"That's what we want to know, girlfriend," Jolie responded, her full lips curved in a wide, knowing smile as she gave Christy a head to toe once-over.
"What?" Christy asked, looking down at herself. She looked normal enough. Surely her preoccupation with a certain former lieutenant commander wasn't written all over her face.
"Just that someone must have had some fun and frivolity over the weekend," Sam said, folding his arms and leaning his long, lanky frame against the nurses' station counter.
"What—what makes you say that?" Christy felt her cheeks heat up. Dammit. She hadn't done anything. And even if she had, what could they possibly know about it? Unless— "What did Viv tell you guys?"
Sam smirked at Jolie and held out his hand. "Five bucks."
Jolie huffed, ignoring his outstretched hand. "Tell me you didn't," she said to Christy. "I had faith in you. Which is more than I can say for Easy Fly Boy here."
Sam just laughed. "Yeah, five dollars worth of faith. Hand it over, girlfriend," he said, in a dead-on impersonation of her.
Christy looked at them both and shook her head. "I have no idea what you two are talking about I spent the weekend with Viv at her folks' cabin—"
"With some guy named Trevor?" Jolie supplied.
Christy's mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. "How did you—? Oh, I'm going to kill Viv."
"We haven't seen Viv. She's downstairs. But there is a little matter of a bouquet that was delivered about thirty minutes ago."
"Bouquet? Delivered?" Christy pushed her hair off her forehead. "What are you talking about?" But her heart was pounding.
Sam ducked behind the counter and pulled out an obscene spray of gorgeous flowers spilling out of a tall crystal vase. He clasped a hand over his chest as he set them on the counter and, with great drama, read the card. "'The thunder wasn't all outside the cabin. Trevor.'" He sighed deeply. "All the good ones are straight. I swear."
"Give me that." Christy snatched the card from his hand and read it. She had no idea what Trevor's handwriting looked like, but this didn't look like florist handwriting. He'd not only taken the time to send her flowers, but apparently he'd gone personally and picked them out. She shouldn't be impressed, shouldn't be bowled over. She definitely shouldn't be smiling and wanting to do a little conga dance all around the ICU. After all, hadn't she just decided it was better if they left it at an interesting weekend and got on with their lives? Their separate lives?
But she wanted to do that conga dance. She managed to tamp down the urge, but only because Jolie and Sam were both standing there, waiting. She managed an aloof shrug instead. "He's a friend of Viv's friend Kate. There was a little mix-up this weekend at her wedding. It was nice of him to send flowers."
Jolie snorted. "It was more than nice. What's up with the thunder and the cabin? And don't deny it, missy, because when Sam read his name off that card … well, the look on your face alone cost me five bucks. He must have been something if Miss I-Don't-Sleep-Around went up to a cabin with him."
"You actually call me that?" Christy asked, then smacked Jolie lightly on the arm when she nodded in complete seriousness. "Since when is my love life a topic of conversation around here?"
"Never," Sam said solemnly, then grinned. "Your lack of one, now that we talk about."
"Exactly! So why the stupid nickname when men aren't exactly lining up trying to get me to throw away the title?"
"Half of them you don't notice and the other half … well…" Sam rolled his eyes. "Not all the bad ones are gay, if you know what I'm saying."
"Hey, now, don't go criticizing my choice in dates."
"Yeah, it's not like she has a lot of time to sift through the pile of applicants," Jolie added. "Or the pile she might have if she didn't work a million hours a week."
Christy snorted. "Trust me, the lack of applicants, as you call them, has nothing to do with my work schedule. And as for who I do pick—" she eyed Sam "—you have little room to talk."
Jolie laughed and Sam didn't even try to defend himself. "Hey, I kid because I love," he said, giving her his best puppy-dog look.
Christy rolled her eyes, then went over to the flowers. They were truly stunning. "And for your information," she added, taking a deep sniff, "I didn't sleep with him." She grinned at Sam. "So you can pay up, buster. Teach you to keep your nose, and your bets, out of my love life."
He just laughed. "Why on earth would we do that, darling? Now that you've finally gotten one?"
Christy's gaze narrowed. "They're flowers. That's all. I just met the guy."
"Yeah, well, I wish the guys I just met would send me flowers that looked like those," Sam said, all dreamy.
Jolie rolled her eyes. "Well, if you'd date the ones old enough to have jobs, maybe—"
Sam plinked her on the arm with a pen, then rushed off when a buzzer at the desk went off. "I'll get you back for that one, sister."
Jolie just laughed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm scared." Then she turned her knowing look at Christy. "So, don't spare any of the juicy stuff." She wiggled her fingers beckoningly. "Us married girls still need our cheap thrills, you know what I'm sayin'?"
"Yeah, I hear what you're saying, all right," Christy said dryly. "And you wouldn't believe me if I told you." She pushed past her to get to the charts.
"Oh, now you've got to tell me. I get dibs as your dinner date this evening."
Christy grinned. "Yeah, and you're buying, with Sam's five bucks."
