Second Chance

by Gena Showalter

  “Well.” Nibbling on her bottom lip, she squirmed in her seat. “I…have dates.”

  Absolute rage detonated inside him, shrapnel embedding in his heart. Both his jaw and hands clenched. “With whom?”

  The squirming got worse. “Brett Vandercamp and Jonathan Hillcrest, respectively.”

  In the past, competition had excited Daniel. Right now he would gladly raze the entire world so that he and Thea could be alone, and the reaction stunned him. He felt this strongly, this quickly? Ridiculous! He’d gone years without giving the woman a second thought.

  But he’d since watched her dance and seen her naked. He’d laughed with her. Noticed the purity of her heart. Her kindness toward others. Her dedication to her sister. Her quirks—like her love of nail polish and rainstorms. Her heartbreaking vulnerability.

  If he somehow convinced her to cancel her other dates, she would grow to resent him. Maybe even wonder what she was missing.

  Stay calm. A successful mission started with a concrete plan.

  Step one: touch. He traced a fingertip over the rise of her cheekbone.

  She leaned into the touch, a bliss all its own. Then she straightened, her spine so rigid he feared she would snap in two.

  Step two: engage.

  “Why do you want to stop blushing?” he asked. “It’s pretty.”

  “No, it’s even more embarrassing than whatever made me blush in the first place.”

  Again he asked, “Why?”

  “Because… Just because! You wouldn’t understand. You’ve been accepted your entire life.”

  How often had she been rejected throughout her life?

  Step three: another touch paired with a compliment. He shifted, leaning toward her while brushing his knee against her thigh…loving her gasp of surprise. At her ear, he whispered, “Your blush gives a man ideas. Very naughty ideas. I vote you keep doing it.”

  She shivered against him, exciting him—before she pushed him away, disappointing him. “This is my date,” she said primly, “and I’ve decided we’re going to sit in silence for the rest of the evening.”

  Step four: give her a glimpse into his deepest fantasy.

  “I won’t say another word, sweetheart. I’ll be too busy imagining your dress on my floor and your ass bent over my bed.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  DANIEL MARCHED INSIDE his dad’s house, Brock behind him. He would much rather be marching into the inn, with Thea, but at the end of the evening, he hadn’t even won a kiss.

  All his tried-and-true steps, and he’d failed.

  He expected his dad to be sound asleep. Instead, Virgil reclined on the couch, his fingers woven together, locked behind his head. He’d waited up.

  Jude sat on the floor, playing with Princess, who spotted Daniel and bounded over. Her excitement soothed him. After his date with Thea, well, his pride was nothing but tatters.

  He picked up Princess and let her rest her head in the hollow of his neck while he rubbed her belly. “Everything okay here?”

  “No, everything is not okay.” Virgil stood. He used to be several inches taller, but the stoop in his back had shortened him. “First of all, you smell bad enough to gag a maggot. All that smoke on your clothes is going to give me the cancer. And what’s this I hear about you taking sweet little Dorothea Mathis to the Scratching Post?”

  Well. News had certainly traveled fast. But who the hell had told his dad?

  Of all the bar’s occupants, only Ryanne would have had any interaction with his father, but she and Thea were as close as sisters. There was no way she’d narced.

  “I didn’t take Thea anywhere,” he said, inwardly lamenting. He’d been so careful. Well, sort of careful. He’d have to do better next time. “I was there. She was there. We spoke.” True, true and true.

  His dad bristled. “Son, you’re waking up my inner coyote. Did I not teach you better? Are you not attracted to her? If I were thirty years younger, I’d get her into bed as soon as possible. No one wants to roll over and wonder if he’s lying on a hammer or his girl’s leg. You should have whisked her out of there, taken her to a nice dinner and paid the check, even if she ordered the surf and turf.”

  How was he supposed to respond to that?

  Jude continued to frown, as usual.

  Laughter glimmered in Brock’s expression as he patted Virgil on the shoulder. “Bars are the devil’s den.”

