“Yes, but you’ve proven my point. You know what they are, even without having read the books or seen the movies. From the time I was small until I was sixteen, I missed out. I could tell you about the progress made in work on the origin of the universe, but I completely missed the rise in popularity of the American Girl doll.”
She started to say something else, then stopped. Her gaze sharpened. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said quietly. “While you were held by the Taliban, you experienced the same phenomenon. Existing out of time.”
She touched his arm again, her fingers warm against his skin. “Not that I’m equating what I went through with what you did.”
“I wasn’t getting USA TODAY delivered, if that’s what you’re asking.”
He kept his tone light and was prepared to deflect any questions. He didn’t talk about his past—not with anyone. It was done, he’d moved on. He wanted to say he’d healed, but he knew that would never happen. The nightmares were proof. Some wounds stayed open forever. But he got by and, for the most part, managed to fool everyone into thinking he was just like them.
“I would have kept looking,” she said, returning her attention to her dinner. “If you’d been one of my team. They were wrong not to keep looking.”
He noticed that while she seemed fascinated by her steak, she wasn’t eating.
“No one knew,” he told her. “That was the point of my assignment.”
“Someone always knows. Someone has to get you in and have a plan to get you out. Equipment is supplied. They shouldn’t have left you.”
She didn’t know the details, but she could guess. And she was right—someone had known. His team had been dropped off and told they were on their own. But someone had known where they were.
“Politics,” he murmured and reached for his wine.
“How many others?” she asked.
“Three.”
Three men he’d watched die. Slowly, painfully. One by one, they’d given in to the torture, to the madness.
He set down his glass. “They had families. Some had kids. They talked about them, how they missed them, how they wanted to see them again. They had hope. They believed. They told me it made them strong, but they were wrong. Having something to live for meant they had something to lose. Those bastards hurt them more because of it. I walked away because living and dying were the same to me.”
He’d learned his lesson then. It was safer to just be his own man. To not care. Having nothing left to lose had saved his life.
“Love is death?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“I want to explain that you’re wrong, but you have no reason to believe me. The mental and emotional scars of your imprisonment would be significant. Lessons learned in traumatic situations stay with us always.” She gave him a shaky smile. “I was trapped in a closet with a spider when I was five. It was only for a few minutes, but I still remember screaming.”
She angled her chair to him. “Am I correct in assuming that you’re not interested in any kind of emotional commitment? That even though you enjoy my company and find the sex very pleasurable, you don’t want to form an attachment?”
Not exactly how he would have phrased it, but, “Yes.”
“I want to belong,” she told him. “I want to fall in love. I understand much of the feeling is chemical, but I still want to know what it’s like. Eventually I want to get married and have children. I want to be part of a family. I want roots. Nothing you’re interested in.”
“No.”
“Then spending time with you doesn’t help me achieve my goal.”
Stark words, he thought, surprised at the kick in the gut he felt. But she knew what she wanted, and he had no right to keep her from it.
“I told you before, I’m not the forever guy.”
She nodded. “Even so, I find myself reluctant to stop seeing you. I wonder if I’m attracted to the traditional bad-boy elements of your personality. Or it could be our sexual compatibility. I do like thinking about us making love and having orgasms together.” She sighed. “I’m not sure what I should do.”
His suggestion, mostly screaming from his suddenly hard dick, was that they practice a few of those orgasms right here, right now. Dinner and her life goals be damned. But he liked Felicia nearly as much as he wanted her, and there was no way he was going to screw up everything because he needed to get laid.
“You should walk away,” he told her, the words physically painful to speak.
“A sensible solution.” She stared at him. “I don’t want to be sensible. Why is that?”
“You’re a woman?”
She laughed. “I believe my ability to reason is far greater than yours, but the sexist comment is charming.” She nodded. “I need to consider this. Do you mind if I think about what I want and then get back to you?”
She was like no one else he’d ever met. Damned if that didn’t make him want her more. “Take your time.”
“And it’s all right if we finish dinner?”
“Sure.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Would you like to talk about sports? I have a working knowledge of baseball and can discuss team rankings along with player statistics.”
He started to laugh, then leaned close and kissed her. She stared at him.
“Why did you do that?”
“Because I couldn’t help myself.”
She smiled. “What else can’t you help doing?”
“No way, young lady. You have to make your decision first. No-strings sex and practice dating, knowing it will never last, or walking away and waiting for Mr. Right.”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s the sensible course.” Her eyes widened. “This is what women mean when they talk about Mr. Right Now. They’re attracted to a man like you.”
“Not exactly,” he murmured. “But close enough.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“THIS COULD BE higher,” Ford yelled from the top of the rope hanging from the base of a thick tree branch a good twenty feet off the ground.
“It could,” Consuelo shouted back to him. “We could also dig a moat and float a few alligators. How does that sound?”
“Sweet!”
