“You want to fuck her that bad? You can have her. She only has two tricks, and once you get tired of her laying there, you’ll be ready to give her back and go back to fucking your cousin in the woods.”
When I stepped toward him to finish what I started, he sprang up from the ground and darted around his truck. He hopped into the driver’s seat and peeled out of the drive. Once he rumbled out of sight, I turned my attention back to Daniela.
She was mortified, and I couldn’t blame her one bit. Avoiding any chance of meeting my eyes, her trembling hands passed the shotgun back to me while her face turned away.
“Daniela? You okay, darlin’?”
“I’m fine,” she lied through her teeth.
“Why don’t you go on inside and get dry? He won’t be back tonight.” He’d be going to the ER to get an x-ray if he knew what was good for him.
“Yeah, I should... He didn’t hurt you, right? I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to apologize for, ma’am. Give a holler if he bothers you again.”
I waited for the lock to click into place before I headed back to my truck, wiping water from my face. Once I reached home, I parked under the carport and headed inside to receive a greeting from my best friend. Trigger met me at the door with his tail wagging.
“Hey there, boy. Missed you,” I rubbed his ears a few times then kicked off my boots while he ran out and handled his business. I shed my soaking wet clothes and tossed them into the bathroom hamper, delaying my usual afternoon routine for a shower.
I was starved by the time I finished, changed, and poured a couple generous scoops of food into Trigger’s bowl. I settled for a cold sandwich, too hopeless in the kitchen to make much more than stew and chili. Sometimes a little old lady from down the road brought me a casserole and a pie, but I survived the rest of the time on crockpot soup and barbecue from the grill.
“Met a real jerk today, boy. You’d have had fun with him.” Trigger’s soulful brown eyes gazed into mine with understanding. “But I think I did the right thing.”
I hoped I did. Back while I was away on my sixth deployment, one of our neighbors gave my wife, Katie, a load of trouble about her songbirds shitting on his car. She’d argued with him, headstrong and stubborn to the very last word, and then one day, she’d gone outside to find little feathered bodies in different corners of the yard.
Ian had been our other neighbor and home to enjoy his R&R, and after she despaired, he’d taken it upon himself to set up a hidden camera angled into our yard. When the cops wouldn’t take action without proof, Ian did the work and gave the evidence to them. Our bullying neighbor paid some hefty fines, and eventually, more songbirds returned to our feeders.
I didn’t know my wife was sick then. She kept it hidden, and her birds were a way for her to deal with her physical pain. She hadn’t wanted to worry me while I was away in Afghanistan. At the end, I barely made it home in time to say goodbye to her, and by then, I’d lost precious time I could have held her in my arms.
Daniela wasn’t my wife, but she was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister maybe, and I wanted to look after her the way Ian had once helped my Katie when she needed a hand. The next time her ex showed up uninvited, I’d break him in half. Better yet, I’d teach the woman to do it herself.
Chapter Two
~Daniela~
“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all of my life,” I blurted into the phone.
My younger sister chuckled. I could picture her reclined in bed, twisting a strand of her dark red hair around one finger. “Your neighbor sounds like a nice guy. Married?” Marta asked.
“No. Word in the neighborhood is he moved here after his wife died.”
“Then maybe you need to—”
I cut her off quickly. “I do not need to bone him, Marta. Back off that train.”
I loved my sister, but she thought everything could be fixed by hopping on the D. Sometimes that was the truth, but in most cases, fucking the problem away wasn’t a realistic solution. I’d tried that with Michael for a decade to no avail.
“Well, damn. Sorry for trying to make a suggestion.”
The rain storm continued to rage outside, blowing through the trees so hard their green tops bowed. I probably wouldn’t see my bear in the morning, and that disappointed me more than it should.
“Ugh. I’m sorry. I took a hot shower, but I’m still kind of cold from being out in the rain. I guess it’s making me irritable.”
“Get under the blankets with a drink, sis. I’ll talk to you soon. Take it easy this weekend and don’t let Michael spoil it.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “Love you. Night.”
