One Night With a Cowboy (25 page)

She hated to admit it, because her sister would just gloat, but Becca had no choice.
“
If
he wants a relationship, and that’s a big if considering he hasn’t been in touch”—she
watched Emma make a face that told her to move past that issue and continued—“then
I’d be willing to explore getting serious with him.”

Emma let out a huff. “You are unbelievable.”

“What’s the matter now?”

“You’ll
explore
getting serious? You can’t give in just one tiny bit.” Emma shook her head.

“I did give in. I said I’d be willing. And you know what, I’ll go one step further.
When I get back I’ll talk to his military friend Logan. He might be able to tell me
more about where Tucker is and why he isn’t calling.” Because in spite of waffling
between hope for a future together, and anger over the present, there was a steady
undercurrent of concern for Tucker’s well-being that Becca couldn’t shake.

“That’s a very good idea. I approve. Now, until then, can you please try to enjoy
your visit?”

Becca was goal oriented, but there was nothing she could do about Tucker, short of
looking up Logan’s number and calling him during their Thanksgiving break. She’d just
have to wait and do as Emma suggested, enjoy her visit home. “Okay, I’ll try.”

 

After the hike from the outpost, Tuck and the squad finally arrived at the base, sweaty,
dirty, and happy to be there. He dumped his pack next to the rack he used when he
rotated back.

He let out a long breath. It was cooler now than when he’d first arrived, but hiking
in full gear still worked up a sweat. “It’s good to be back. I need a shower.”

“I’m more looking forward to decent chow.” Conseco dumped his own pack on the floor.
The body armor and helmet he hung on a nail.

Thanksgiving had already come and gone without a whole lot of hoopla or any turkey,
but real food cooked at the base rather than meals eaten out of foil packs at the
outpost was something to be excited about. That, and the phones. Tuck needed to call
home, and to call Becca.

Speaking of Becca . . . there was a stack of white, or what had once been white, envelopes
on the one and only table in the room. One look at the ‘to’ and ‘from’ addresses penned
in neatly looping feminine script told him they were all from her.

Letters. For him. His pulse quickened. That happened pretty often nowadays, but it
was usually because someone was shooting at him. It was nice to feel excited about
something other than combat for a change.

“I’m guessing that goofy-ass grin on your face means those are from your girl.” Conseco
dropped onto the cot.

“Yup.” Tuck checked and he was grinning from ear to ear. He couldn’t have controlled
it if he’d wanted to.

“You tell her you love her yet?”

This had become a regular thing between the two of them. Every time they rotated back
to the base, Conseco would ask the same question and Tuck had to deliver the same
answer. No.

At least this time he had a good excuse to go along with the no. “I haven’t called
her because the last few times we were back here, the satellite was down.”

“Don’t need a satellite to mail a damn letter. And besides, I’m betting it’s not still
down now.”

“We just got back . . .” Tuck noted Conseco’s disapproving expression and gave in.
“Fine. I’ll go over now.”

“Wait. Aren’t you going to open those first? There could be some nice pictures in
there.” Conseco waggled his eyebrows.

“No, I’m not going to open them first.” He would have liked to read her letters now,
but talking to Becca would be far better. Then he could save the letters for later.
Open them in private when Conseco wasn’t watching him so he could savor the time with
each one. He grabbed his body armor and pulled it on. “Be back in a bit.”

“Fine. I’m taking a nap.” Conseco waved a hand in Tuck’s direction and closed his
eyes.

After planting his helmet on his head and grabbing his rifle, Tuck headed out and
across the base. He was just pulling open the door of the communications center—if
you could call the tiny brick and mortar building with a few shared computers and
phones inside that—when he heard the explosion.

Tuck ducked low and ran to take cover behind the ammo hooch. He tried to hear where
the sounds of the attack were coming from. The base became a whirlwind of action around
him with men running for their gear or their post.

Thompson sprinted the distance across the open area and dove, hitting the ground next
to Tuck. He was breathless as he said, “The outpost is under attack.”

The same outpost where Tuck had been an hour ago. He should have been there to help
defend it. Instead he was here.

From his position behind the makeshift walls, he could look across the base and see
Smith in the guard position manning the Squad Automatic Weapon. He opened it up, raining
fire upon the hill where the insurgents were taking cover while they targeted the
outpost. The nearly deafening noise drowned out the more distant sound of the squad
at the outpost defending themselves against the attack. The SAW jammed from the heat
created by the sheer number of rounds Smith fired. While he cursed loud enough for
them all to hear it over the ringing in their ears, a radio nearby squawked.

Seconds later, Conseco joined them. “The forward observer radioed in. The fucking
Taliban bastards are trying for the wire.”