  Virgil gave a hearty nod in agreement. “Way I hear it, women throw brassieres and bloomers at the band and men throw shirts at sweet little Ryanne Wade whenever she sings.”

  To Virgil Porter, every girl from Strawberry Valley was “sweet” and “little.”

  “Speaking of sweet little Ryanne Wade.” Brock stroked his fingers over his jaw, the picture of curiosity. “What’s the story on her?”

  Daniel had known the man would make a play for her, despite a lack of chemistry. She was his type. Street-smart and hardened by life. The fact that she could mix his favorite drinks didn’t hurt.

  “Type” doesn’t mean shit if what you want isn’t what you need.

  He rubbed his temple to shut his brain up.

  Virgil brightened like a lamp with a new bulb. “You just dilled my pickle. You take a shine to our Ryanne? She’s got the voice of a cigar-smoking, whiskey-chugging angel, that one. She’s single, and I think that’s the way she likes it, so it’s gonna take a special man to break through her walls.”

  “Or dynamite.” Brock winked. “I’m very good with dynamite.”

  “Good, good,” Virgil said. “We can host the wedding right here in my backyard. And since that sweet little girl ain’t got no daddy to call her own, I’ll be happy to walk her down the aisle.”

  Brock flinched as if he’d just taken a punch to the gut. “Wedding?”

  “Of course. That is the natural progression of a relationship, is it not?”

  Welcome to my world, Daniel wanted to tell his friend. Instead, he threw the guy a life raft, saying, “Brock isn’t looking to get married, Dad. Neither am I.”

  If he were a better son, he’d do it. Marry a hometown girl and settle down. But a sham marriage wasn’t the answer to his dad’s happiness. Or Daniel’s. He would still battle PTSD. Maybe on a larger scale. No challenge, no distraction.

  And what if the wifey poo decided to divorce him? Virgil’s heart would break once and for all. Even worse, what if the wife died unexpectedly?

  People died every day.

  “You sure you don’t want to wed Dorothea Mathis?” his dad asked. “Your eyes light up every time I mention her name.”

  “They do not.”

  “Dorothea Mathis, Dorothea Mathis, Dorothea Mathis.”

  Okay, maybe they did.

  He scrubbed a hand down his face, hiding his eyes until he was sure they were as dull as a rusty tin can. “I’m doing security for the inn. I’m even working reception until she hires someone to replace Holly.” Again, all true. “Thea and I, we’re…friends.” The word tasted foul on his tongue. “But you have my word, the next time I see her at the Scratching Post, I’ll pick her up and carry her out fireman-style.” Eventually.

  Virgil heaved a heavy sigh of disappointment. “You’re a good boy, Danny, and I love you.”

  A stab of guilt, straight through the heart. Never wanted to disappoint this man. “I love you, too.” And maybe Thea was right. Maybe they were better off as friends.

  Every cell in his body screamed in protest. Crave her. Must have her.

  Yeah, but then what?

  “All right, boys. This old body needs some rest. You young’uns make sure you keep it down, now, you hear?” Virgil patted Daniel’s cheek before padding off.

  Princess struggled for her freedom. Daniel set her down and strode to the kitchen to fix a m
idnight snack. His friends followed him, the dog at their heels, and gathered around the table.

  “You want a critique of your performance tonight?” Brock asked him.

  “No, thanks.” He spread a little mayo over two slices of bread and slapped slices of turkey in the middle. “I’m good.”

  “Too bad. At first I thought your caveman approach might just be the golden ticket. Then, when you realized you were floundering, you went with stalker-clingy.” Brock gave him a thumbs-down. “I was embarrassed for you.”

  Wonderful. “Thea wants me to teach her how to flirt with other men. In fact, she has a date on Saturday and Sunday. With two different guys.”

  “Count your blessings. You’re better off alone.” Jude opened a bag of sausage-and-gravy-flavored potato chips. “A solitary life is underrated.”

  Brock spread his arms wide. “Dude. Your cynicism is showing and it’s ugly as hell.”

