* * *
Kira felt nothing but relief as she hurried to Garret’s house for lunch. The day had turned out sunny, bright and cold. She loved the snow as it was blown by a breeze off the roof, glittering in the sunlight like sparkling diamonds as it fell to the white-covered ground. How was Garret? She hadn’t seen him since that morning. Worried, she went into the house. He was in the kitchen and whatever he was cooking smelled wonderful.
“Hey,” she called, hanging up her parka, turning to where he stood at the stove, “that smells great. What are you making for us?” Kira was relieved he looked a little better. But not much. Something was still eating at Garret. It took everything inside her to keep from asking about it. She knew from experience that most men dumped their feelings into a rabbit hole, never wanting to uncover them again. She’d had time this morning, after translating some letters into English from Arabic, to think through their conversation late last night.
“Hey yourself,” Garret greeted, looking in her direction. “I’m making some sausage and potato-cheddar cheese soup. Cold out there this morning.”
She walked over to the large steel pot he was stirring, leaned over and inhaled. “Mmm, this is wonderful.” She grinned and straightened. “Let me get the table set.”
“Go ahead.”
Happiness threaded through Kira. It was so easy to fall into teamwork with Garret. She retrieved two red-and-blue ceramic soup bowls, along with soupspoons.
“I’ve got some garlic bread warming up in the oven,” he told her.
“My mouth is watering,” Kira teased, smiling at him as he briskly stirred the thick soup on the stove. Kira found a red plastic basket and placed paper towels in the bottom of it, setting it nearby so he could pull the toasting garlic bread out whenever he was ready. It was endearing to her to see such a big man with a pink-and-white-checked apron wrapped around his waist, working at a stove. The image made Kira love Garret even more. He could care less about what others thought of him wearing a woman’s apron. His masculinity certainly wasn’t in question. She opened a drawer and pulled out two bright-red linen napkins.
“How did it go with Crawford this morning?” he demanded, giving her a concerned look.
“Oh,” she laughed softly, “we had the great century waffle disaster,” and she explained what had happened. “Shay had one and I used it. She’s going to get that timer coffeepot today and will pick up a waffle iron for her father as well.”
“He didn’t start bad-mouthing you, did he?”
Kira felt the grate in his low voice. She hated lying to Garret. “He was just his usual grumpy self. He was happy with the coffee, though, so that’s one hurdle completed.”
“Knowing him,” Garret said, taking the bowl Kira handed him and ladling soup into it from the pot, “the bastard isn’t ever going to admit you did something right. Shay used to tell me that her father would only point out what she did wrong. He never praised her for anything well done.” He looked pointedly at Kira as she handed him the second bowl to fill. “Is that how he is with you?”
Shrugging, Kira said lightly, “Mostly. But hey, I’m used to it. In the Army they barked at you when you screwed up, Garret. They never praised us for what we did right. Same thing here.” She was hoping he’d buy her explanation but saw his hazel eyes darken with worry—for her. Carrying the bowls over to the table, she said, “Things went smoother this morning. It’s just going to take time.” Kira hoped Garret never heard Ray riding her verbally. She was afraid of what he might do to the invalid. Garret was so protective of her, more so than she’d ever seen before. What did it mean?
* * *
Garret brought out the toasted garlic bread and placed it in the basket. Kira already had glasses of water on the table. He sat down at her elbow, inhaling her scent. His body stirred. Kira wore a light blue sweater that lovingly caressed her curves. Her black hair was tousled, but on her it looked good. Natural. He noticed her hands trembled a little. Crawford. He knew it, but dammit, until he could win Kira’s full trust, she wouldn’t level with him about how that bastard was really treating her. It raked up his anger and he stuffed it, wanting to enjoy the time with her. He watched her take a sip of the thick, hearty soup.
“Oh, this is good, Garret,” Kira purred and closed her eyes, swallowing and savoring the herbs and spice flavors in it.
