Goddess Rising (55 page)

“Look, I won’t lie to you and tell you I don’t wish Wes looked at me like he moons over you, but you’re awesome, Sam—and I couldn’t pick a cooler girl to take that boy down a few notches.” Miranda tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Now this
mopey-girl-who’s-waiting-on-a-guy-to-call
shtick is so
not
you, girl! Get your shit together and keep on keeping on because Wes is lucky to date you, and if he hasn’t pieced that together yet, then that’s
his
problem. Not yours.”

Sam smiled over her shoulder at Miranda. “You’re like the poster child for female empowerment.”

“You better believe it,” Miranda replied sassily. “Speaking of female empowerment, can you help me up please? I don’t think I can stand up on my own in these five-inch espadrilles without falling over,” she admitted, eyeing her heels dubiously.

And for the first time in days, Sam laughed deeply, and it felt marvelous.

*

October—Late Thursday Night

Wes and Chris’s Apartment, Texas A&M

W E S L E Y

Wes pulled his
helmet off and raked a hand through his hair, yawning as he got off his bike. He’d picked up a couple extra shifts at Dixie’s this week to make up for going to the ranch with Sammy, and between work, class, and his fake-ID business, it was all he could do to get a few hours of shut-eye.

As he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, he was surprised to see the lights still on. Chris was usually in bed at by a decent hour during football season. Maybe he was up late studying for midterms, Wes wondered.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chris asked as soon as Wes stepped in the door.

Wes shot him a look. “Who are you, my mother now?”

Chris rolled his eyes from his seat on the couch. “No, but even
she
called, looking for you.”

“Been busy,” Wes replied, dropping his bag and helmet on the dining table before heading into their kitchen.

“Been busy doing what? Avoiding Sam?” Chris countered, closing the textbook on his lap.

Wes pulled out a beer, popping off the top. “Remind me again how what I’m up to is any of your business?”

“I’m
your
roommate and
her
friend. And you’ve got me wedged between a rock and hard place when Sammy asks me where you are,” Chris answered. “Toss me one of those, will ya?”

“It’s football season,” Wes reminded him.

“I know that, asshole. Now who’s acting like whose mama?” Chris huffed. “See? You’ve driven me to drink—so just shut up and toss me a beer.”

“How is she?” Wes asked as he opened up the fridge.

Chris shot him a disbelieving look. “Are you seriously asking
me
how
your
girlfriend is?”

Wes shrugged, uncomfortable but hoping Chris would answer anyway.

Truth was, Wes was wading deep into uncharted territory. Had been since he passed through the membrane of college hook-ups and into being
head-over-heels
for Samantha, about as fast as he could blink. For all their talk of taking it slow, Wes felt like they’d tumbled headlong into a fervor, wrapped up in passion and an infatuation so powerful that being without her the last few days felt like trying to kick a heavy addiction.

Getting a glimpse into Sam’s world outside of A&M was simultaneously exciting and scary as hell. Wes had realized coming out of the weekend just how out of his league he was with her. And it wasn’t just the wealth or her heavy-handed asshole of a father. For all his cockiness, when faced with the reality of being with a girl like Sam, Wes felt—startlingly
inadequate
. A loathsome feeling so strange and surreal that it knocked him for a loop. It was mortifying and completely unlike him. And try as he might, he hadn’t gotten his head straight enough to see Sammy yet without her sensing something was wrong.

“I’ve been busy with extra shifts,” Wes said by way of explanation, sitting down in an armchair and kicking his feet up. “Had to do a bunch of trades so I could take off last weekend with Sammy. We’ve talked, but I haven’t seen her,” he admitted. “She look all right?”

“She looks…worried, man. Distracted.” Chris paused as he took a sip of beer. “Everything’s cool though, right?” he asked tentatively. “I mean, nothing happened between you two, did it?”

Wes wiped a hand down his face, felt the bristles there. He hadn’t shaved since he’d been with her—

God, he missed her
. He was half-tempted to get back on his bike and crawl over to her, even though it was after midnight.

“Nothing like that. It’s just—” Wes took a sip of beer, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’ve just been busy.”

Chris watched him contemplatively for a moment, probably seeing more than he should. “I don’t know where your head’s at man, but you better snap out of it and go see your girl. I know you’re new to this relationship thing, but let me tell you, chicks don’t like it when we go radio silent. They’re not cool with that—not ever. Not even a girl as tough as Sammy.”

“I’ll see her tomorrow,” Wes said finally, finishing his beer.

“The Challenge is this weekend, remember? The Corps will be heading out to Fort Hood tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, shit—I completely forgot.” Wes hit his forehead. Sam would be going with the rest of the cadets to cheer the A&M team on, especially since Rita was competing.

On the plus side, it would give him more time to get his shit together.

“You going?” he asked Chris.

Chris shook his head. “I wanted to, but we’ve got an away game. I promised Rita we’d take her out to celebrate though.”

“Good plan,” Wes agreed as he stood, stretching. “I gotta hit the hay, man,” he yawned.

As he made his way down the hall to the bathroom, he heard Chris call out. “Sam picked
you,
Wes. So you gotta do right by her. Remember that.”

