by Julie Miller
“Two problems with that scenario,” Tess insisted. “One, I don’t own anything skimpy, and two—”
But she never got to the joke about how she knew more about making chicken soup than seducing a man.
Instead, she pulled the curtain aside and held her breath as Travis unfolded himself from the backseat of his father’s car—with Ethan’s help. She frowned as the green camouflage uniform stiffly straightened itself to take the shape and form of the man whom she’d always cared so deeply about.
Travis was a leaner, harder version of his more muscular brother. The athleticism that had fine-tuned his body for battle was still evident, but his balance was off. Travis hauled himself up by the car frame, plopped a cloth cap over his short, burnished hair. Then he held on to Ethan’s arm while he retrieved something from the backseat.
A cane.
“Poor Travis,” Amy whispered in sympathy. “I had no idea.”
Tess’s hand fisted around the edge of the curtain, betraying the concern and compassion that gripped her chest just as tightly.
Once he was free of the car door, Travis shook Ethan off and proceeded up the driveway to the front door under his own power. But Tess’s sharp eye for physical weaknesses and pain could tell that, despite the unwavering set of his shoulders, Travis was relying heavily on that cane. His left leg was stiff—probably from the long drive from the Quantico military base near Washington, D.C. And she suspected that if he didn’t have the hardheaded determination of the Corps drilled into him, he’d be limping.
That perfect body had taken a few more hits than she’d been led to believe.
He wasn’t even smiling.
Whether playing a joke, flirting with a woman, or striking out a batter, Travis McCormick almost always smiled.
Splaying her fingers against the glass at her window, cool from the air-conditioning, Tess reached out to her friend. Ashton’s hometown hero had come home, all right. But he hadn’t made it in one piece.
“Trav,” she whispered, her warm breath close enough to fog the glass.
Travis paused on the front sidewalk, almost as if he’d heard her soft plea.
By the time he turned and looked up, Tess had swiped the pane clear and ducked away from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. Somehow, it seemed wrong to be spying on her childhood friend and longtime hero when he wasn’t feeling up to snuff. He’d always been so strong. So sure of himself. So perfect.
Tess retreated another step, pulling Amy with her toward the center of the room. “Did you come up here for a reason?”
She had to change to subject, focus her mind on something else, before she ran downstairs and across the yard to see Travis face to face. To hug him, touch him, ensure with her own two hands that his body hadn’t been damaged beyond repair—and that the scars and weakened leg didn’t mean that his fighting spirit and wicked charm had been wounded as well.
“Mom wanted your opinion on the cake she’s baking for tonight. She said you’d know Travis’s tastes better than either of us. Does he like chocolate? White?”
“Lemon.” Travis had always had a taste for food with a little attitude. Just like his women. “He’d want a lemon cake.”
At least the old Travis would. Now she was beginning to wonder how much of the old Travis still existed—and wonder how she could help heal this newer, harder, humbler version of the man who had always been her best friend.
“I’ll tell her.” If Amy had any inkling of the turmoil spinning inside Tess’s head, the only sign was the teasing tug on her younger sister’s ponytail. “Come on down when you’re done unpacking. We could use your help before the party. Mom’s fixing enough food to feed the entire town.”
Tess nodded. “I’ll be there in a sec.”
By the time Amy left and Tess dared to return to the window, Travis had gone inside the house with his brother.
She’d been patient for twelve long months, ever since she’d first gotten the news that he’d nearly died in that accident.
He was hurt. He was her responsibility as his therapist. He was her friend.
Screw waiting until tonight.
Tess tucked her T-shirt into her denim shorts and dashed down the stairs.
“Tessa, I need…Where is that girl going?”
“Give her a few minutes, Mom.”
Her mother’s and sister’s voices were cut off by the noise of the screen door slamming behind her. Tess jogged across the lawn separating the two houses, and tucked a few stray waves into her ponytail as she slowed to a walk to climb the steps to the McCormicks’ front porch. She knocked, then fixed a grin on her face as Hal McCormick answered the door.