After we ended our phone call, I traipsed downstairs to make a hot mug of cocoa with the chocolate my dad brought back from a business trip to Mexico. A sudden flash of lightning revealed my empty yard, accompanied by crashing thunder that nearly made me spill the milk. I poured a liberal amount of Bailey’s into the finished cup, returned upstairs, and tucked myself into bed with the lights dimmed.
I dreamed of bears that night — of running barefoot through the overgrown woods bordering my home with the scent of the wet trees and moist earth all around me. He was leading me somewhere, but I wasn’t fast enough to keep pace. The chase continued until my tiring leg muscles gave out and I collapsed to the mossy bottom of the forest floor.
Convinced my bear had abandoned me, I lay motionless, waiting for the cramps in my legs to fade. Gentle hands caressed me, and when my eyes opened, I gazed up into warm brown eyes and tousled dark hair. Russell had the perfect chest, touched by a scattering of black hair over chiseled pecs. His abs were rock-hard and flawless, the kind I could bounce a quarter off. He wore only jeans, but the hard bulge beneath his zipper responded to my touch, twitching when my fingers stroked over the denim.
His mouth crashed into mine, the perfect kiss, breath-stealing, hungry, and impatient for more. Our tongues tangled to the rhythm of our rising passion while his eager hands traced my shape. I soon realized I was completely naked. Bared. Heat rose to my cheeks as a masculine palm scooped my large breast.
The scent of the open forest surrounded us, carrying juniper and damp earth. The cool soil beneath my back became the perfect cushion as my lover’s head dipped. He was dragging his mouth over me, kiss by kiss, inch by inch, tasting me until he reached my quivering breasts, closing his lips around my left nipple. Moist heat surrounded the aching tip; then his teeth skimmed over the edge of the tightly puckered flesh.
His fingertips had the calloused texture of a man who worked with his hands. Slender but strong digits crawled over my hips — the ones I used to loathe for their width — introducing me to the scratch of his roughened skin.
I startled awake when his fingers dove into my pussy, sprawled on my back with the sheets tangled around my legs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d woken from a dream so stirred up, but the aching need I felt was undeniable. Sliding my fingers down my body, I traced the path my dream lover had taken, skimming over my full breasts, then down to my hips. The dream had ended there, but I wanted more.
I sighed. Masturbating wasn’t going to scratch the itch I had for a man.
“I’m losing my mind. Dreaming about bears and sexy widowed Army men,” I groaned into one hand. As far as I was concerned, I hoped to never run into my gorgeous neighbor again after that humiliating debacle in my front yard.
I left the bed with Sergeant Sexy on my mind. Wearing only a thin robe over my curves, I invaded the kitchen and fried up a heavy breakfast of potatoes, chorizo, and eggs.
Michael would have bitched, claiming the meal would add a few more inches to my thighs. The more he stressed me about my weight, the more I seemed to gain. I couldn’t even fit a calf into my old jeans, but I was happy now and free of the constant dieting to try to please him. I’d never be content with the jiggling of my thighs, but I didn’t miss food diaries and slaving over a treadmill.
; The rain had ended sometime during the night, leaving a layer of moisture on the patio and the world beyond it. I sighed and watched from the glass door instead of going outside to enjoy the birds flitting to my bird feeder. It was doomed to be one hell of a muggy, uncomfortable Texas day. Leaning against the glass door with my plate in hand, I shoveled food in my mouth and muttered about the unfortunate weather.
Then I saw him. The bear shuffled past at a lumbering pace. He glanced at the hammock in passing, like it had become habit for him now, too.
Impulse made me throw open the door. “Wait, don’t go!”
The bear halted immediately and turned his face toward me.
“I have eggs!” I called out to him, feeling silly the very moment the words left my mouth.
Without considering how absurd it was to expect him to understand me and wait, I hurried back to the stove and shoveled most of my plate into the cooling skillet. The bear had not left when I came back outside, standing still behind the leafy ferns. I ventured forward a few feet and set the heavy cast iron on the grass, then backed away slowly. The breeze caught my loosely sashed robe and blew it open, but with no one present but the bear to see it I didn’t care.