Gideon shook his head. One day Ford and Angel were going to kill each other with their brainless competition. But as they’d been trying to best each other for years, he knew he wasn’t going to change anybody’s mind. As it was, he’d been brought in to offer suggestions for ways to make the obstacle course more challenging for the professionals while keeping it doable for “normal people.” He wasn’t sure why anyone thought he would know more than either Ford, Angel or Consuelo, but, if nothing else, he would enjoy spending a morning in the forest.
Angel patted one of the larger trees. “The trunks tend to have a flat side. We could set up targets.”
“No shooting in the forest,” Consuelo snapped. “Do you want to get someone killed? We’ll have a special shooting range on one side or the other of the warehouse. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Angel stared at her. “What?”
“Tell him,” Consuelo demanded, pointing at Angel. “Tell him he’s an idiot.”
“You’re an idiot,” Gideon obliged.
Angel glared at him. “Hey, what’s with taking her side? We’re friends. You just met her.”
“I like her better.”
Consuelo grinned. “Likewise,” she told him.
Angel snorted in disgust and stalked away.
Gideon chuckled, remembering that this was what it was like in the field. Sure there was danger and stress, but in the downtimes there was fun. Life had to be lived all the more because it could end at any second.
Consuelo was short, but she was strong and moved as if she knew what she was doing. Ford had introduced him, saying she would be teaching hand-to-hand and street fighting, along with a few tactical classes. Gideon would guess she knew ways to kill a man that would make the hardiest of souls shudder.
>
More important to him, he knew Consuelo was one of the few people Felicia considered a friend. As he had suddenly found himself wanting to look out for the beautiful redhead, he was inclined to side with Consuelo.
Ford slid to the ground and stepped away from the rope. “What’s the course?” he asked.
Gideon pointed to the west. “Easy two-mile jog to the edge of the vineyard, head north for another mile. Targets are set up. Shoot at a hundred feet. Center target and bottom left.” He looked to his left and right. “Do you two want to try? I dropped something along the way. One of you could bring it back.” Angel and Ford nodded with gleams in their eyes. Gideon paused. “Okay, go.”
Angel and Ford took off at a run.
“What happened to the easy jog?” Consuelo asked.
“You ever see them do something the easy way?”
“Good point.” She sighed. “I hope Ford wins. The loser will cook for a week, and Angel’s better in the kitchen.” She glanced at him. “I’m Felicia’s friend.”
He met her dark gaze. “I heard.”
“What are the odds of her getting out of this with her heart in one piece?”
“She hasn’t decided if we’re dating yet.”
Which didn’t answer the question, but he should get points for trying.
Consuelo raised her eyebrows. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t want to hurt her,” he said. “I want her to be happy.”
“With you?”
“No,” he admitted. “Not with me.” At one time, maybe. But not for a while now. Ignoring the fact that he didn’t have the skill set, he wasn’t interested in belonging. In caring. He liked living on the edges, pretending he fit in when he knew better. It was easier. Safer. Comforting.
“You tell her?”
“In many ways.”
“Is she going to listen?”
“Do women ever?”
He half expected that to earn him a quick flip over her shoulder with a hard landing, followed by her boot on his throat. Or at least the attempt. He knew the counter moves, but it had been a while. He might work out regularly, but he didn’t spar with anyone.
“Women usually hear what they want to hear,” Consuelo said grudgingly. “Felicia might be smarter than most, but she’s no different when it comes to reading men.”
Part of that was a lack of experience, Gideon thought. Felicia had missed out on what most women her age took for granted. She’d never dated. He might not be able to give her a picket fence—despite her claim it made for lousy containment—but he could let her practice on him. Let her figure it out with a guy who only wanted the best for her. As long as they both remembered his limitations.
In the distance they heard two quick gunshots. Nearly fifteen seconds later, another set echoed off the mountains.
“What did you leave for them to find?” Consuelo asked.
Gideon grinned. “A thumb drive.”
“Damn,” she muttered. “I really hope Ford wins.”
* * *
FELICIA COULDN’T GET comfortable in Pia’s office. This was her third day and she still felt like an interloper. In her head she understood that the space didn’t belong to anyone. Technically someone could own a building or a house, but this was different. She’d been given the keys to the office. The issue wasn’t her right to turn the lock—it was what happened when she stepped inside.
The office itself was small. Not much more than a desk, a few chairs and a lot of filing cabinets. The large dry erase board listed all the festivals, and under each festival was a to-do list. The remaining free wall space was taken up by posters of various events.
No matter that she knew where everything was or understood in her head that she was now in charge of the festivals—she couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong.
She felt dominated by the monster Rolodex and all the stacks of paper. Pia’s system was well organized but still relied on actual paper. There was a scent to the small office. Nothing unpleasant. Instead, it seemed as if she’d entered an ancient and sacred place where change was forbidden and those who tried were punished.
Felicia was itching to start a searchable database and put everything on the computer. Then she could relegate the old filing cabinets to storage and have some room. But not here, she thought, chiding herself for feeling superstitious yet unwilling to challenge the sense of unease.
