by Vonnie Davis
Chapter 7
Six-forty and Dustin held Kelcee’s hand after he helped her out of the truck. A cool breeze chilled her arms and she reached inside for her sweater. As he’d suggested, they’d done some light making out in the parking lot. He’d held her, kissed her face, jaw, and neck. Sweet praises were whispered between brief sipping kisses, rubbing his lips sensually over hers, while every neuron in her nervous system zapped with electrical impulses. Much more of this and she’d light up like a Christmas tree.
His hands caressed her, and somehow her pink cardigan had ended up hanging from the gun rack at the back window of the old truck. He held the sweater for her while she slipped in her arms and pulled it over her shoulders.
Then he tugged his ball cap with the SEAL insignia down over his eyes. She wondered if he was hoping to hide some of his facial scars with his hat. They held hands as they approached the exterior ticket booth.
He whipped out his dollar and waved it in front of her face. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”
Megan Silverstone, the gum-popping teenager working the ticket booth, had her dreamy eyes glued to Dustin’s biceps and pecs.
For some reason, Megan’s blatant interest chafed Kelcee. “Who said I’m your girl?”
Dustin laid his arm across her shoulders and flashed her one of his sexy grins. “Your tongue when it examined my tonsils back in the truck.”
“I did not! I mean, my tongue did not!” She elbowed him and he laughed.
“Oh hell, I would,” Megan gushed.
Dustin leaned his elbow on the small counter at the ticket window. “Sorry, hon, I’ve got Kelcee’s name written across my heart, in cursive with barbed wire and roses around it.”
Megan studied Kelcee and popped a bubble. “Lucky you.”
“You are officially dead meat, Dustin Franks.”
He bought their tickets—finally—and they walked inside the lobby. He glanced around. “Wow, this is the smallest theater I’ve ever been in. They’ve even got it decorated in the vintage style of early movie houses.”
“This is the original décor, Dustin. Nothing much gets updated around here.”
He bought some snacks and held her hand. “Come on tonsil doctor, let’s find some seats.”
When the first explosion hit the screen, Dustin tensed. He had his hand on Kelcee’s thigh at the time and his gentle hold morphed into a grip. She watched him more than the movie. His breathing rate accelerated and his blinking response all but stopped. He just stared. She rubbed his arm and squeezed his thigh, but he wouldn’t or couldn’t respond.
This flick had been a really bad idea. It was more gunfire and detonations than spying. A loud blast lifted an SUV off the road in a fiery ball. Dustin squeezed and twisted the bag of popcorn they’d been sharing, until it was nothing but crumbs.
She had to get him out of there. “Dustin.” She shook his arm. “Can we go? I have a headache. It hurts really bad.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pressed her head into the crook of his neck. “I’ll take care of you, baby.” He kissed the top of her head. “See that sniper on the roof at two o’clock? I can take him out. I’ve had plenty of kills at a thousand yards. Become one with the world around you, know how high up you are, the wind velocity, the distance to the target and whether it’s stationary or not. Relax. Breathe slowly. So…slow, you can hear your own heartbeat. Exhale and between the beats, squeeze the trigger.”
He was in a dark place, confused by the reality of her, the fantasy of the film, and his memories of war. She had a couple of those spaces in her mind, too. When she’d initially arrived at Warrior Falls, she’d had to really struggle to pull herself out of them. She had to play mental tricks on herself. While hers were bad, she imagined his were catastrophic. How could she help him? How?
The movie ended and time was critical. How was she going to get him out of the theater? The credits were rolling and people were exiting. The screen went blank and he blinked. “Dustin…Dustin, the movie’s over. We have to go.” She stood and reached for his hand.
He stared for a few seconds at the crushed bag of popcorn he held. His head snapped up to look at her. “I lost it, didn’t I?”
Crap, I don’t want him to feel bad. He might sink into a depression.
The overhead lights blinked on and off.
At least he’d spoken to her; that was progress. “We have to go. Let’s walk outside and get some fresh air. What an awful movie. I’m glad it’s over.”