  “We can’t all be beauties,” Jude replied, tapping his cheeks.

  With a sigh, Brock focused on Daniel. “Give me names, and by tomorrow afternoon the other dates won’t be a problem.”

  Jude popped a chip in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “Your inner serial killer is showing.”

  “And he’s one of those beauties you mentioned, I know,” Brock said.

  Daniel polished off his sandwich. “You guys staying here tonight?”

  “Nah. I’m going back to the Scratching Post,” Brock said. “Got dates of my own.”

  He’d already slept with the two women he’d had on his arms when Daniel first arrived. He’d escorted the pair to the bathroom and returned fifteen minutes later with his clothes askew, lipstick on his neck.

  “I’ll go with you,” Jude said, surprising both his friends. He usually avoided bars. Only ever showed up when Brock called for a ride. “I’ll be your on-site DD.”

  “You should come with us.” Brock waved a finger in front of Daniel’s face. “I don’t like what I’m seeing here. Bruises under the eyes, lines of tension around the mouth.”

  “Nothing a few beauty z’s can’t fix.” If he were normal. But he had no desire to return to the scene of Thea’s crime against his masculinity. No desire to pick up another woman, either.

  Jude stood and pulled Brock to his feet. “Leave the man alone. He probably wants to stroke his ego in private.”

  Brock chortled.

  “You guys suck,” he called as they strode from the kitchen.

  Not liking the sudden silence, Daniel carried Princess outside. He was tired—hell, he was always tired—but he wasn’t ready to dream.

  While the dog played on the porch, the area spotlighted by a single bulb, he worked out. He kept his hands and arms rough and tough, spending a good, solid hour honing his ability to strike. Fingers, knuckles, forearms. He threw each against a tree over and over again. The bark scraped his skin, preventing him from getting too soft now that overseas missions weren’t happening on the reg. Or at all. He also used a dagger, knowing that maintaining his dexterity was important. Strength could carry you. Weakness would always fail you.

  When he finished, he closed himself and Princess in his bedroom. A small space with a full bed, a dresser he’d built in shop class and, his pride and joy, a nightstand he and his mother had painted together.

  He showered, which only made his desire for Thea flare. After his last stay at the inn, he’d brought home one of the soaps. Now he had the scent of her all over him, exactly where he wanted it. But it wasn’t enough.

  Like a puss, he sat down on his bed and flipped through his yearbooks, searching for pictures of Thea. While other kids were captured playing football and other sports, swinging on the monkey bars and doing cartwheels, she only ever stood on the sidelines. Her eyes, which had been far too big for her face back then, radiated sadness and longing.

  Had anyone ever invited her to join the fun? He damn sure hadn’t, and he was suddenly and deeply ashamed.

  Jude was wrong. Solitary living wasn’t underrated. It wasn’t even living.

  The only time Thea had smiled, revealing a mouth full of braces, was when Ryanne and Lyndie had been with her. However, during her sophomore year, the two had opted to be homeschooled, and Thea had truly had no one.

  His heart suddenly felt as if it had been flayed with a butter knife. He wished he could go back in time. He would shake his younger self and say, “Real friends are rare. Kindness is rarer. Be nice to that girl. One day, you’re going to want her more than air to breathe.”

  At last he crawled under the sheets. He didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want to be plagued by nightmares, but Princess was exhausted. She burrowed under the covers and curled up beside him, seeking his warmth.

  For over an hour, his mind refused to settle. Thea seemed to think all he had to offer her was a torrid one-night stand. And that was certainly true…to an extent. What if he were willing to give the relationship thing a try, as long as they kept emotions out of the picture and their association on the down low? When things ended—and they would—they could be friends, just like she wanted. His dad would never know they’d been more, never get his hopes up, never experience a moment of disappointment.

  It could be a win-win with absolutely no downside.

  Yeah. He could do it, no problem. He even liked the idea of having something more, something solid, between them, without having to worry about either one of them falling in love or walking away unexpectedly. They’d know the end would come. But until it did, Thea would belong to Daniel, and he would belong to her.