I humanized him when I imagined appreciation in his deep brown eyes. Brown eyes that struck me as familiar when I watched him from afar. The animal ate his meal and continued out of the yard, but he left me with the lasting impression that he would continue to return.
If I could feed a bear, I could feed the lonely man down the road. It was the least I could do after he defended me. As my furry friend continued on his passage through my yard, I fetched the empty pan and rushed back inside to place it in the sink.
“I’ll bake him a... what should I bake him?”
I considered the American flag flying in his yard, the time served in the military, and the southern drawl that attracted me to him.
Apple pie. There was nothing more American than apple pie, unless I stenciled a bald eagle on the crust maybe. One glance at my half-empty fruit bowl foiled that. I’d given the last of my apples to my bear a couple of days ago.
“Pecan, it is,” I announced. Grinning, I fetched my recipe box and began to gather ingredients. Two hours later, I had a cooling pecan pie and a stupid plan that all depended on the man actually being home on a Saturday afternoon.
It cost another half an hour to ransack my closet for something that screamed confidence without telling him I was easy. After trying on a dozen tops with varying amounts of cleavage, I laughed at myself and tugged on a sports bra, teal racerback tank, and black yoga pants with a blue-green roll over top. The stretchy Lycra hugged my curves and drew positive attention to my ass, but the tank’s scoop neck front highlighted my boobs.
His dog announced my arrival by barking at me from the yard. The eager animal, beautiful with a lush brown and black coat and big shining eyes, loped back and forth by the handmade fence.
The fence was a work in progress, constructed entirely from thin tree trunks and thick branches. The unfinished side wall had a huge gap the dog charged through to reach me.
“Shit,” I muttered aloud, just as the shepherd came bounding toward me.
“Trigger!” My attention jerked from the animal as Russell’s authoritative voice rang out. He rounded the corner clothed in only jeans, which rode so low they exposed the carved muscle at his hipbones. My drooling had nothing to do with the pie in my hands, and everything to do with the hunk heading toward me. “How’s it goin’, Daniela?”
“Oh, just fine... Nice dog,” I murmured, feeling foolish.
The man was all muscle, with the physique of a fitness trainer at the gym. Or a boxer. What was I doing here? He probably had a girlfriend I didn’t know about who would flounce out in the shirt he wasn’t wearing. She’d show off her sex-tousled hair and bikini body while looking down her nose at the frumpy divorcee bringing pecan pie to her boyfriend. Rumor said he was widowed, but he lived such a private life at the end of the lane that it was all I knew of him. All anyone really knew about him, besides his fondness for charity and giving back to the community as a volunteer firefighter.
“He wouldn’t have hurt you. I swear, now that we’re both retired, he’s forgotten his manners along with his training. He just wanted to love you a little.”
Trigger dropped his haunches to the ground and sat beside Russ. He whined until I reached out to rub behind his ears. After that, he galloped merrily away.
“I brought a pecan pie. You know, to say thanks for last night. I realized I must have seemed really ungrateful for what you did.”
“Aw, it wasn’t anything big.”
He didn’t have a bruise on his face from when Michael hit him. Not even a minor red mark. When my ex hit me, he’d always left muscle-deep stains of color that lasted days.
“No, it was. You... you didn’t have to stop, but you did, and I really appreciate it. No one would have looked twice back home.” Too many neighbors had known and ignored it. The depressing thought threatened to deflate my mood, so I quickly shook it off and offered out the pie. “Anyway, I don’t mean to keep you—”
“You’re not keeping me,” he blurted out. “Was just finishing up some work out back, is all, but you’re welcome to come in. I planned to put some burgers on the grill...”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
His grin gave his face a youthfulness that brightened his chocolate brown eyes. “Nah, we’d enjoy the company, wouldn’t we, Trigger?”
The dog barked from across the yard, voicing his agreement.
“Thanks.”
