by Caro Carson
He looked away first. “You’re right, you’re right. Well, I’ll be off now.”
“Thank you for coming out so quickly.”
Nicholas left.
India returned to the kitchen.
The silence settled in, broken only by the hum of the fridge as it cycled on. A kitchen clock with an art deco pendulum ticked steadily.
She sat on a bar stool at the cool marble countertop. Thank goodness she hadn’t laid out a little Bloody Mary station here. She’d considered putting out the Tabasco and Worcestershire sauce that she’d seen in the fridge, the tomato juice and the vodka, so the hot bookcase man could make his drink as hot as he liked it.
Oh! Do you like Bloody Marys? I was just going to make myself one when you drove up. Help yourself to whatever you want. In her mind, she sounded like a seductress. Show me what you like.
In reality, she wasn’t that kind of seductress, and she knew it. Fortunately, before Nicholas had arrived, she’d decided to put away the two glasses she’d placed rather obviously by an outlet. At least she hadn’t had to awkwardly offer a glass of tomato juice to a general contractor who resembled Santa more than a hot guy in a tool belt.
The clock kept ticking.
India had already unpacked. She’d showered. She’d eaten. She had time on her hands, time to be alone with her own thoughts. It was what she’d thought she wanted, but now it didn’t seem like much of a holiday. A holiday was supposed to be a change from one’s normal life, something different, something exciting to explore. But she was alone and, as she stared out the kitchen window at empty land, she realized that was nothing new.
Brussels was such a lively city, it was easy to feel like she was connected to people. She was surrounded by people. She ate at sidewalk cafés that jammed little chairs so close together, she sat shoulder to shoulder with people. She went to the market with a crowd of people. She crammed into the elevator with other people at NATO headquarters. She had a boss. She had subordinates. She even had a boyfriend.
But she’d been alone, just as alone as being the only human for miles, sitting in an empty four-bedroom house on acres of empty land. She had no one to share her thoughts with here, but she didn’t share her thoughts with strangers at sidewalk cafés, either. The only thing she talked about at the market was the price of endive. At work, she addressed her superior as “sir.” Her own team called her “ma’am.” Her boyfriend was awake while she slept, and now she knew that when he slept, it was with someone else.
Her stomach churned.
Was she so desperate for a human connection that she would have offered sex to a stranger this morning? A total stranger?
She dropped her face into her hands and wallowed in her own foolishness for a moment.
Foolish—but she’d been undeniably excited as she’d waited for him to arrive. So alive with hope for...something.
Whoever he was, he’d said he’d come back to finish before Christmas. He might not return until Christmas Eve day, when she’d be on her way to San Antonio and the house would be full of cold air and noxious fumes. Nicholas had said the workers wanted to get started by seven in the morning, so they could finish by lunch, what with it being Christmas Eve and all, ma’am.
The week stretched ahead of her, six more nights. Helen had warned her there would be nothing to do here, hadn’t she? It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours yet, and India was already feeling stifled in a house big enough to hold four of her apartments.
She supposed she could start perfecting her own Bloody Mary recipe. Sure. Drinking alone wouldn’t be depressing at all. She could add some salty tears in there for flavor. Ha ha ha.
Outdoors, the weather was about ten degrees warmer than Brussels, but the sunshine was ten times as bright. Texas was known for blistering hot summers, but that meant it had sunny winters, too. India checked the coat closet and found Helen’s red, double-breasted peacoat.
She might as well go out and be lonely in the sunshine.
Chapter Five
The only sign of civilization was a bridge.
The house sat on two acres, India knew from all the conversations she’d had with Helen this past year, but the view from the flagstone patio sloped away for miles beyond the property line. The undeveloped land really did look the way Texas looked in cowboy movies. The ground was mostly brown; the sparse trees were struggling to hold on to their green despite the approaching winter. India wasn’t certain what sagebrush actually was, but she assumed it was the random shrubs that dotted the landscape. There was a single tumbleweed, too, off in the distance, a slow-rolling ball of sticks that could have been a movie prop.
The open land under the blue sky would give a person a sense of serenity, perhaps, if that person wasn’t her. She was feeling small and lonely. Wilderness didn’t exactly chase that feeling away.
India headed for the bridge. The classic wood structure was only wide enough for people on foot, like her. It crossed a creek than ran down the length of the property. The golden-beige brick house stood somewhere beyond the other side of the bridge, she was certain. Helen’s note said the neighbors had taken the dog overnight to give India a chance to sleep off her jet lag. That meant the neighbors must be experienced with jet lag themselves—and must be very kind, as well. How lucky for Helen to live near people like that. How lucky for India last night.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t rare luck. Maybe neighbors like that were common here. There were a lot of ex-military people in an army town, and military folks understood travel, deployments, hardship tours. They understood how far a kindness like watching a pet could go. At home, India was the only soldier in her apartment building. If she lived here, she would be surrounded every time she went into town by military and former military—like the bookcase guy.