He felt himself puff up beneath her praise. That was the difference, Garret decided, between them. Even in Afghanistan, Kira had been positive. She always had praise and kind words for the team members, the children, the Afghan mothers she worked with daily. Everyone felt better when Kira was around. She just naturally lifted people, made them feel good about themselves. Hell, she made him feel something he hadn’t since waking up after the ambush in the hospital: hope. Real hope. Hope for a future with her. Like the greedy beggar he was, Garret silently absorbed her upbeat smile, the sparkle in her eyes, the way that luscious mouth of hers curved. “Like the soup?”
“Like it? I love it! I remember in the village you’d do incredible things with our MREs. You’d gather them up and then concoct this unnamed food that really tasted good. Everyone loved it when you cooked for our team, Garret.”
That was true and he grinned a little. “MREs are horrible tasting.”
“Yes, well, you took them to an art-form level, believe me.”
“Spices and herbs are the secret,” he told her. Garret saw all the tension Kira was unconsciously carrying in her shoulders dissolve. Even her face softened. He knew something good existed between them. Still. It hadn’t been destroyed, and that tugged hard at his heart. How to tell her he liked her? He knew he didn’t dare admit he loved her. That would explode like an IED into Kira’s life. Garret understood he had to take this slow. He had to be patient. Thank God they were living together under the same roof. It gave him an opportunity to be with her off and on throughout the day.
“Well, I know all the guys were salivating when it came to your turn to cook. We all knew we’d get something that tasted really good.” Kira grinned.
“One of our team’s happier memories,” he agreed, trying not to sound grumpy about it. Because every time that subject was brought up, his gut clenched. Garret felt like he was sitting on a barrel of C4 explosives that was going to detonate unexpectedly some day and destroy him.
“And you did wonders with goat meat. I’d never eaten goat until I went to Afghanistan.”
“It’s a meat like all meats,” he murmured, satisfied with how the soup tasted.
“I didn’t think I’d like it, but I developed a taste for it because of the way you prepared it.”
“Yeah, but Afghan food is really good. A family that’s better off than most will have small tins of spices and the wife knows how to use them.”
She sighed. “A fond memory.” She held his dark green-and-gold eyes. Reaching out, she touched his arm. “You really made our lives better over there, Garret. I know you think anyone can cook, but that’s not true. You’re really good at it.”
His skin tightened as her fingers grazed his arm. He wished his flannel blue-and-green-plaid cowboy shirt wasn’t a barrier between her fingertips and his flesh. Last night he’d tossed and turned with his heart and mind kicked into overdrive. It was pure, utter hell to sit there and watch the tears roll down Kira’s cheeks and know he could do nothing—not a damn thing—about it. She’d needed to be held. Garret knew he could do that for her. He kept visualizing walking over to her, hauling her into his arms, tucking her into his embrace, her head nestled beneath his jaw as he held her warm and safe. Those potent images had kept him awake the rest of the night. He’d finally said to hell with it and gotten up at 5 a.m. It took everything he had to bypass her room and go to the kitchen instead. Only after shoveling the walk had he finally chilled out, literally and figuratively.
“I like to cook.”
“Did you get that from your mom?” Kira wondered.
“Yeah, for sure. I can remember as a kid, my head not ev
en reaching the kitchen counter, and I’d be there, watching her sift, measure, weigh and mix. She was always giving me tastes from a big spoon. She’d cup my chin with one hand and tell me to open up, then she slipped the spoon into my mouth to taste whatever she was making.”
“You were young.”
“Probably six.” And then Garret grudgingly admitted, “It’s some of the best memories I have of my mom. We had a lot of fun in that kitchen, a lot of laughter.” His heart still clenched at times when those memories rose, sweet and strong within him.
“I’m so sorry you lost her at such a young age,” Kira whispered, giving him a sad glance. “She’d be really proud of you now, Garret.”
“She said I should become a chef,” he said. “Boys growing up at that time were considered weaklings if they were cooks. I didn’t want to be a sissy.”
