A knock sounded on the door. "Lieutenant?" Whitmore. Fuck it. "It's been thirty five minutes, Sir. Are you done in there?"
I slung the bag over my shoulder and trooped to the exit. One lock scrape and door creak, and I had Jack in my sights again. "Whitmore," I said. "Sorry for the delay."
"Oh," Jack said, and caught sight of Chanel in her dress and my jacket. "No problem, Sir. I totally understand."
"Understand what?" Chanel asked. "That we had a discussion? Good, I'm glad you understand." She marched to the door and stared down the Petty Officer. "I'm riding shotgun, by the way."
Jack's jaw dropped. "I - uh, yes, ma'am."
"Move?"
He backpedaled and Chanel swept past him and out into the hall. Apparently, she didn't play games. Another thing I could add to the list of 'Chanel's great qualities.'
I chuckled and patted Whitmore on the shoulder. "Looks like we've got our decorator," I said, then followed the scent of her perfume out into the sunlight.
Chapter 7
Chanel
I'd left my cellphone at Paula's place before we headed out to the bar, and I didn't want to think of the number of missed calls and angry messages I'd find on it when I eventually got it back. That wasn't my problem now, though.
Now, I had to walk home from where Ryan and the other officer dropped me off at Scott's Designs, wearing his jacket. My mom would flip her shit the minute she saw me.
Still, nothing could dampen my excitement today. If I got the contract for the base up in the mountains, I'd be out of my mother's path for months at least. Away from Meek Springs and the small-town mentality and the blind hatred for anything out of the ordinary.
God, I couldn't wait.
And there wasn't a chance my mother would say 'no' to that type of contract. It would bring in loads of revenue, and if there was anything she respected, it was the Navy, all thanks to dad, of course.
I still struggled to fathom out what he'd seen in her.
I traipsed down the sidewalk, heels clopping on the concrete, and held the jacket tight to my body. Icy wind pricked at my cheeks and numbed them, but it didn't touch the warmth building in my heart.
Flashes of last night, of Ryan's teeth on the back of my neck, his dick deep inside me, made me tremble all over again. It'd been perfect, more than I ever expected to experience with a man, but it couldn't possibly last.
He was a soldier, and I was a decorator trapped in Meek Springs with my overprotective mother. I didn't have prospects or a means of getting out of the town. If I ran away, I'd have nowhere to live, and with my mother as the only reference on my resume, I couldn't exactly call up another store and ask for a job.
The happiness abated. Life would return to normal soon enough. Perhaps, Ryan wouldn't get the permission he needed for me to go to the base. My shoulders sagged under the weight of that certainty.
"Chanel!" A man called out.
He was back, already. I spun on my heel and teetered - shoot, I'd forgotten I was in these darn stilettos - and a fresh wave of disappointment crashed into me. No, it wasn't Ryan. It was Timothy.
The most eligible bachelor in Meek Springs jogged over, his coiffed blond hair untouched by the breeze. "There you are," he said, and gave me his cheesy smile. The same one all the other chicks in this town fell over themselves for.
"Where else would I have been?" I asked, and hugged Ryan's coat tighter. I inhaled his scent and it brought comfort.
"Oh, right, ha," Timothy said. "Well, I stopped by the store and you weren't there, so I was kinda worried. I figured you might close after the big storm, but I wasn't sure."
"Yeah," I said. I couldn't confirm whether we'd be closing or not, since I hadn't spoken to my mother yet. God, she'd likely called in the cops by now. Missing daughter gone rogue. No doubt, she'd called Paula first thing and forced the truth out of her.
I trusted my friend to have my back, but my mother was a force to be reckoned with. If she wanted information, she got it, and that was that.
I didn't even have a story prepared for where I'd been. Mom would disown me if she figured I'd been out all night with a soldier.
"Uh, Chanel?"
"Yeah," I said, and focused on Timothy again. "Sorry, I'm kind of distracted. A lot on my mind."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"I heard you were at the Springs Bar 'n Grill last night. Wish I could've made it," he said, and searched my face. Had he heard I left with a soldier? Oh God, if that rumor had already started, my mother would've been first in line to hear it.