Just one more week, she told herself. She was already set to move next Monday. Justice, Angel and Ford would be helping her. She would pack up herself and have everything ready to go. Once she was settled in her new place, she would feel more connected to her new job. At least she hoped so.
She was still worried about doing everything right. Not the logistical parts of the job—that was easy. But the rest of it. The connecting with people, the making memories. What if she got it wrong? What if she was a square peg in a round hole?
The use of the cliché made her smile. She liked clichés and common phrases. Not only did they fit easily into many situations, they implied universal understanding. Clichés provided a commonality with those around her.
Someone knocked on her half-open door. A blonde woman in her mid-fifties smiled as she walked in. She was of average height, with pretty features and a welcoming air about her.
“Hi. I’m Denise Hendrix. Do you have a second?”
Felicia knew about the Hendrix family. Ford was the youngest of the three boys. He had three younger sisters who were triplets. This must be his mother, although Denise looked much younger than she was.
“Of course,” Felicia said, coming to her feet. “I know Ford.”
Denise moved toward her, hand outstretched. “The young woman who is so good with logistics. Yes, Ford has mentioned you. From what he says, you’re going to whip our festivals into shape.”
“I’m hoping to keep them going,” she said. “I want to respect the history of the town and its celebrations. I’m not sure I’ll need a whip.”
She paused, hoping the joke made sense. Denise laughed and took a seat. Felicia settled behind the desk, relieved she’d managed to be a little funny. Humor was so complicated, she thought. Nuanced and subjective. She preferred situations where she could predict the outcome.
Denise leaned forward. “I want to rent a booth in the Fourth of July festival. Is it rent or lease? I don’t know the exact terminology. But I want a booth.”
“The city requires an application,” Felicia told her. “It’s a fairly straightforward process. Will you be cooking and serving food? That makes it more complicated. There are sanitation laws and the like.”
“No food,” Denise assured her. “I want to set up a booth so I can find a wife for Ford.”
Felicia stared at her. She must have misheard the other woman’s statement. Or not understood precisely what she meant because...
Denise sighed. “You think I’m crazy.”
“No, ma’am.”
“All right. Not crazy, but misguided.” Denise shrugged. “I can accept that. I refuse to get desperate, so I’m taking matters into my own hands.”
Another cliché, Felicia thought still stunned. “It helps to be in control,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“Exactly.” Denise nodded. “Ford was gone for so long. I missed him every day. I know why he left and I can’t really blame him, but now that he’s home I want to keep him around. So I thought if he fell in love and got married to a local girl, he’d want to stay. From what I can tell, he’s not dating, which means this is going to take a while. That’s when I realized I don’t technically need him to find the right girl. I can find her for him.”
Felicia honestly didn’t know how to respond. This time it wasn’t her lack of social conditioning that had her silent, but the fact that her brain had suddenly, unexpectedly, gone completely blank.
“Does Ford know that you—”
“Plan to marry him off?” Denise shook her head. “No. He’ll find out so
on enough, but by then it will be too late. Oh, and I’m going to find someone for Kent, too. He has finally given up on that ex-wife of his. Thank goodness. Lorraine turned out to be a total bitch. I could forgive her walking out on her marriage. It’s wrong, but, okay, relationships fail. But she walked out on her son, on my grandson, and that crosses a line in my book.”
Felicia felt as if she’d lost the ability to reason. There was too much going on and she didn’t know which thought to address first.
“I, ah...”
Denise smiled. “I thought I’d decorate the booth simply. Maybe with an eye-catching sign. ‘Do you want to marry this man?’ or something like that. I’ll have baby pictures of my two boys to show the women. That way they’d have an idea of what their children will look like.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “It’s all about the grandchildren. Kent has Reese and Ethan has Tyler and Melissa and Abby. My girls are all married with children. Ford owes me. I want him married, and if he won’t take care of that on his own, I’ll do it for him.”
She reached down and pulled a folder from her purse. “I have a list of traits I’m looking for. I was thinking I’d have the young women fill out an application and then I’d sort through them myself.” She handed over a piece of paper.
Felicia glanced at it. Sure enough, it was an application for a wife. The three-page document was surprisingly thorough. There was a medical history, a place to explain about previous relationships, along with a few lines about future goals.
“Intelligence passes through the mother,” Felicia murmured. “You might want to confirm their educational history.”
“Thanks. I will.” Denise looked at her. “So, can I have a booth?”
“Sure.”
Felicia stood and collected the papers necessary for the permit. “There’s still time for you to have space in the Fourth of July festival,” she said.
“Good. I want to be in a heavy traffic area. I know the right girl is out there for each of my boys, and I’m going to find her.”
Felicia couldn’t decide if she wanted to be around when Ford found out what his mother was doing, or somewhere far away. She knew Consuelo would laugh herself sick when she learned what was happening.
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