"Sold," she said, rushing off as another beeper sounded.
Christy shook her head and started going through the charts to see what they had on the unit tonight. But her gaze kept straying to the flowers. The thunder wasn't all outside the cabin. An undeniably delicious shiver of pleasure washed over her, and since she was alone, she danced a brief two-step, smiled to herself, then got to work.
* * *
Trevor looked at the wiring he'd had put in for the separate classrooms. "I have to have recessed lighting and enough power to run video and—"
"It's all there, boss," Jimmy said. He was a good twenty-five years or more older than Trevor, gruff, plain spoken, former military himself. An all-around handyman that Trevor had noticed advertised in the local paper. He'd talked to the old drill sergeant for five minutes and knew he'd found the right guy. Convincing Jimmy of that had taken another fifteen minutes. Jimmy was more actively retired than actively seeking work. The ad had been his wife's idea, he'd told Trevor, a way to get him out of her house. Her house, he'd repeated disgustedly. Like he hadn't paid for the damn thing and all the other little trinkets she liked to collect, he'd complained.
The tirade had gone on for another ten minutes while Trevor listened politely, grinning to himself the whole time. Jimmy liked to grunt and groan, but it was obvious to anyone who really listened how much he loved the woman he bought all those trinkets for. He was also intrigued by Trevor's business venture, and had eventually grudgingly agreed when Trevor asked him to help out.
"I laid enough wire in the army to light up a damn continent," Jimmy grumbled. "You can run whatever you like through here. No problem." He stood and scratched at his thinning hair. "You still planning on starting your first class in two weeks?"
"Is that a problem?" Trevor asked, knowing he'd get a snarl from the old guy.
"Not on my end, pup. You get your tables and chairs and pads and what have you in here. I'll get your power on."
"Inspector is coming Thursday."
"I'll be ready for the damned busybody. All a bunch of—" He chomped down on the unlit stub of a cigar he always had damped in his teeth, leaving Trevor to fill in the rest of the sentence.
He was still grinning as Jimmy went back to work. For all the guy hadn't wanted the job, he worked harder than three men half his age would have with very few demands. So Trevor put up with a little griping. He liked people with character, and Jimmy had truckloads of it. "I've got a truck coming in fifteen minutes," he said, "so I'm heading down to the loading dock. Call me i
f you need me."
"I can take care of myself. Don't need you looking over my shoulder every other minute."
"Yes, sir, sergeant, sir." He chuckled as he headed down the stairs, Jimmy's response still coloring the air blue.
McQuillen Enterprises consisted of two large metal warehouses and about ten acres of partially wooded property, all surrounded by a twelve-foot-high chain-link fence. The whole operation was out in the middle of nowhere, the only part of a failed industrial center that had never been fully developed. About a fifteen-minute drive from Richmond proper, ten minutes off the highway and a half hour from the airport, it was accessible, yet tucked away. Perfect for his needs.
Trevor had sectioned off one of the warehouses, insulated it, put in walls and ceilings, plumbing and carpeting, turning it into a handful of executive classrooms and offices. His plan was to operate solo, at least for the time being. He had put the word out to a few other former special-ops pals and was fairly confident it wouldn't be too long before a few would come on board and help him out when the business began to expand. And he had a feeling that demand would happen sooner rather than later if the initial response to his classes was any indication. He already received several contract proposals to look over, and if they went well, he knew he'd be busy quickly.
He crossed the lot to the other warehouse. This one he'd kept more basic, filled with padded floors, some padded walls, all sorts of lighting that could duplicate any number of natural or physical situations that his men might find themselves in. Bright daylight, dusk, moonlight, fog, even headlights bearing down on them. He had plans for an outside course and a firing range, but those would have to wait for now.
He rolled up the bay door and looked inside the dimly lit building. The floor padding was in and most of the lighting done. Some of the teaching equipment was in, but there was more on order. Padded suits, workout dummies, hard plastic knives, batons. The list went on and on. But when you were sending men into areas of the world whose only background in setting up police forces was based on military and rebel regimes, you had to prepare them to face any and every possibility. He knew firsthand that most of those possibilities would be probabilities.
He would also be training the men who would be protecting those who went to teach, as well as others, such as executives trying to bring commerce to these countries and not trained personally in defense.
The sad part was that there was such a demand for this type of training facility. And probably always would be. He'd begun work on this several years before, when the realization for the need to do this as a private, rather than military, enterprise had become obvious. Even the military realized this and were some of the first in line to send business his way. So he'd calculated the need, made contacts, gotten funding, used his own savings … and taken the leap.
He watched the truck rumble up containing chairs, desks and some of the training equipment he'd ordered. He'd done his duty to his country and was proud of his service in the armed forces. But he was energized in a way he'd never been before at the prospect of continuing that dedication, but as his own boss.
"Right here," he directed the truck, waving his arms. Yes, his own boss. His own life. His own man. He was ready. More than ready.