"Yeah, it was okay. A little cold with the weather and all. How are you, Tim?" I asked.
He scratched the back of his neck. He hated being called 'Tim.' Had since High School. "I'm good. Things are looking good for me. Still working with my father down at the factory, but yeah, pay's good so -"
"That's great," I said, and side-stepped him. I continued my walk toward my house, the inevitable draw of doom approaching, and he fell into step beside me. "I'm glad you're happy." This was the same Tim who hadn't said a single word to me in high school.
I hadn't been one of the popular girls and I certainly hadn't developed until we were seniors. By then, he had a longterm girlfriend who would've clawed his eyes out if he so much as glanced in my direction. The same girl who left Meek Springs right outta high school and cheated on him multiple times, according to the rumor mill.
"What about you, Chanel? How are you doing?"
"I'm fine," I said. "I'm great." Lies, all lies, but it didn't matter. Tim and I weren't exactly best friends.
"That's good. So, listen, I was wondering if you'd like to catch a movie with me some time," he said. "Thought it might be fun to hang out. You know, like in high school?"
"When did we ever hang out in high school?" I asked, and turned the corner. A handful of houses separated me from my mother's wrath. Already, nerves bubbled and I pressed both hands to my stomach.
"You know what I mean. Remember the one time we all caught a movie as a group?"
"That was on a school trip," I said. "In fact, I don't remember a single time you and I hung out in high school."
"Right." He scratched the back of his neck again, then progressed to his blocky jaw. "Well, it'd be great if we could -"
"Chanel!" My mother's voice sliced through our conversation. God, it was enough to turn me to stone. I froze on the spot and looked up at her, standing on our front porch, hands on her hips. "Chanel, you get up here this instant."
Her gray hair was fastened in a bun atop her head. Militant, tight, not a strand escaping. She'd aged well, but her hair had grayed abnormally early. A part of me wanted to believe it was the reason she despised me, so much. I'd retained youth and she hadn't.
It had to have been hard for her. Back in the day, she'd been a model, that was, until I'd gone ahead and ruined her body. Her words, not mine.
"Hi, mom," I said.
"Get up here!"
"I'll - uh, I'll see you later, Chanel," Timothy said, and backtracked.
What? No, knight in shining armor act from the high school super star? Shocking. I took the stairs one at a time, feet aching in the stilettos. I'd never wear a pair of these again, no matter how much Paula insisted they were 'just the best thing since fried steak.'
Mom latched onto my elbow and partially dragged me up the stairs. "Where have you been? I've been calling you for hours and your friend isn't answering her phone."
I silently blessed Paula for her wisdom.
"Sorry," I said, "I overslept."
"Why are you dressed like that? Whose jacket is that?" She snapped.
Oh God, oh God, too many questions. Why couldn't I have a normal fucking life? "We went to the bar," I said. Honesty wasn't the best policy with mother, but I might be able to take a lesser charge to get out of the worse one.
She'd be furious at me for disobeying her 'order' but she'd flip her fucking shit if she found out I spent the night with Ryan.
"You
what?"
"Yes, mom, I went to the bar. We drank, we danced, we had a great time and then we went home. I overslept. I panicked when I woke up and saw the time and I ran out of there before I even grabbed my cellphone, okay?"
She quivered. "Young lady -"
"I'm not sixteen, mother. You can't control every facet of my life. If I want to go out with my friend, I'm well within my rights." Especially, since the bar in town was pretty lax when it came to serving folks under the drinking age. Not that I'd had much to drink. Or anything for that matter.
"You're living under my roof. You know what that means." She grabbed the lapel of Ryan's jacket and fisted it. "Whose is this?"
"Timothy's," I lied. "He saw me walking home in the cold and took pity on me. He figured I'd need it."
"I don't believe you," mom said.
Anger replaced fear. "I don't care what you believe anymore. I'm so sick of living like this. I'm sick of living with you."