The older gentleman’s welcoming smile reminded her of her late father, who had died the same year Hal had lost his wife to cancer.
“Hey, Hal.”
“Tess Bartlett. Come here.” He scooped her up in a bear hug and set her down inside the tiled foyer of his home. “Is it girls’ week at the Bartletts’ again? I swear, Tess, you look prettier every time I see you.”
She waved aside the compliment. “And you’re more full of the blarney every time I see you. Did you have a good trip?”
He shrugged. “As good as could be expected. You and your family are coming tonight, right?”
“We’ll be here.” She let her gaze scan up the stairs to the second floor where Travis’s old bedroom was located. Surely, with his injured leg, they’d prepared a room downstairs for him. But she didn’t see anyone else moving about. “I know I’m early. And I promise I won’t stay long. But I saw the car and wanted to welcome Travis home. I’ll give him a hug, then get out of your hair so you guys can rest up.”
“He went to the guest room, and I don’t—”
A king-size belch, starting deep and covering a variety of pitches, dramatic in its longevity and loud enough to tickle her funny bone, erupted from the back of the house. An instant later, Travis materialized in the archway leading to the kitchen, holding a can of soda.
Tess grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. “Nice one.”
Clear blue eyes swallowed up her seeking gaze from across the room. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Travis Harold McCormick. There’s a lady in the house.”
She’d never envied Travis and Ethan for getting the double whammy of a superior officer’s tone and a father’s voice rolled into one. But the McCormick boys didn’t seem to mind.
“It’s cool, Dad. It’s just Tess.” He downed the last of the soda and reached around the archway frame to set the can on a counter. “Hey, T-bone.”
Tess shook her head at the goofy nickname, but her eyes never wavered as she studied him from head to toe. The killer smile was still there, bemused and sexy, even if it looked a little ragged around the edges. But there were other subtle changes. There was a gauntness to his chiseled features that hadn’t been there before, a tension, a maturity. And a wash of pale beneath his golden tan indicated that the deepening web of lines beside his eyes had more to do with stress and fatigue than with time spent outdoors.
“Keep it short, son. The doctor said you need to get off that leg as soon as possible.” He held up a stern, paternal finger. “And mind your manners.”
“I’ll make sure he follows orders, General.” Tess smiled with reassurance.
Hal gave her a wink, then excused himself from the foyer.
“Good to see you.” Travis had tossed his hat onto the living room couch beside his cane, and with a nonchalant defiance, he closed the distance between them. The stiff set of his jaw told her what it was costing him to hide his limp without the aid of his cane.
Tess hurried to meet him halfway.
“It’s good to see you, too.” Her words caught in a strangled whisper as she fought the sudden tears burning in her throat. “Welcome home, Captain.”
She reached up to touch the tight lines of strain beside his mouth. She brushed her fingertips across the pale pink scars that lined the left side of his square jaw
and dotted his neck. She caught his chin and turned it from side-to-side, inspecting every mark.
The eyes were as blue as she remembered, the nose the same sharp blade. The amusement on those firm, flat lips was genuine. “You just gonna stare?” he teased, spreading wide his welcoming arms. “Or am I gonna get some action?”
Exhaling a cry of relief, she rose up on tiptoe and kissed his smooth, angular cheek. Then she threw her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight.
Riding the deep breath that filled his chest, Tess held on as Travis wrapped his arms behind her waist and lifted her off the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her nose in his collar. He smelled of soap and hospital and the starch in his uniform. Intoxicating. Worrisome. Strange yet familiar.
“Couldn’t get a good enough look through your window?”
His teasing voice rumbled against her ear, and Tess was suddenly aware of how tightly they held each other. How distinctly non-platonic this felt. Her nipples beaded where her small breasts pillowed against the hard plane of his chest. Her cotton T-shirt and his canvas uniform couldn’t mask the heat seeping from his skin into hers.