He stumbled a little when he stood, and much as she wanted to help steady him, she allowed him to gain control on his own. “Sorry I checked out on you.”
“Did you? I had my eyes shut after the guy pulled out a knife. Knives scare the crap out of me for some reason.” She shuddered.
He held the door open for her, and they stepped into the fall air. The wind was blowing stronger now. “If knives freak you, I guess you don’t want to know about the one I have strapped to my real ankle.”
“You better be kidding me.” She had to keep him talking so he didn’t dwell on zoning out during the movie. She had an idea he’d take it as a personal failure. “Are you packing a gun, big guy?”
“No.” He unlocked the truck and helped her in. His expression was sober as he rounded the front of the vehicle. Once he was strapped in and his cane hung on the gun rack, his hands curled and uncurled from the steering wheel. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be normal. We both know I’m not talking about physically. I mean mentally.”
“Normal is overrated, Dustin.”
He stared straight ahead for several beats. “I’m so attracted to you, I was determined to hide as much of my PTSD as I could. Hell, I knew I’d scare the hell out of you.”
He was hiding part of himself from her, just as she was hiding part of herself from him. If it wasn’t so damn serious, it would almost be funny. “You didn’t scare me.”
“What if I would have hurt you?”
“I’d have taken off my pink stilettos and pierced your head with my heels. How would you like to return to base and explain to the guys a little Irish girl beat you with her high heels…pink, of all colors?”
He ran a hand over his face. “You’re only trying to cheer me up.”
“We’re new to each other. There’s a lot we have to learn and a few things we have to accept the other person doesn’t want to or isn’t able to talk about. So we focus on the good we see in each other. Hey, if you’re man enough to handle my temper, I’m woman enough to deal with the effects of your PTSD. Now, are you going to call me when you get back to the ranch or will I have to call ZQ and have him make you?”
His head slowly turned to focus on her face. “Do you still want to see me after what happened in there?” He jerked his thumb toward the theater. Pain, embarrassment, and incredulity laced his words.
Kelcee unbuckled her seatbelt, leaned over, and cupped his face with her hands. “I understand what happened. I can deal with it. Getting to know you better is more important to me than losing your attention now and then.” She kissed him and he dragged her across the seat onto his lap, deepening the kiss with a groan that seemed to come from the depths of his wounded soul.
His cool hand slipped under her sweater and slowly stroked her bare skin, sending warmth everywhere. Her stomach fluttered and so did her girly parts. When his thumb circled her nipple and gently pinched it with his fingers, someone in the truck whimpered, and she feared it was her.
Someone, probably the manager of the theater, tapped on the window. “The theater’s closed. You’re gonna hafta leave. Find somewhere else to do your parkin’.”
Dustin leaned his forehead against hers. “I’ve been trying to take this slow, for both our sakes. I didn’t think you were ready for the next step. There’s the issue of my stump to deal with. What if you can’t handle that? Woman, you got involved with one screwed-up guy.”
She scooted over to her side of the seat and buckled her seatbelt. “Just so the screw
ed-up guy calls me when he gets home.” She crossed her arms. “Don’t make me hunt you down.”
He chuffed a laugh. “Yes, ma’am. Meanwhile, you can decide if you’ll let me take you to dinner on Friday night.”
—
Friday morning, Kelcee stood in front of her closet. A couple butterflies had somehow infiltrated her stomach while she blew her hair dry. The heat of her curling iron hadn’t chased them off, at all. In fact, the one with the shifty eyes had opened the door and whistled for the rest of their buddies to join them.
Darn if the annoying colorful creatures didn’t work their wings in unison, as if they were fluttering “Dus…tin…Dus…tin.” She’d dreamed about the ex-SEAL last night—several times, in fact. Probably because she was so fixated on this handsome, thoughtful man, no matter how wounded he was.
She’d always remember his charging into her bookstore, unexpected and full of testosterone after Jim had insulted her. Nor could her heart get over his thoughtfulness of actually packing a lunch and bringing it into town because he knew she hadn’t eaten. When he’d questioned her about why she was walking to the bank with a bag of money, Dustin had looked positively possessive. Don’t think her wanton hormones didn’t notice all the ways he could kiss or touch her body.