Grinning, Kira shook her head. “You guys . . .” and she chuckled. “There’s nothing sissylike about being a great chef. It’s part art and part creating a recipe. Look how you made our MREs taste. That was pure art. You always thought outside the box, Garret.”
He preened beneath her sincere praise and saw longing in her eyes. It was right there and so easy to read. The way she licked her lips sent fire bolting down into his lower body. Groaning inwardly, Garret could feel himself becoming aroused. Kira had no idea how much she turned him on. She turned him inside out with wanting to bury himself in her warm, liquid depths. It was a good thing she couldn’t read minds or he’d be in such hot water. He didn’t want this lunch to end, though it had to.
“I’m going into town to pick up some parts for the backhoe. Is there anything you need?”
“No . . . not that I can think of.”
“Well, I’ll see about that,” and he gave her a playful look. Instantly, Kira smiled and brightened. She was so easily teased in the best ways.
“What do you have up your sleeve, Fleming?”
Garret gave her a lazy look. “Something.” She pouted. Her lower lip was full, and he longed to know what it would feel like to slide his mouth across hers. Somehow, Garret knew she would be like warm honey; sweet, delicious, hot and eager. Because the need in her eyes, if he read her accurately, was proof that Kira wanted him. She was interested in him as a man this time, not as a friend and the Special Forces operator she had worked with.
She playfully hit his upper arm. “Come on! Tell me!”
Kira was such a child upon occasion. Garret had seen it in Afghanistan so many times. Kira would walk through the village, the children tagging along, holding her hand, tugging on her blouse or dancing around her. She had asked a friend stateside to send her a soccer ball early on in her first deployment. The children loved playing with her. They’d carefully sweep their homemade soccer field out behind the village for planted IEDs. Finding none, Kira would have the boys and girls play and kick the ball back and forth to one another. Garret remembered the many times he would take time out, watch her, listen to her laughter, see the shining happiness in her eyes as she played with them. And always, Kira made sure the children won the game. She wanted to build their confidence in themselves. And she always had candy as a reward for all of them afterward. There was so much to love about her . . .
“Garret? Where did you go?”
He felt heat rush into his cheeks. “Caught me,” he admitted, flashing her a grin. “I have a surprise in store for you is all. And I’m not telling you what it is. You’ll find out tonight.”
She considered his words and gripped his upper arm, giving it a small shake. “You were always teasing me like that in Afghanistan.”
“That’s true,” he admitted, enjoying her smile. “Yeah, you took the bait because you trusted me,” Garret chuckled. He saw her smile widen and that same, utter happiness come to her gray, shining eyes. In that moment Garret was transported back to that village, back to one of the many happy times with Kira. She had no idea how she fed his heart and soul. Just the sound of her laughter was a healing balm for him.
“I love good surprises,” she murmured. Standing, she pushed back the chair, then gathering up the empty bowls. “And it had better be a good one, Fleming.”
“Oh,” he murmured, giving her a sly look, “it’s something you really, really like.”
She snorted as she moved to the kitchen sink. “I don’t know, Fleming. I remember the time you said you and the guys had a special surprise for me. You all made a big deal out of it. Every one of you were ragging on me, telling me how wonderful the surprise was going to be.” She gave him a dirty look. “And you blindfolded me, surrounded me, had the camera to see my face when I opened up my surprise.”
Garret’s smile grew. “Oh . . . that time . . . yeah . . . how could I forget?” and he started laughing about it all over again.
Kira laughed with him as she dried her hands on a nearby towel. “You set me up royally. That was in the first year of my deployment, when I didn’t know you guys that well. There I was, sitting on a stool in the middle of a house with my hand held out for my surprise. I felt a bag placed in my hand and then you guys were telling me to take off my blindfold and look at what was in it.” Her mouth went flat, but a grin leaked out of one corner. “Goat turds in a paper bag.”
Garret couldn’t help himself; he laughed deeply, nodding, remembering that event. “You had the most priceless look on your face, Kira.” He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “Ryan took a photo. That was one for the ages.”