She stepped back as if I'd slapped her, and pressed her hand to her chest. "Pardon me?"
"You heard me. I'm tired of living like this. I feel trapped by you."
"You're ungrateful. I've given you everything you have," she said. Her indignation softened, slightly. "Chanel, I just want what's best for you. I want to protect you from everything bad out there. You remember what it was like to lose your father."
"Don't. Don't use that as an excuse." I moved past her and into the house. I needed a shower, and a cup of coffee, and God, I needed to be away from her after that. I had to get my cell from Paula, too.
"It's not an excuse. It nearly broke this family, losing him. I won't let that happen again. I can't lose my baby girl, too."
"I'm not a kid anymore," I said. "And the more you act like this, the less I want to be with you."
"You're different." She followed me into the kitchen, and leaned against the counter, arms folded across her apron. "What happened last night? Did you sleep with Timothy?"
"Jesus Christ!"
"Language!" She ran her thumbs under the straps of her apron, then sighed. "You need to be careful, Chanel. There are rumors spreading that you're doing things you shouldn't. With soldiers." This wasn't the full on offensive. This was what my mother did to break me down.
The minute I showed weakness she'd jump in with the attack.
"Bullshit," I said. "And I don't care what rumors there are." I put a pot of coffee on, ignoring another wave of warmth. Just the mention of what'd happened last night with Ryan gave me strength. "But yeah, I did happen to run into a couple of soldiers last night."
"What?"
"Yeah, they were at the bar. In plain clothes, obviously, before you ask." That would matter to her. Soldiers drinking in uniform was grounds for dismissal. "And they had a few interesting things to say."
My mother sighed again. "You're asking for trouble. I didn't give you all the leeway I have -"
"Leeway!" I snorted a laugh. This stuff had built up for so long, I couldn't keep it in anymore. "Anyway, the Commanding Lieutenant up at the base needs help with morale. He's asked for my portfolio."
Mother's eyes widened and she stammered. "Up there? At that place? Where they're doing those experiments?"
"Don't be ridiculous, mom, they're not doing any experiments."
"You don't know that," she said. "It's unnatural, all those soldiers up there. No one knows what they're up to and the rumors -"
"Screw the rumors!" I flapped my hands at her. "Screw what anyone in Meek Springs thinks. This is a huge opportunity for Scott's Designs. You should be happy about it. Unless, there's a reason you don't want me to go up there?"
"I prefer having you here. Where I can see you."
The exact opposite of what I preferred. I poured myself a cup of coffee and didn't offer her one. The first time I'd done that in my entire life. I drank deeply, then clapped the mug down in the sink. "I hope the Lieutenant comes back to me and says I can do it. Actually, I pray that he does. I can't stand another day in this town."
"What's gotten into you?" Mom asked, and her eyes actually filled with tears. "Don't you care about what I want, anymore?" Cue the guilt trip.
I didn't have an answer for her. I turned my back and walked off, head held high at last.
Chapter 8
Ryan
I sat at my desk and re-read the email that had just come through. Commander Shepherd wasn't big on fax machines, thank God. When he could, he used the net, and I appreciated the hell outta that. Nothing frustrated me more than waiting for a response.
The email had come through from a secretary. A scheduled call in five minutes. I brushed my hands across the top of the desk, then interlaced my fingers and rested them front and center on my desk pad.
Commander Shepherd was one man who intimidated me. He was my superior for a reason. He'd led more men than any other Commander I was aware of. He was a legend, a myth, and strict enough to make my asshole clench in fear.
The phone rang and I exhaled. "Calm," I said. This wasn't a big deal. It was a request to improve the lives of my soldiers. He would understand that.
I picked up the receiver and pressed it to my ear. "Lieutenant Baker."
"Lieutenant," Shepherd said. His voice was gritty chalk crushed into concrete. The legacy of too many celebratory cigars. Successful missions. "What's this about decorations?" The word sounded absurd coming from his mouth.
