near Maxine unless she wants it."

  Kyle knew that. The woman he'd met today was a shadow of the Maxie he had loved. He insisted he didn't care if she was cold. He just wanted to fulfill his obligation and get out of here. And avoiding her was his preference.

  Kyle took up his mug and sank into the sofa, sipping, his gaze on the window. Maxie was climbing behind the wheel of her Range Rover and driving away.

  "You two got a serious history, huh?"

  Kyle's lips tightened. He wasn't about to let his personal life become the rescue-watch joke of the day. "Just a history. There's got to be a room available somewhere else…?" He was a backup chopper pilot nothing more. And if he didn't have to be here, he for damn sure wouldn't. He looked to Jackson.

  "Sorry, no." Kyle didn't care for the twinkle in Jackson's eyes just then. "Now, get your chopper off my triage pad, Hayden. It stays at the Wind Dancer until you're needed."

  Kyle didn't like this, yet stood and hefted the duffel full of gear.

  "Have fun."

  Kyle glared at Jackson. The man grinned back. "You're enjoying this."

  "Probably more if I knew what it was all about—" he shrugged "—but yeah. I haven't seen any excitement in months. You know, people being cautious. Obeying the rules. Puts me out of a job."

  Kyle couldn't fight the smile working out from beneath his scowl. "Call if you need me," he said, holding out his hand. Jackson shook it and the two men parted.

  Kyle took his time and walked outside, shrugging deeper into his jacket and donning his glo
ves against the cold. The wind whistled softly, but the temperature was dropping. Not any more than when he was near Maxie, he thought tossing the emergency gear next to his seabag in the chopper, then climbing inside. He stared at the control panel, delaying the inevitable and disgusted with the fates that were screwing with his perfectly ordered life. Checking the dials and his watch, he refitted his sunglasses for the third time before turning over the engine, the blades swiping the air, gaining speed with each turn. Adjusting his radio headset, Kyle waited until he had the ground crewman's signal, then lifted off, tipping the chopper to the right and heading toward Maxie's place. He was anxious and if he had to admit it fearful. It was too much like Iraq, flying into a hot landing zone. But Kyle had an idea that living under the same roof with the only woman he'd ever wanted to marry would be like living under enemy gunfire. With him unarmed.

  A half hour later, Maxie watched his approach from the steps of her front porch. His helicopter was black with a sunrise painted on the side in bright red, orange and metallic gold. His name was stenciled below the pilot's window. Before he was close enough to set the chopper down, she stepped off the porch, walking toward the flattened ground several hundred yards beyond the main buildings. Dread moved through her with every step, and she tipped her cowboy hat low on her forehead and tried to appear as relaxed as possible. But her insides were twisting in tight knots, nauseating her.