Kira came over to the table, giggling. “It was funny. All of you knew I was gullible. You took advantage of my good nature,” and she gripped his broad shoulder, giving it a shake.
Feeling her hand coming to rest on him, Garret finally stopped laughing. His stomach hurt, he’d laughed so much. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, any new man or woman to the team always got a hazing. That was our way of welcoming you on board. Aaron was smart: He watched you for about two months, learning a lot about you, your personality. He was the one who strategized the surprise.”
Without thinking, Kira moved her hand across his powerful, well-muscled shoulder. She felt his skin tighten beneath her grazing touch. “I fell for it. All of it.”
“Oh,” Garret said, twisting a look up at her as she stood at his shoulder. “Over time you got even with all of us. I found goat turds in my pillow sack one night. Aaron found them in the tin of KitKats he hoarded. Yeah, you got even with all of us. Is it any wonder we called you Trouble after that?”
She playfully shoved at his shoulder. “Like all of you didn’t have it coming? And Brady was forever threatening me with putting that photo of me holding the goat turds online.”
“He was just razzing you,” Garret murmured, becoming more serious, holding her warm gray gaze. “He’d never do anything to embarrass you out in public, Kira. You knew that.”
“At the time I didn’t know that,” she confided, her voice turning fond with memory. “That was my first two months with you animals. I didn’t really know you that well. And after you played that mean trick on me, you bet I believed Brady that he’d share it all over Facebook.”
Feeling her light, gliding hand moving back and forth across his shoulder, Garret soaked it in like the starving animal he was. Kira didn’t know how primal he really was, or how much he needed her. Her unexpected touch sent waves of heat radiating into his lower body. From the look on her face, her voice, Kira was lost in the past, not really aware of what she was doing. It didn’t matter to Garret. What did matter was that Kira was touching him. In the past two days her touches had been sparing, but sometimes she would reach out, and Garret savored those precious moments of connection. Trying to relax as her hand moved back and forth across his shoulder, he wanted to soak her into his body, his heart, and keep her within his soul forever.
There was a terrible challenge directly in front of him. His heart was dying for a relationship with Kira. To get there, he had to bridge his fear and allow grief to rise up through him. Did he have the courage? Could his lo
ve conquer his fear? Garret didn’t know. And even if he did, he had no idea how to go about doing it. Kira was working through her grief, that was obvious. But he couldn’t go around crying. Men just didn’t cry. They stuffed. When she lifted her hand away, he wanted to groan and plead with her to remain in contact with him.
“I’ve got to get to work,” Kira told him, waving to him as she walked down the hall toward the office.
Garret watched the sway of her hips, the way her shoulders were always pulled back with pride. She’d gone through so much and carried the weight of PTSD. Marveling at her inner strength, he turned and scowled, unhappy with himself. To gain Kira’s trust, he had to be honest with her. And so much of their conversation focused on a subject he wanted to avoid at all costs: Afghanistan. It was their tie, their connection. It was her healing and his demise.
Rubbing his face wearily, feeling exhaustion stealing over him, Garret wanted to crawl into her bed, into her arms, hold her close, sleep with her, love her. Nothing seemed so daunting and so out of reach right now. In order to get her, he had to surrender his backlog of grief.
Chapter Eight
Kira kept her voice light and unruffled as Ray Crawford, who sat at the table with his coffee, glared at her as she entered the kitchen.
“How are you this morning, Mr. Crawford?” Kira tried to steel herself against his black negativity as she walked to the kitchen sink and washed her hands.
“Not good.”
“Oh?” Kira turned. He was wearing a red-and-black-checked flannel shirt and jeans. If he wasn’t always nasty, she could almost feel sorry for him. What would she feel like if she had a stroke? That once she’d ridden a horse, run a ranch and then had it all, suddenly, yanked away from her?
“Didn’t sleep well.”
Wind River Cowboy Page 10
