“Brodie and my brother were best friends. He was always at our place, or Brett at his. I hung around with a bad case of puppy love. We all grew up together until the guys graduated from college and went into the military. We lost touch. I didn’t know Brodie was back in Birmingham until I ran into him at the VA. The best answer I can give you is…we’re friends.”
“You still feeling that tug of puppy love?”
Allison shrugged a shoulder. She wasn’t being coy. She honestly didn’t know.
“That’s good enough for me,” her date said. “I’ll just have to convince you it’s all in the past. Come on—they’re playing our song.”
“We have a song?” She grinned.
“Any song, every song will do,” he replied.
On the edge of the dance floor, he pulled her into his arms and led her into a simple foxtrot as they swayed to the music. He was a good dancer, and she felt herself relaxing into his arms. They ate and drank and danced, and laughed a lot. They talked about their jobs, their families, favorite books and movies. She couldn’t remember when she’d had such a nice time. Carefree, relaxed, enjoyable. No baggage from the past, or dreams of the future. Only the present.
Jess was fun, and when the night ended and he walked her to her door, she leaned into his body as he drew her into an embrace.
“I had a great time, Allison. I’d like to see you again.” When she nodded, he brushed her lips in a brief goodnight kiss and turned to leave. Before he was three steps away, he came back. This time the kiss wasn’t brief. Muscular arms pulled her close as his mouth moved over hers, erotic, compelling, and full of promise. So different from Brodie. Before he released her, he squeezed her waist and whispered against her mouth, “Something to think about.”
And then he was gone. Something to think about indeed. If Brodie was the man who held her heart, how could the kiss of another man make her heart stutter? How could it feel so very good? Yet another complication in her life
A murmured goodnight, and Jess drove away. Her gaze searched through the moonlight to the house across the street, and she heard the sound of glass clinking against glass. He was there on his porch, watching and drinking. Oh, Brodie. You’re only going to make things worse. Put the beer away.
She fought the urge to go to him. Her heart beat like a metronome. Tick…tick…tick. It was all about the timing, and theirs had always been off. And now there was Jess. Jess of the strong arms and easy spirit. Uncomplicated Jess. Sweet Jess.
She turned and went inside. As she flicked off the lights, she could still see the vague outline of her unsolicited guardian. She sighed aloud, a long, deep, confused sigh. Nothing would change overnight. Certainly not the tangled web of her feelings about Brodie nor her attraction to Jess Harper.
****
Allison had finally bid goodnight to Harper. He’d sat on his porch and waited patiently for the landscaper to bring Ally home. Now that she was home, he could finally relax.
He was acting like an overprotective father or a jealous lover. “Why” was a question he wasn’t ready to address. For now, he accepted it was simply because it was Ally, and, for whatever reason, she was special.
There were a few women who’d interested him since he’d been home, but for the most part they left him cold. The sex was okay; it scratched his itch. He was unfailingly polite as he murmured the expected compliments and thank yous, but it was obligatory, and he suspected they knew it. On occasion he’d stayed the night, but not all that often. Maybe the damned war had destroyed his libido along with everything else.
Nah. His libido wasn’t a problem. His johnson was functioning fine. It just wanted one woman in particular to come out and play.
The couple had arrived home and walked up the sidewalk. Dimly illuminated by the porch light, they’d talked for a few minutes, shared a laugh, and talked some more. He’d strained to hear what they were saying. The vibes were good. He could tell they’d had a good time together. His gut knotted. He’d opened another beer.
The landscaper kissed her good night and left, then…
Son of a bitch! He came back and planted one on her. He kissed her long and deep—the way Brodie wanted to kiss her. A man-wanting-a-woman kind of kiss. A kiss of maybes and promises and heat.
The gut-knot grew bigger.
Brodie raised up and fought the urge to go over and deck the guy. But, hell…she looked like she was enjoying it. They both were. Damn. Was his tongue down her throat? He groaned softly.
The landscaper finally left, and Ally turned to go inside. Wait. She paused and gazed in his direction. Could she see him standing like a sentinel in the dark, spying on her? The voyeur who lusted after her while she kissed another?
She finally closed the door and turned out the light. Images of her getting ready for bed and crawling between cool sheets made him hard and lonely. He wanted to be with her, holding her warmth, stroking the soft skin of hip and breast.
Rick had been right—he was whipped.
After a while, he gave up the watch. He was tired, and Allison’s house was dark. Standing in the front doorway of his house, he braced his arms on the upper casement, and stared across the street like a lovesick teenager. Drumming his hands in a staccato rhythm on the wooden frame, he thought of Harper’s lips on hers, the man’s hands stroking her soft back, body plastered against hers…
Shit. He was jealous of the landscaper. According to Rick, Harper was a nice guy. The kind of guy who would be a good fit for Allison Chandler, better than a beat-up old warrior like him. When he thought of Ally kissing Harper, touching him, it made him want to hit something.
Guess there was no more denying he wanted her for himself. That was now a given. He let the thought simmer. Would that be such a bad thing? Even with all his baggage?