Or maybe she was the one whose body temperature had suddenly soared. “You saw me?”
He laughed out loud as she squirmed away, sliding down his body and creating a friction that sparked every nerve with an embarrassing hyperawareness.
Travis reached out and cupped her blushing cheek. “I saw the curtain move. I remembered all the times we sent messages back and forth between our upstairs bedroom windows and put two and two together. Nice to know you’re still lookin’ out for me.”
“I’m going to be doing more than that, Trav.” She retreated another step to gain some much-needed distance. “I’m in charge of your therapy while you’re here.”
The smile vanished. “Therapy? I’m on forced R and R.”
“Your physical rehabilitation. Starting Monday.” She shoved her hands into her pockets, wondering at the rapid cooldown in Travis’s mood. “I’m a licensed therapist, remember? I work with sports injuries, accident victims, stroke patients, wounded veterans.” She shifted back and forth on her feet. Travis was damn near glowering now. “You dad told you, didn’t he? I’ve read the reports from your doctors and have outlined a recovery plan that should have you back to Quantico in four to six weeks’ time. All we have to do is set up a schedule that’s convenient for you.”
A glimpse of the tough, six-foot, two-inch, Special Ops Marine surfaced as he leaned in. Leaned over her. All traces of the familiar camaraderie he’d greeted her with were gone.
“You’ll be waiting by your phone a long, long time. I’m here for two weeks, tops,” he insisted. “And if I wasn’t concerned about the strain on Dad’s heart from worrying about me, it’d be less than that.”
Tess stood there and gaped, absorbing his anger, wondering at its cause. She curled her hands into fists at her side, unsure whether she wanted to slap him or hug him at his outburst, but knowing neither touch would help right now. “Look, Captain, I was only trying to help give you what you need.”
“I know what I need—and it’s not being stuck down here in Podunkville for six weeks while the Corps forgets about me. So unless you’ve got some miracle up your sleeve that can get me back on the front lines with my unit, there isn’t going to be any rehabilitation.”
2
TESS BARTLETT had tits.
Theoretically, Travis had always known they were there. But he’d never really noticed. Not the way a guy noticed an attractive woman. His body hadn’t cared before.
But there they were, small but scrumptious things, sitting high and proud, on the opposite side of his father’s living room where Tess chatted with her mother, Margaret, and one of the matriarchs of the community, Nixa Newhaven. He was damn sure Miss Newhaven hadn’t noticed the beaded tips outlined beneath the cling of Tess’s lavender T-shirt. No doubt they were jutting out in protest of the air-conditioning that ran constantly in the summer heat as partygoers streamed in and out of the house.
But Travis noticed.
His body had been misfiring with overheated aftershocks of physical awareness ever since that hug this afternoon. He’d felt them then, pressed against him like…well, not like Tess.
Hell, yeah, he’d been glad to see her. The two of them had hugged before. Countless times. But this afternoon it was…well, not like Tess.
He’d been pleased at first to see her. Finally, someone with whom he could drop the brave face and relax. He’d been on his best behavior at Quantico, not wanting to give his superiors any more reason to drum him out of the Corps. His father and brother were far too worried about his recovery, adding guilt onto the layers of frustration that already plagued him.
Maybe Hal could be content with retirement, spending half his time on his fishing boat, or camping in one of the ocean-view parks. But Travis had been bred and built for action and adventure. A dozen steel pins in his left leg weren’t going to stop him from getting back to the job he loved so much.
Though they’d done a damn good job of it so far.
That was the truth that scared him the most. His injuries might be the one enemy he couldn’t defeat. Captain Travis McCormick, leader of a Special Ops unit that was the Marine Corp’s equivalent of a Navy SEALs team, wasn’t used to feeling fear. He wasn’t used to feeling like a member of the losing team.