Christy's face popped into his mind, as it managed to do now at the oddest times. He wondered if she'd gotten the flowers. He hoped she liked them. Hoped she liked his note.
"Sir?"
Trevor snapped out of his reverie to find the truck driver leaning out his window, clipboard in hand.
"Sorry," he said, taking the clipboard and signing his name in a scrawl by the X. "A million things on my mind."
The truck driver just shrugged and took the clipboard back.
Trevor shook his head, smiling at himself as he walked to the back of the truck to help unload it. Better get your mind out of Christy Russell's life and into your own.
He had two weeks to do about two months' worth of work. But he had sixteen men coming for his first class and he'd be damned if he'd postpone it. They were all slated to head to Kosovo four months from now, and after a week here they'd be a whole helluva lot better equipped to deal with what they were going to face. Trevor was not going to let them down. Because he knew firsthand what lay in store for them. And it wasn't pretty flowers and weekend getaways.
Best he keep his mind on the job at hand himself.
* * *
The flowers were wilting. Christy knew she had to throw them away, but she stared at them instead, at the card still tucked amongst the brown-edged petals. "So much for the thunder, huh?" she muttered, reaching for the vase.
The phone rang, saving her once again. At least this time her heart didn't pick up pace, foolishly hoping there would be a deep voice on the other end. At least she wasn't being that pathetic.
"Hey there," said Viv when she answered. "Did you just get off shift? I thought you were home today."
"I pulled a double. Dave and his girlfriend were having some problems, so I—"
"Came riding to the rescue," Viv said. "Why am I not surprised?"
"I'm hardly Mother Teresa," Christy replied dryly. "Plus, I could use the extra money for my renovations. My floors look great, but now I need to overhaul the cabinets. And when I can finally sit in my own kitchen without gagging, I'm going to start on the bathrooms. Please tell me they've outlawed avocado green. I mean, it's bad enough the toilet and sink look like baby puke, but the tub? What twisted mind thought that was a good idea?"
Vivian just laughed, she'd heard this rant many times since Christy moved into her condo six months earlier. "You know you love that old place and can't wait to make every little corner of it your own."
Christy looked around and once again felt the thrill of ownership. "Well, after that apartment I was renting, I'd be thankful for anything. But you're right. This place is special." She'd spent two years looking for the right place. She'd found plenty of them, but none in her price range. Then an apartment building closer to the renovated downtown area had gone condo. One of her coworkers had given her a heads up the day the units went on sale and she snagged her choice. There had been no haggling since the phone calls had come pouring in, so it had cost her, but it had been worth it.
So what if it took a few years to turn it into the place she knew it could be when she closed her eyes and imagined the finished product? She was actually sort of enjoying the process. Claiming the two-bedroom loft and blowing all her savings had been the easy part. Turning the place into a home—her home—was harder, but incredibly rewarding.
She sighed as her gaze fell on the flowers again.
"You'll get it all done," Viv said, misunderstanding the sigh. "We all know patience isn't your strong suit."
Christy could take the out and let Viv believe she was simply impatient about the renovations, but she realized she needed to talk. "It's not the condo. It's … it's Trevor."
"He'll call. Any man who sends flowers like that is going to call."
"It's been six days, Viv. I have to throw the flowers away."
"Oh, sweetie," Viv said, obviously hearing the disappointment in her voice. "Maybe you're right and he just doesn't know where to call."
"He knows where I work."
"And he knows you're in ICU. Maybe he doesn't want to disturb you."
Christy had told herself that, along with every other excuse she could think of.
"You know, there is a solution here."
"I'm not calling him, Viv. Besides, I have no idea where he lives. He's starting his own business, but I don't know the name of it."
"Mike will know. He and Kate get home tomorrow from their honeymoon."
"No. The only talk you'll be having with Kate is listening to her apologize about her meddling."
"I'm not mad at her anymore. We'll clear it up, though," she added, cutting off Christy's lecture. "Besides—" she went on "—if she hadn't meddled, you'd never have met Trevor in the first place."
"I'm beginning to th
ink that would have been better. At least I could keep my mind on work and not on—"
When the pause went on several moments, Viv just laughed. "Yeah, I'm not blind. I know what your mind's on. Mine would be, too. Let me get his number from Kate."
"I'm not chasing after him, Viv. If he wanted to see me, he'd find me. He was in special ops. Certainly he could find one woman in Richmond. If he wanted to."
"Calling him is not chasing. What's the difference between him calling you and you calling him?"
"When a man goes after a woman, it's romantic and dashing. When a woman does it, it's pathetic and desperate."
"I can't believe you said that."
Christy laughed. "Neither can I. So much for being the millennium woman."
"The what?"
"Never mind. But I'm still not calling him."
"You said he was starting a business. He's probably just caught up in that. Any man who sent flowers and that card would enjoy hearing from the woman he sent them to."
"Viv—"
"Christy," she shot right back.
"So tell me about lunch with Eric," Christy said instead. "This is five meals in six days. How much longer is he going to be here?"
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