  While they were together, he would be devoted to her. He wouldn’t lie to her, cheat on her or, hell, even look at another woman. Why would he need to? No other woman compared to her.

  Finally, blessedly, a sense of contentment overtook him. One he hadn’t experienced since his mom died. And yet underneath it was a sense of…wrongness, as if there was a flaw in his plan.

  He combed through every detail once, twice, but nothing set off an alarm.

  Eventually, he drifted to sleep. A gradual process. Then, in a snap, screams erupted inside his head. The air around him was thick with smoke as well as the pungent aroma of blood and emptied bowels. The scent of death. Despite the constant stream of gunfire, he heard the soft click of a pin being pulled from a grenade.

  Whoosh. Boom! The ground shook beneath his feet, already unstable buildings threatening to topple. In the distance, fire blazed and smoke clouds drifted. Dust plumed. But even in the hellish darkness, he could see the worry in Brock’s face.

  “We’re going to be okay,” he told his friend.

  “Not if we stay here. Go on. I’ll cover you, and you can come back with help.” Brock had taken a bullet to the calf as he’d dragged a bleeding Daniel into this hidden pit. Now they were both injured. “Go!”

  “Like hell.” The shards of metal embedded around his ribs sank deeper with every move he made. “Our help is already KO’d.” Earlier their friend Felix had tripped a Bouncing Betty. The land mine had shot into the air and exploded, ensuring the shrapnel inflicted maximum damage to nearby soldiers. “We wait until the trouble passes.”

  Jude was hunkered in front of a makeshift window, staring outside with night-vision binoculars. He was the only one without a gusher. “Sorry, bro, but it’s not going to pass us. Not for hours yet.”

  “Then I’ll cover you,” Daniel told Jude. Already lost my mom. Would rather die than lose a friend. “Leave your battle-rattle here and get Brock to the medic.”

  Boom!

  Debris rained over their hideaway, the roof caving in. Through the ringing in his ears, he detected a storm of footsteps. The enemy approached. He readied his weapons for a final stand and—

  Sat up, gasping for breath he couldn’t catch. Sweat drenched him. Princess licked his hand, reminding him that he wasn’t
alone, that he’d survived the battle and, more important, his friends had survived, as well.

  He drew his knees to his chest and rested his head on top. People wondered why it was so difficult for soldiers to acclimate to “normal” life. Forget the nightmares. Often Daniel had to retrain himself from speaking in “command voice,” a tone that demanded an immediate response; a tone that scared…everyone. And that was the least worrisome reason.

  He stood to shaky legs, showered and dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. A glance at the clock revealed it was 3:13 a.m. Unlucky thirteen. Whatever. He had no fear of a man-made superstition.

  Fear wasn’t a friend but a hated foe. Time and time again, he’d seen men freeze in battle anytime a shot rang out, making themselves a perfect target. Fear could act quickly or slowly, but if left unchecked, it would always take control of your life.

  Fool! You’re letting fear make your decisions with Thea.

  What? No. Hell, no. He didn’t fear a relationship with her. He wanted it with every fiber of his being. And he didn’t fear his dad’s reaction to the inevitable breakup. Not really. He simply preferred to stop a punch before it was thrown.

  Though it was a little too early to head to the inn, staying here was no longer an option. He could smell the taint of war, could hear the faint echo of screams. He needed Thea’s scent around him, calming him, and not just from her soap, but from every piece of fabric and furniture he encountered. He needed the excitement of watching every corner, wondering when she would round it and finally enter his line of sight. He needed the joy of hearing her voice and seeing her face…her body, a bounty of softness. A treasure.

  Freckles mark the spot.

  “You want to go with me?” he asked Princess.

  She barked and ran circles around his feet.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  On the drive to the inn, he realized he needed to buy Princess a doggy car seat. Or maybe a travel crate? Was that an actual thing, or did he need to build one? Either way, better safe than sorry. If something were to happen to his dog—