That’s probably what had made him so testy this afternoon. So quick to jump down Tess’s throat when she mentioned physical therapy. Man, he needed to apologize for being such an ass. Instead of trading hello’s and falling into their comfortable routine, he’d dumped on her. No wonder she’d found a way to stay on her side of the living room all evening long.
But he couldn’t afford four to six weeks of R and R at home, squeezing a rubber ball between his knees and lifting weights. He had to get back to his unit. They’d already assigned a new commander, but there was a chance he could still rejoin the team. They’d be stateside within the month, home to regroup, retrain and refit the team for a new assignment. He had to be there to join them. He had to prove he still had what it took to get the job done. Or else he’d be stuck serving out the remainder of his military career pushing papers—or worse, he’d be drummed out on an honorable discharge because he just couldn’t cut it as a Marine anymore.
Yeah, that’s all this crazy notion about Tess was. That was T-bone standing over there, making nice with her mom’s friends—not some sexy woman he was itchin’ to get his hands on. With his future in limbo, he just wasn’t feeling right in his own skin, so his perception of things was way off.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture her in her softball uniform, complete with sweat-stained visor and clunky cleats. He remembered the first day he’d met her, a gawky fourteen year-old, ankle deep in mud with her wavy brown hair flying in all directions, crabbing in the slough at the end of the street.
Travis opened his eyes and glanced across the room.
Nope. They were still there. And she had a mighty fine pair of ’em from where he was standing.
Correction. From where he was sitting on the sofa, being waited on hand and foot like some damn invalid. It seemed as if most of Ashton’s nontourist population had filed through his father’s front door to shake his hand or kiss his cheek and wish him well as they welcomed him home. Every woman over the age of eighteen, it seemed, had brought some kind of food to tempt him with. Every man, it seemed, had some sort of anecdote to tell about his own service experience. Travis had a beer, an iced tea and a frosty lemonade all within his reach, and enough plates of food to feed his entire platoon. He could quote stories from Omaha Beach to Grenada to Iraq.
But neither the tiring hoopla nor his worries about his military career could completely distract him from his recent discovery.
Damn. Travis shifted uncomfortably in his seat and reached for the beer beside him. He drank two long, cold swallows and forced his attention back to Morty Camden, who didn’t have
a war story to share, but who had an apparent fascination with statistics and the numbers of troops from nearby bases at Norfolk, Newport News and Camp Pendleton he expected to flood the town for the Summer Bay Festival.
Travis dutifully listened to the amount of money that would pour into the town coffers next week. But if Tess Bartlett didn’t stop propping her hand on her hip and standing in a way that made those little marvels jut out like temptation itself, then certain parts of his anatomy were about to prove, despite the opinion of a dozen doctors and half that many months of rehabilitative therapy, that he was no invalid.
He took another drink.
She was the girl next door. The tomboy who’d saved the world right by his side in their imaginary neighborhood games as kids. The good buddy who’d gotten him through Physics and Calculus, and introduced him to the three best dates of his high-school and college years.
Tess Bartlett was one of the guys. Somebody he could drink a beer with and rag on the Redskins to. She’d sent those newsy letters when he’d been stationed overseas and held his hand when he’d finally gotten home to visit his mother’s grave.
Tess Bartlett was every bit the buddy that his dad, his brother, and a handful of Marines he’d served with were.
So when the hell had she sprouted boobs?
Morty adjusted his plastic-framed glasses on his nose, reminding Travis that his attention had wandered again. “We hope that you’ll be able to help us with one of the booths or competitions next week.” Morty dropped a glance to where Travis’s black boot was propped up on the coffee table. “If you’re up to it, that is.”
Travis tugged at the leg of his camo pants and rested the beer bottle between his thighs. Oh yeah, he was gettin’ up to something, all right. And my, my, wasn’t that an uncomfortable realization to make.
He should go over there and apologize to Tess, then hook up with one of the willing young ladies who’d come to the open house, and get this unhealthy fascination with Tess Bartlett out of his system.