“Lord knows, I’m trying,” Wes muttered to himself, though for the hundredth time in the past few days, he wondered if he was the choice she should have made in the first place.

October—Saturday, Late Afternoon

Fort Hood, Killeen, Texas

S A M A N T H A

S
am and Alejandro
stood together with the rest of the cadets and spectators at the end of the final event of the Ranger Challenge, waiting with baited breath to see which team made it over the horizon first. The last event was a grueling ten kilometer run, in which each team had to run at full speed wearing combat gear and carrying a twenty-five-pound rucksack and a weapon.

It was a bright, warm day over Fort Hood—hot enough to make the spectators sweat as they waited near the finish line. Sam wiped her face down with a handkerchief before sliding her sunglasses back on.

“Shit,” Alejandro muttered beside her, his arms crossed tightly, eyes hidden behind his shades. “Rita twisted her ankle again. I just know it.”

“Stop saying crap like that, man—don’t jinx her,” Sam replied, twisting the cap off a bottle of water and handing it to him. “Here—stuff this into your mouth and think happy thoughts.”

Alejandro ignored her, craning his neck, anxiously watching the empty horizon line.

Sam shrugged and chugged down the water herself.

The Ranger Challenge had been a day-and-a-half-long event this year. The rigorous schedule of competitions changed every year, but each event was designed to test the physical fitness, military skills, and teamwork of each of the twenty or so participating schools.

So far, A&M was in the lead, followed closely by Oklahoma and the New Mexico Military Institute—both solid programs who’d also shown up with co-ed cadet teams. But good wasn’t good enough. Not at this level with the kinds of serious-minded players who were showing up. Everyone wanted the win so badly they could practically taste it. Because it was more than a trophy and a feather in their cap—it was their ticket to ride into practically any elite military officer candidacy after college—the real deal.

Rita crushed the pistol marksmanship competition, winning it for the A&M team, but she’d turned her ankle pretty good in the obstacle course, trying to outmaneuver a cadet from Oklahoma, reducing their lead slightly. The land navigation was a neck-and-neck contest. Rifle marksmanship had been a solid win, though Sam secretly suspected she would have blown the competition out of the water had she been in the mix. The good ol’ boys were all crack shots, but she seriously doubted anyone could hit a moving target nearly a thousand yards out like she could. Sam consoled herself again there was always next year.

Alejandro sucked in a sharp breath of anticipation as a group of running silhouettes appeared on the horizon and drew closer, like ants forming long shadows in the distance.

“Jesus, why didn’t I bring binoculars?” he muttered, trying to see who it was.

Eagle-eyed, Sam spotted Stephens at the head of the pack.

“It’s our guys,” she sighed in relief.

They were running hard and fast, covered in sweat and dirt, their fatigues filthy from exertion. Sam started whooping and cheering as soon as they were within earshot, jumping up and down at the finish line to get their team’s adrenaline going for the last couple hundred yards. Alejandro joined her, as did the rest of the brigade. When Sam saw Rita limping along in the back, two cadets helping her run, Sam cheered even harder, throwing her head back and releasing a great Cherokee war cry that startled the crowd and got the A&M Corps riled up. Their team ran into the arms of their waiting brigade, everyone cheering, jumping, and back-slapping as if they’d won the Cotton Bowl.

Rita cried in happiness and accumulated exhaustion. “Did we
win?!”
she sobbed into Sam’s shoulder, her relief palpable.

“Yeah, you did,” Sam told her, squeezing her tight. “You kicked ass.
Serious, serious
ass, Rita!”

Alejandro picked up his cousin from behind and spun her around in a big circle. Rita released a watery laugh, squeezing his arms.

“I am so proud of you right now, coz!” he shouted, tossing her up into the air.

Sam passed everyone cold water bottles, so incredibly proud of them for finishing such a grueling trial, though a little part of her heart still mourned the fact that she hadn’t been able to join them. They were surrounded by fellow cadets, friends and family, with words of praise and congratulation shared enthusiastically, each winning cadet patted, petted, and hugged, recognized for their individual roles in the win.

After the awards ceremony, Sasser threw the A&M Corps one hell of a party, everyone riding high on adrenaline from the win.

Freshly showered and changed, Rita sat at a table with Sam, her leg elevated and packed with ice.

“Where’s Wes?” she asked, glancing around.

“He sends his best,” Sam told her with a wry grin. “He had to work this weekend since I dragged him out to the ranch last week.” She didn’t mention that he’d been distant all week. She’d calmed down some and re-centered after her conversation with Miranda, but Sam could still feel the parallax, widening slowly between them with each day that passed. “Wes did say to mention you get all the beer you can drink when you’re back,” she added with a smile.

“And I don’t believe you,” Rita replied, her grin nefarious. “I think you have that poor guy tied to your bed!”

“Maybe,” Sam replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“Christ, I miss that—the early days of a good thing going,” Rita sighed.

“How about you and Chris?” Sam asked teasingly.

Rita rolled her eyes. “Sweet guy, but I’d eat him alive. He needs a good country girl. And he’s still kind of into you, so that’s not gonna fly.”

“He is not.”

Rita shrugged. “Yeah, I may be exaggerating. I think Chris is just more jealous of the fact that he never sees you and Wes any more, now that you two are all about sexy fun-time.”