She turned over the memory of him in her mind, pinpointing the details that had made her assume he was former military. Military haircut, physical confidence, physical fitness. Broad shoulders, capable hands that offered her a beer, that unbuckled a tool belt...
India walked faster, taking longer strides, trying to clear her head after the morning’s disappointment. You mean the morning’s sexual frustration.
She was still a good distance from the creek when a sudden streak of golden fur flew across the bridge toward her, a large dog that was running full speed, so fast that he slipped and skidded right past her when he tried to put on the brakes. She laughed.
He didn’t care. He came bounding up to her—no other way to describe it—pink tongue hanging out, tail wagging, sides heaving.
“Are you Fabio? Are you, boy? Are you?” The dog was deliriously happy, and India felt her mood lifting as she enjoyed the antics of the golden retriever. He seemed to expect her to break into a full-speed run with him. He ran away five yards or so, then checked over his shoulder to see if she’d followed. He came back to her, then he did it again, as if he was demonstrating the proper action for her.
“Not this morning, sorry.”
But maybe the energetic dog would enjoy fetching a stick. She looked around her feet. No sticks here, but there were a few trees along the creek that must have dropped a stick or two. She turned back toward the bridge.
There was her fantasy man, standing sentinel by the railing.
Her breath left with an oof, a punch to the stomach.
Phone calls and propositions, lingerie and Bloody Marys—none of that would be overboard. Any way she could get more time with this man was worth a try. She felt rooted to the ground, frozen in place as he crossed the bridge and strolled toward her, a sexy saunter in the sunlight that made her cheeks burn, but she didn’t look away. The view was too spectacular: blue jeans and bomber jacket, brown eyes and brawn.
The dog bounded between them, back and forth, until the man stopped just an arm’s distance from her, leaving the dog turning in the tightest of circles.
“Good morning.” He nudged the dog out of the way with a gentle knee.
“Yes. You must be the neighbor.” Her thoughts were making her blush, but her cheeks were probably red from the chilly air, anyway, and the red coat was probably bringing out the color, too, so she hoped she looked more bold than bashful. “I thought you were the general contractor.”
“No, I’m not.”
“No. The real contractor showed up this morning and he definitely wasn’t...” She let her eyes take a quick dive down the placket of his button-down shirt to the lean waist revealed by the opened bomber jacket. More slowly, she lifted her gaze back up to his tanned throat, his face. “He wasn’t you.”
He hesitated at that, then tilted his head a bit as he studied her, his eyebrows lifted a little in surprise, his mouth suppressing a smile. “And you were disappointed?”
“Maybe a little.” She stuffed her hands in the coat pockets, feeling the heat in her cheeks, but he wasn’t mocking her. There was nothing about him that was arrogant. Confident, comfortable—but not arrogant. Unlike her, he wasn’t flustered in the least.
India pictured Helen’s note in her mind, with its hastily scribbled addendum at the bottom: Fabio at Nords’ first night. That sounded like there were multiple Nords. Had Helen meant to write Nords’ or Nord’s? Was there a wife?
Oh, what the heck. You only have a week. Just ask.
“So...” She nodded in the general direction of the golden-bricked house. “Is there anyone else at your house? Maybe a wife?”
His reaction was a little surprised again, a negative shake of his head with a bit of a smile, but his eyes were watching her with an expression that was a little...sad?
“No,” he said. “Just me.”
She felt butterflies in her stomach—better than a punch in the gut. She took her left hand out of her pocket and held it up, wiggling her ring-free fingers.
“You don’t have a wife, either, huh?” He managed to keep a straight face as he asked.
She laughed. “No—and no husband. I’m definitely the kind of woman who is into men.”
The way his smile escaped to lift the corners of his lips could not have been sexier. “What a coincidence. I’m the kind of man who is definitely into women.”
Fabio crashed into her from behind, catching her behind the knees and making her legs buckle. One hand was still stuck in her coat pocket. She felt that moment of helplessness before an inevitable fall.
Her fantasy man was fast. “I got you.”
She was caught against a strong chest, held up with strong hands on her upper arms.
“You got me,” she repeated, sounding all breathy.
He didn’t let go.
The leather of his bomber jacket was cool where she’d grabbed it with her ring-free left hand. His expression was warm as he looked at her, only inches separating them. She stood, but he didn’t let go, and since their faces were so close, his voice was a quiet rumble of delicious, deep bass. “Fabio was dying to come over to see you sooner, but I’m a man of my word. I promised you twelve hours of sleep. Did you get it?”
“Fifteen, actually.”
He still didn’t let go. “You didn’t get hurt just now? Nothing sprained?”
“Not at all.” Her breathy voice sounded about a thousand times more Marilyn Monroe than normal.
“In that case,” he said, as he looked past her shoulder to the frolicking dog, “thanks, Fabio.”
He let go of her then, but he didn’t step back. The look of approval on his face was obvious and so very welcome. He liked what he saw.
“I hope I’m not dreaming this,” India said, tucking her hair behind one ear and letting her finger trace the copper hoop earring. “Did I really house-swap my way into being neighbors with a handsome, unattached bachelor?”