Once he’d gotten home from the movie fiasco, he’d called and they’d talked for some time about some of his war experiences and the damage they’d inflicted on his psyche. He’d stayed away from her all day yesterday. She suspected he was sorting out going into a fugue state during the movie. How often had he experienced something like that?
He’d called her last night for no reason other than to tell her to sleep well. What kind of man did that? They’d talked for more than an hour about various things. He’d just finished the second book about the Indian myths concerning the falls across from her bookstore, his deep voice washing over her, lulling her to sleep.
During the night, in one of her dreams, Dustin had walked out of a swirling fog, holding a bouquet of flowers. A harp and cello had played, and they had danced, with the mist swirling around their feet.
Her sheets were a tangled mess when she woke up, annoyed with the sexy dream’s effect on her body. One glance at her clock indicated she’d hit the snooze button two too many times. If she didn’t get her butt in gear, she’d be late opening the store.
She was not going to any special efforts on her appearance today just because Dustin was taking her to dinner after she closed the bookstore. After all, it was only business. Her fingers reached for a pair of jeans and, instead, pulled out a dress she’d bought at a yard sale months ago. She refused to question how that happened. Maybe it was the pink, turquoise, and golden butterflies woven into the black material of the bodice; they matched the ones pirouetting across the stage of her insides. The black skirt barely skimmed her full hips as she slipped it on. She should have rubbed a bar of soap over the zipper, for it worked as if it were rusted or something.
The dress would require dressier shoes. She grumbled under her breath. The man was causing her more trouble than he was worth. She eased on a pair of thigh-highs before stepping into black wedge open-toed shoes and reaching for a pink stretch belt.
Her cell chirped and she noted the caller before she answered. “Good morning, Fran. How’s my favorite customer?” Fran was one of those effervescent personalities Kelcee couldn’t help but adore. She was in her mid-sixties and just as spry as someone twenty years younger—and twice as ornery.
“Hi, doll. Are you expecting a shipment today? If so, what time? I’ll come in and help you unbox and shelve the books.”
Fran was no more interested in helping her than she was in digging ditches. Kelcee knew how the avid reader thought, and a heat wave was headed their way. No doubt Fran wanted to stay in the cool and read. “Yes. The UPS truck usually hits here about ten or ten-thirty.”
“Do you think my Kelly Moran and Tracy Wolff books will be in the order?” She lowered her voice. “What about that BDSM series by that author Clarice recommended?”
Kelcee inspected her appearance in the full-length mirror, slipped out of one of her black shoes, and slipped on a strappy pink heel. “I expect them to be in the order, too. I haven’t received any delay notices.”
“Super. See you later, doll.” Fran hung up.
Kelcee looked in the mirror. Black nylons and pink shoes. Nope. She reached into the back of the closet for her black ankle-strap stilettos and put them on. They didn’t match the wide pink belt she liked, but she could add pink earrings. First, though, she’d need a garter belt if she was going to work all day in higher heels. Her thigh-highs would keep creeping down her legs. Pulling a drawer open, she removed a piece of black lace lingerie.
It was as if she’d gotten dressed backward. She was in a condition comparable to putting on a bra under a turtleneck she already wore. Exasperated, she slipped off the strappy heels and unzipped the dress to remove it. Her long curly hair got caught in the slow-working zipper. The more she tugged, the more her tresses tangled. She jerked one arm free, hoping she could yank the infernal garment over her head. Then her other arm. A bead of sweat trickled between her boobs, followed by another. “Twenty-six years old and I’m about to be bested by this secondhand garb. Dammit.” What a mess! She might have to cut a wad of her hair to get the thing off.
The phone chirped again. Fran, for God’s sake. Not now! I’m about to hang myself in this freakin’ dress.