Russ led me around to the back of the cabin where a respectable vegetable garden bordered the rear edge of a spacious lot. I caught sight of a few flowering fruit trees and recognized peach blossoms.
“Was the garden here too along with the fruit trees?” I asked.
“Nah. I did that. Ian planted an orchard out here back when he lived on this land. I just sort of took it over when I sold my old house and bought this off him,” Russ explained. He set the pie on the table beneath the shade. “Have a seat.”
I sank into a chair on the covered deck and watched him stack the firewood. His muscles flexed and bulged beneath the sheen of sweat. A tiny trickle ran down his sculpted back. I ached to wipe it away with a washcloth... beneath a steaming hot shower.
Despite my reservations about hitting on a widower, my mind had other plans, which involved mentally sketching out his body sans jeans. I moistened my dry lips with my tongue and watched him move around his yard until eventually, a green blur snatched my attention away.
“Just gimme a chance to shower, and I’ll be right back. You’re welcome inside if you—”
“I’m fine here,” I spoke up, offering him a big smile. “You have hummingbirds.”
“I do. I like to keep the feeders filled when their migration comes through this way.”
With the hummingbirds and occasional songbird as company, I relaxed on the deck while Russ showered inside. Trigger appeared at my side to nudge his furry head beneath my left hand, so I spent the rest of the time petting him until Russ emerged with a covered tray. He had more meat than one man could reasonably eat.
And he’d put on a shirt. Dammit.
“Is there anything I can help you out with?”
“Hm?” He glanced over a shoulder at me. The man had a smile that could thaw ice and melt the coldest hearts. “Not really. I’ve got the grill covered.”
“But are you planning to make anything to go with this really impressive assortment of meat?”
“Uh, no.”
“Would you like something to go with it?”
Uncertainty flickered across his face. “Like what?”
“Rice, potato salad, pasta... something,” I offered.
“You’re offering to cook for me?”
“Sure. I baked for you, didn’t I?”
Something about my suggestion brought a perplexed raise to his brows. They knit in consternation before he
gave a nod. “Whatever you want to make is just fine with me, Daniela.”
“Great. I’ll just rummage around until I find everything I need, if you don’t mind.”
He didn’t, so I entered his kitchen, washed my hands, and gathered all of the ingredients needed to make a potato salad and a few other sides. I’d just removed the macaroni and placed the cheesy garlic bread into the oven when Russ stepped up beside me. I began to worry that I made too much and had overdone it.
“God, that smells amazing. Been about forever since...”
He didn’t finish his thoughts, but his expression made sense to me. No one had probably cooked for him like this since his wife. No one but me. It created an instant link between us like the connection between my bear and me. I wanted to be the woman who made his meals.
“Anytime you want to come over and have dinner with me is fine, Russ. I’m still not used to cooking for just one.” I smiled. “I’m home by five or six every day.”
“I noticed that.” Russ cleared his throat and moved away to refill his dog’s bowl. Trigger had been giving him a sorrowful look. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you do for work?”
“Me?” I laughed and poured two glasses of sweet tea. “Nothing exciting, I assure you. I’m a loan officer at Prime Advantage Bank of Texas. What about you? You’re retired Army, right?”
“Yeah. Twenty-three years. Brought Trigger back with me when they retired him. Now I teach classes down at the gym and help out the fire department. Gives me something to do.”
Twenty-three years of service. I whistled and tried to estimate his age at a glance. He didn’t look over forty, his body honed and fit, as if his athleticism had stopped the clock and turned back time a few years. I didn’t see a trace of gray in his wavy hair.
“What kind of classes?”
“Self-defense. I throw in a few military combat techniques and give instruction on how to disable a man. Nobody will be an overnight brawler, but they’ll be able to take a guy down and run away for help.” He glanced at me, warmth filling his brown eyes. “Sometimes I give private lessons to young women with ex-assholes who don’t know when to let go.”
The Right to Bear Arms: BBW Military Paranormal Romance (Wild Operatives, #1) Page 2