That night Brodie lay awake for a long time, thinking, as Allison’s image filled his mind, and when he forced himself to close his eyes, she imprinted on the back of his lids. The delicate cast of her features, the lush fullness of her lips, the wide smile that warmed and tempted. He could almost feel her soft, womanly curves. When he finally slept, his dreams were vivid and troubled. He was back in-country and could taste the dust, hear the fierce zing of gunfire, and smell the acrid residue of battle.
Chapter Six
The patrol should have been routine, four Humvees touring the perimeter of the compound, then returning to base. Easy mission, no danger. Just out and back to safety, then two months left in this shit-hole until he rotated back to the States and out.
The little kid came from out of nowhere, shouting, running along beside the vehicle, grinning like a monkey. Cute kid. They all were. This one was a girl. A beautiful little princess who should be playing with dolls and having tea parties. Long brown hair, tangled by the wind, and melted-chocolate eyes big as saucers. Her tiny fingers reached out to each vehicle as they passed.
Most of the kids were skin and bones—not enough protein or fat in their diets. Her exposed arms were thin and brown, but her body was chubby beneath the bleached rags she wore. Something didn’t feel right, but Brodie couldn’t put his finger on it. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. Intuitive warning.
He called out and motioned for the convoy to move forward. The driver of the Humvee behind his slowed for the little girl. Brodie panicked. No, he screamed silently. No stopping! Don’t break protocol.
Too late. The youngster laughed and jumped up onto the runner, hanging on for dear life, pointing to her mouth. She probably wanted candy; the soldiers carried a supply with them to hand out to the populace when they left HQ.
Brodie stuck his head out the window and glanced back. Strange. He noticed the other kids had disappeared. In fact, there wasn’t a soul walking on the dusty street. It was deserted. That imminent-danger warning wailed in his head. Something was definitely wrong. Bad wrong.
Before he could warn the men, all the horror of hell broke loose. The critical moment, the moment of impact, played out in slow mot
ion—a lifetime for all but him. The princess exploded into a million pieces of flesh and bone. Obliterated. Men and machines were cast in every direction, their screams and moans of panic and pain echoing through his brain.
Blood and tissue spattered the sandy ground like bright red paint on a dirty canvas. Brodie suddenly became conscious of searing heat. He smelled the rust scent of blood, his own blood, as shards of metal cut and burned their way through his body. The stunning brightness from the explosion blinded him for a moment, and the pressure from the blast temporarily disoriented him. God, was he done for? Was this it?
The high-pitched ringing in his ears wouldn’t stop. It drowned out the sounds of the chaos surrounding him, and drove him insane.
Twisted metal shapes and swirling tendrils of acrid smoke blurred his vision, but nothing moved. A still-life snapshot in real time. Where were his men? Sixteen men… He frantically searched the immediate terrain and saw nothing but bits and pieces of humanity—body parts.
They lay still; they lay quiet.
All dead.
All but him.
Brodie was too late to save them, but he had to do something. Making a first, exploratory move, he tried to sit. The world spun like a fucking merry-go-round. Digging into the depths of sheer stubborn determination, he pulled himself over to the wreckage.
Strong arms made weak from shock, he planted his palms on solid ground and raised himself on trembling legs. He choked back nausea and grabbed whatever parts he could find of his men, Ace, Axeman, Walters, Fiorello. One by one, he pulled them—what was left of them—away from the carnage and lined them up next to each other. He fell back in the dirt and gripped his rifle, standing watch…their honor guard. Friends all, brothers in life and death. Well, if the enemy wanted to finish him off, have at it. With no cover, he was a sitting duck. He wasn’t leaving his men, and he was too tired and too weak to put up more of a fight.
They weren’t that far from base. If the unit hadn’t heard the explosion, they’d see the smoke. Help would be coming soon. All he had to do was hold on or die. Right then, he didn’t care which.
Brodie sat on his ass and stared at the men resting now on scorched earth. There had been sixteen men out on that convoy, but with the devastation, he wasn’t sure he’d found them all. Some were better than none. Forensics would have to make sense of what was left. At least their families would have something to bury, a grave to visit, a place to grieve.
Conscious thought came and went in waves of agony and release. The horror of losing his men engulfed him, and the irony of it tormented him. He should have died alongside them, his brothers, his friends. But he was alive. Why him? It was a miracle he’d been thrown clear, but—dear God, why him?
His mouth opened in a soundless scream as he searched for an answer in the dingy sky. Then, nothing. All the heat, all the fire, all the red faded to black.
Brodie lunged up in his bed, saturated with sweat, the smell of fear and death all around him. Bile rose in his throat, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time to heave into the toilet. Stale beer retched from his gut.
Cold and clammy, shaking so hard his bones hurt, he made his way back to the bed to wait out the flashbacks. They were hell. He told himself to calm down, practiced the deep breathing he’d learned in the hospital. He knew they weren’t real—but the moments sure as hell felt real. And they took a little more of him each time.
He glanced at the clock. What time was it? Three a.m. Too early to get up and about, but there was no way he could go back to sleep.
Brodie grabbed his sweats and pulled a T-shirt over his head. He let the side door slam shut and took off at a slow run down the drive. Exercise was the only thing that gave him relief from the memory.