Her black garter belt still in one hand, Kelcee felt across the bed until her fingers closed around the cell. “I can’t talk now. My hair’s caught in my dress zipper. Don’t you worry, I’ll have plenty of BDSM books for you to read during the upcoming heat wave. I’ll have your motor running in high gear. And if you call me again about floggers and handcuffs, I’ll tell the good people at church how their organist likes to make erotic music on a more fleshy type of organ.”
There was a pause and then male laughter.
She pinched her eyes shut. Oh, hell. Who did I just blow off my big mouth to?
A sinfully deep voice filtered across the airspace. The one that raised the hair on her arms and made her clench her thighs. “Well, now, with an answer like that, you’ve already got my motor running in high gear. I never took you for a flogger-and-handcuff kind of woman but, hey, if that’s what you want, I’ll give it a try.”
Smart-ass.
“I…I…ah…thought you were one of my regular customers.”
The line went deathly quiet for a few beats. “What kind of customers are we talking about here, Kelcee?”
Her backbone jerked straight and some of the material sifted downward, making breathing easier. Did he just imply he thought she was a hooker? Her temper jumped several degrees into the “oh, hell no” category. “If you must know, some of my lady customers like to read a spicier form of romance. One just called a few minutes ago to see if her shipment would be in today. I thought it was her calling me back.”
“I see. Maybe we should think about changing the name of your shop to Bookstore for the Fallen. Besides, don’t you have caller ID?”
“Yes, I’ve got it!” She waved her lacy lingerie as she all but shrieked into the phone. God, this man could make her fifty shades of crazy in thirty seconds. “Look, if I hadn’t been busy reaching for my garter belt with my zipper yanking my hair out by the roots…” She slapped the black lace against her lips. Holy hell! Me and my big mouth.
“Don’t! Don’t say another word, except for yes or no. God, woman, you can stir me up quicker than anyone I’ve ever met. All I called for was to make sure our having dinner tonight was still okay with you. I…ah…understand a certain SEAL kept you awake late last night, talking nonsense, just so he could hear your voice over the phone. I wanted to be sure you got enough sleep for an evening out.”
“Yes,” she whispered, her face still burning with embarrassment.
“Good.” He paused again. “Are you blushing?”
“Hell, yes, I’m bl
ushing! I don’t like making a fool of myself. Or being made fun of.” She’d taken enough teasing in her teen years about being chubby. Although she’d lost some weight, the curves remained; and she’d come to accept them.
“Then we won’t mention it again.” The tone of his voice had gentled to an intimate purr and her nipples peaked. “See you later, Kelcee.” He ended the call.
She flopped across the bed. Men! They were all dangerous—just in different ways. Her phone dinged with an incoming text.
“Put me out of my misery. What color is it?” The sneak had the nerve to add a smiley face.
“U said we wouldn’t mention it again.” She shoved her phone under one of her pillow shams and worked the zipper back and forth, pulling out strands of hair, a little at a time, until she’d gotten it all freed. The cushion did little to muffle the ding. Oh crap, this man would drive her batshit crazy. The war must have scrambled his common sense. What an awful thing for me to think. That’s a terrible reaction toward a hero. She dove for the phone.
“A text is not a mention.” He’d had the nerve to add puckered lips.
She shook her cell as if it were a rag doll. Can’t he see I’ve got my garter belt around my ankles? He’s like a mosquito buzzing around my head. Good Lord, I’d like to spray his tight ass with Raid.
“Pervert!” she texted and then added someone sticking out their tongue. Then before he had a chance to text back, she sent him another one. “It matches my skirt. Now lev me alone. Got 2 work.”
Five minutes before ten, Fran Silver breezed through the door and stopped dead in her tracks. Her gaze swept up and down Kelcee. “Holy cow, don’t you look mighty fine?” Fran glanced down each row of books, as if she were checking for other customers. She strutted in her yellow-and-aqua plaid capri set to where Kelcee was arranging old books into a sale bin and squeezed Kelcee’s hand. “Do you have a date for tonight? Who is he? Do tell!” Fran’s many charm bracelets and silver chains jangled as she brushed some moist platinum curls from her cheeks. She billowed her top and grumbled, “Hot flashes.”