She was being too bold, moving too fast, but he was keeping up with her. His smile deepened, crinkling the corners of his eyes, spreading over his whole face, spreading to her, like a rising sun spreading light over her day.
“I can vouch for unattached and bachelor. You get to determine the handsome part.”
She dropped her hand and very nearly sighed. “In that case, neighbor, would you care to come over? I happen to have everything a person needs to make a great Bloody Mary.”
* * *
Fabio was a perfect chaperone: he got distracted easily and stayed out of their way.
Aiden walked with India, side by side, toward her temporary home.
He very nearly reached to take India’s hand in his. Walking hand in hand seemed as natural as imagining her face on his pillow.
Too soon. You remember how to do this. First, you talk. You flirt. You go out to dinner. Then you know her well enough to hold hands.
“I don’t know if Helen told you, but my name is India Woods. What’s yours?”
Right. First, you tell each other your names.
“Aiden Nord.”
“So, Aiden Nord, why are you building bookcases in Helen’s garage?”
She didn’t know. Of course she didn’t, but it took him by surprise, because if there was anything that anyone knew about him, it was that he was a widower with two young daughters. He was building something for one of his daughters. Who else did he have to build anything for?
Olympia had used the pause button on the remote control during one of her preschool TV shows, a live-action show with a little girl as the star. Aiden remembered being surprised, and then telling himself he shouldn’t be surprised that his four-year-old knew what the pause button was and how to use it. She’d paused the show to look at the TV girl’s bookcase, one shaped like a tree. Aiden was building it for Olympia in the neighbor’s garage, to keep it a surprise for Christmas morning.
If he told India this, she would be impressed. You’re such a good father.
Women were always impressed. It’s precious, the way you take care of those girls. I can’t believe you know how to braid hair.
Braiding hair wasn’t rocket science. No one was amazed with the dozen types of rope harnesses he could tie for rappelling; of course he could braid his daughters’ hair. If he didn’t care for them, who would? That poor man. His wife died, and he’s been raising those two precious little sweethearts all by himself.
“I was borrowing Tom’s power sander to prep the boards.” The lie came out brusquely, but easily enough. He had his own sander. He was only using Tom and Helen’s garage as a secret Santa’s workshop to hide a gift for his child. Tom and Helen were nice enough to let him.
The last woman he’d dated had been nice enough, too. An Aerosmith concert in Dallas? I’d love to go. You never get to leave your children overnight, do you? You poor thing. If you want to just get a good’s night sleep for a change, I’ll understand. I remember when my kids were that young.
He hadn’t wanted to sleep, damn it. Was it really necessary to have a woman stripped, sweaty, satisfied on a mattress, before she saw him as a man instead of that poor widowed father?
Yes. Every damn time.
You must miss your wife. You know, I could come over and cook dinner for you and your girls a couple of nights a week.
His wife had loved life, but hers had been cut short unjustly, unfairly. The idea that Aiden missed having a cook was so offensive, there wasn’t enough lust in the world to override that. No, I can’t come in for a drink. It’s later than I thought. The babysitter has a curfew.
“You don’t have a sander?” asked the woman whose hand he wanted to hold. “I assume you’re a carpenter. A power sander sounds like a very carpenter-y thing to have.”
“No, I’m in the army.”
“Me, too.”
He glanced at her, not really worried about fraternization rules, because she was a friend of Helen’s, and therefore probably an officer. Officers could only date officers. Just to be safe...
“Major India Woods.”
He laughed softly, almost to himself. She was his equal. Her striking gray eyes were alight with interest in him—as interested in him as he was in her. She didn’t feel sorry for him. She didn’t pity him. Her heart wasn’t melting at the idea that he pulled little ankle socks over little feet every morning. She wasn’t calculating how much time had passed since his wife had died, and whether or not it had been enough.
She was looking at him. Major India Woods was looking at him, evaluating him as a man whom she might like to get to know better, and suddenly, powerfully, he wanted to keep it that way.
“How long will you be in town, exactly?” he heard himself asking, a man with ulterior motives.
“Until Christmas Eve day. And you? Oh—never mind. You live here. Do you have to work this week?”
“My battalion declared a training holiday.”
“Wow. I need to get stationed back in the States. Helen and Tom got a training holiday, too.”
“Same battalion. I’m the S-3.”
“Ah. That’s cozy.”
“It is. I didn’t have to think twice about exchanging house keys with them.”
“Helen planned a European honeymoon the same day your exercise was canceled. What plans did you come up with?”
“She wins. I’m not going anywhere. I have...family for Christmas.”
“And between now and then?” she asked, and Aiden felt his pulse speed up, because she bit her lip as she waited for his answer.
They were almost at the back steps. He’d refrained from holding her hand for an acre, but now he let his hand rest on her lower back, escorting her unnecessarily as they ascended the flagstone steps behind the enthusiastic dog. “I have a week of free time. No prior commitments.”
“Well, Major?”
“Yes, Major?”