He glanced over at Allison’s. He’d give his left nut to see her right now, hold her close enough to take away the remnants of the nightmare.
He ran until the sick fear of the flashback disappeared and he couldn’t take another breath or move another step. Exhausted, bathed in sweat, he leaned his elbows on his thighs and tried to regulate his breathing. After he got a second wind, he ran a cool-down toward home.
Brodie was just getting out of the shower when he heard a door slam across the street. He tied a towel around his waist and stalked to the front window. He’d made sure she was home and safe last night, but it was barely dawn. Had she left again after he’d gone to bed?
He threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and hauled ass to her place.
“Where the hell have you been? Have another date?” he rudely demanded. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for a woman like you to be out at this hour?”
Mouth open and eyes wide, she took a step back. “Excuse me? A woman like me? In the first place, I didn’t go ‘out’ again. And in the second, what business is it of yours if I did?”
She was right—she didn’t have any reason to check in with him. For anything. And he was a little confused about why he was so all-fired angry at her. “Well…”
“Well, what?”
“I was worried about you, damn it. It’s barely dawn. I thought you were home. I was afraid something might have happened.” It sounded like an accusation.
“No-o.” She drew the word out. “I came home at eleven. Jess had another job today and wanted to make it an early night. Look, it’s sweet that you were worried, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big girl now. I can take care of myself. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
She stared at him. He stared back. She didn’t blink and neither did he. They were locked in a war of non-words—a standoff.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the all-night market to pick up some things I needed for tonight.” He was relieved when she took the initiative and offered an olive branch. “You’re still coming over? We can share a nice meal and chill.”
“I might not be good company. I didn’t sleep last night either.” He ran his hands through his hair and shot her a wry smile. The flashbacks had been the worst he’d experienced since coming home. He was tired and irritable.
“Bad dreams?” she asked.
“Yeah, something like that. Look, I’m sorry. Maybe I should take a rain check.”
She shrugged. “You’re free to do as you wish. I’m cooking lasagna, making a salad with my homemade dressing, and loading some Italian bread with butter and garlic. You’re going to smell it all over the neighborhood and be sorry you cancelled. Tell you what. I’ll leave it open. I’m eating at six. If you show, you can join me. If not, you deserve to be hungry and alone.”
He relented with a smile. “Okay, you’ve guilted me into it. What is it about you, lady? I can’t say no to you.”
“I’ll remember you said that.” She grinned. “Don’t forget, I’m the new and improved Allison. Men can’t say no to me; in fact, they almost never do.”
Thinking of Harper, he drawled, “So it would seem. I’ll be here. See you at six.”
The heaviness on his chest eased, and a smile crossed his lips. He’d have her all to himself tonight.
Chapter Seven
Allison checked the lasagna, turned the oven to warm, and pulled her best wine glasses from the cabinet. A nice red, a Chateau St. Michele Cabernet, sat breathing on the counter. Plain white china and her grandmother’s well-worn place settings adorned the table. Looking at the scene took her back to another time and happy family dinners with her grandparents and Brett and Brodie.
Her heart turned over in her chest at the remembrance of those days. Such good times, good memories.
She fussed with the table. For some reason, she wanted everything to be perfect for tonight. Only one thing was missing, fresh flowers. She slipped out to the backyard and cut what was left of the camellias. She’d float those in water as a centerpiece.
No candles, though. Brodie would turn tail and run if he got the impression tonight was anything more than two friends sharing a nice meal and catching up on old times. Even if she felt the stirrings of her old attraction
to him, there was no need to scare the man to death by an overtly romantic setting. Besides, he might not be available, might have a girlfriend, might not be interested either way.
She took one last look at her surroundings. There. Everything looked perfect, just right for a casual dinner to renew an old friendship.
A knock rattled the screen. Brodie’s head popped in. “Hey, you here?”
She smiled, all warm and fuzzy inside. It was good having him in her house. He fit.
“Yeah. Come in and have a seat. Wait a minute—you don’t look so good.” Drawing near, she examined the tired lines cutting into the side of his mouth. “Sit here and I’ll get you some water, and a couple of aspirin.”
Handing him a frosty glass and the medicine, she made sure he swallowed it and sat beside him on the sofa. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I can fix you a plate to go and offer you a rain check on dinner.”
“Actually, I did come to beg off, but now that I smell your cooking, and hear the growls my stomach is making, I’ve changed my mind.”
She was a little worried. He looked pale, and there was a fine line of perspiration on his forehead. Last night must have been a rough one. He’d been drinking, and she suspected he’d had a flashback or a nightmare of some sort.
Allison brought him another glass of water and made him drink it all. “Give the aspirin a little while to work. You should be feeling better soon. Dinner is ready and warm. We can eat after you’re feeling better. Just relax. There’s no hurry.”
He let out a long, low sigh and leaned into the cushions. “This is nice. Your place has the feel of home, just like when your grandmother lived here. You have her gift of hospitality. I always liked coming to visit. Brett and I could raise hell all weekend, but every Sunday night we’d show up for dinner, and for some reason everything was all right. We were home. Nothing could find us here, nothing could hurt us.”
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