"Sir, I've requested permission for a temporary contractor's permit to have an interior designer assess the base."
"Yes, I'm aware of that, Baker. You requested the permission from my office. Care to explain why you need a decorator out there, in the Rocky Mountains?"
"Sir, I've noticed that the morale around here has dropped," I said, and grimaced at the phrasing.
"Whose fault is that?"
"I'm doing everything I can to stay on top of things out here, but the men and women under my command are isolated from their families, from their homes. The weather conditions are less than admirable and the combination of all of this is taking its toll."
Silence apart from Shepherd’s gravelly breaths.
"I want this base functioning at optimum capacity."
"Baker, you and I both know that's not what it's about," he said. "You can't cling to the legacy of Mission Hubert for the rest of your military career." He was a straight shooter, I'd give him that.
Sensitivity was at all-time lows, however. Mission Hubert - the reason my troops had died. "This is not about that, Sir. I believe that the sensitive material we're working with, and the training these men and women have to undergo up here is taxing enough as it is without being surrounded by the bland aesthetic of the base."
"Did you just say bland aesthetic?" Shepherd actually laughed - it sounded like rocks on a cheese grater. "Never mind. I took a look at this portfolio you sent along. The woman in question, this Chanel Scott, is she reliable?"
"Yes, Sir. She's the only contractor I have access to in Meek Springs," I replied. "May I say, Sir, that this may go a long way to improving the relations between soldiers and the townsfolk? If we let one of theirs in, the rumors may abate."
"Town rumors are the least of my concern, Lieutenant." Shepherd paused, cleared the pebbles from his throat. "But I agree with your sentiment on the morale. Happy, healthy soldiers are what we need for this operation."
"I have temporary approval, then, Sir?"
"Yes. I'll have my secretary fax through official documentation. You can bring this woman out to take a look at the base. Once she's assessed the situation, I want an exact report of what she plans to do, when and how, and how long it will take."
Then it would only be a matter of approval on his side. The thought of Chanel out here had me hot under the collar, but that wasn't the reason I wanted this to happen. This would be hugely beneficial for my soldiers, and for my military career. Anything I could do to atone for what'd happened.
Not that it'd ever be enough.
"Thank you, Commander Shepherd.
I'll do my best to ensure the process proceeds without a hitch."
"Best that you do, Lieutenant. Best that you do. I'll be in touch." Commander Shepherd hung up and I let out a breath I hadn't realized was in my damn lungs.
Holy shit, the man made my balls curl right back up inside my body. But, this was good news. Chanel would have a chance to prove herself, and to get away from Meek Springs. I had a hunch that was the real reason she wanted to come up here in the first place.
I lifted the phone to call her, then rolled my eyes. I didn't have her damn number. I'd been balls deep inside her, made her come and scream, yet I hadn't asked for a number. What a guy.
A knock at my door and I put the received back in its cradle. "Come in."
Jack Whitmore opened the office door and entered, expression a far cry from the one he bore this morning in the motel. Perhaps, he'd had a little too much to drink after I left the bar last night.
"Jack," I said. I had an open door policy with most of the officers directly below me.
"Lieutenant," he replied, and saluted. It felt mocking, somehow. He didn't meet my eye. "How are you this afternoon, Sir?"
"I'm well, thank you. How are you, Petty Officer Whitmore?"
"I've been better. Mind if I shut the door?" Shutting the door meant he'd drop the formal act, so hell yeah, he could shut the damn door. We were humans, not soldier robots, for fuck's sake.
"Go ahead."
Whitmore shut it, then moved to the chair in front of my desk. He tugged it back, and it scraped along the linoleum with an ear-splitting squeak. He sat down, didn't say a word.
"Jack?"
"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation on the phone," he said. "I was about to knock before it started. I - uh, yeah."
That was a vast invasion of privacy, but Jack's expression said there was more to it than that. "What's on your mind?"
"I also saw Colleen sending a fax earlier."
"Okay."
"You're going to bring that chick up here. The one you banged."
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