Tuck gripped his M4 tighter. “If they get inside the wire . . . ”

“Yeah, I know.” The expression on Conseco’s face clearly showed what he was thinking.
It was the same thing as Tuck and Thompson and every man there.

Every one of them knew if the insurgents made it inside the boundaries of the outpost,
the men inside were on their own. The base’s mortars were ranged in but how could
they fire when the enemy was inside the American outpost? The .50-cal wouldn’t be
able to protect the soldiers on the inside any better. The base couldn’t fire at the
bad guys nor could air support when they finally arrived in an hour, for fear of hitting
their own men.

The outpost would be overrun. For the occupants it would be a close-range battle to
the death. Or worse—every American soldier’s worst fear—they’d be captured. Dragged
away to be used for propaganda. Put on television for their families, their country,
and the world to see before the Taliban finally decided to finish them off on video.

In a choice between taking his own life and being taken alive by the enemy, there
was no choice. Tuck touched the grenade in his pocket. They each carried one, just
in case.

“Conseco, Thompson, Jenkins.” With a radio to his ear, the captain shouted in their
direction. “You three, get over there!” He issued the order and then spun to yell
to Smith on the gun.

Without even remembering how he came to be there, Tuck found himself as part of the
three-man relief team, sprinting full out across open terrain as Conseco and Thompson
covered him. His pack was loaded with as much weapons, ammunition, and medical supplies
as he could carry.

He hit the ground behind a shale outcropping, took a knee, and provided covering fire
for Conseco and Thompson as they sprinted past his location. Then it would be his
turn again. They’d move this way, bounding, until they covered the distance between
the base and the outpost. It was like a deadly version of a child’s game of leapfrog.

They were taking too long. The only thought in Tuck’s mind was that he hoped there
would be someone left alive to help by the time they got there. Actually, one other
thing crept into his mind on the side of that mountain amid the gunfire and gnarly
spiked-leaved holly trees. It hit him unbidden and was enough to have him setting
his jaw and running faster than he thought he could, determined to save both his squad
and himself.

Becca.

The sound of the enemy fire was overwhelming, while outgoing fire had dropped to almost
nothing. Tuck guessed they were getting hit so hard and so steadily, the men inside
couldn’t even get to the mortars to fire back. And by now, the outpost’s machine guns
had probably overheated and jammed just as Smith’s had.

If they took much longer to get there, it might be too late.

“Fuck the bounding. I’m sprinting the rest,” he shouted to Conseco and Thompson, who’d
just passed him and ducked behind cover.

“All right. We’ll cover you,” Conseco yelled back.

Tuck ran full out in a straight line toward his destination, covering as much distance
in as little time as he could. He somehow made it to a spot right outside the wire
without getting hit. The enemy was too damn focused on firing inside the outpost.
He turned to cover his teammates and they matched his sprint, hitting the ground next
to him, panting for breath.

Conseco picked up his radio and was mid-sentence with the captain, telling him they
were at the gate and about to enter, when a heavy barrage of grenade blasts hit inside
the wire. That was followed by a deafening sound from the radio. Conseco stared down
at the device in his hand and then looked up and shook his head. “The frequency’s
jammed.”

Which meant none of them had radio contact with each other, the outpost, or their
backup at the base.

“We’ve got to get in there.” Tuck sized up the distance to the gate, so close. Mere
yards now.

Conseco glanced at them both. “One at a time will give them time to pick us off.”

“Then we all go together. On three?” Thompson suggested.

“On three,” Conseco agreed.

Tuck nodded and shifted his weight, ready to move. On Thompson’s count of three, he
bolted through the gate and into the middle of hell.

Inside it was a tough decision where to go first. They had to both defend the position
and help the wounded. That raised the question of where the wounded were and whether
any of them were still alive to be helped.

Ducking behind a Hesco, Tuck shouted, “Any suggestions?”

“They’re targeting that bunker hard. There must be friendlies alive inside,” Conseco
shouted back.

But the incoming fire seemed to originate from everywhere. They were completely surrounded.
How could three men defend an outpost against that? Frustrated, Tucker glanced at
the sky. “We need those Apaches here now.”

Tompkins shook his head. “Not gonna happen. We’re on our own for a good thirty minutes
more.”

Tuck drew in a bracing breath and made a decision. “I’m going for the gun at the guard
position.” Maybe it wasn’t jammed or out of ammo. Maybe there was just no one left
to man it, as sickening a thought as that was.

Conseco nodded. “Thompson and I will get closer to that bunker. If there’s anyone
in there, they may need weapons or first aid.”

“Okay.” With one final glance at his teammates, Tucker turned toward the guard position,
determined this would not be the last time they all saw each other alive.

Ducking behind cover when he could, and sprinting when he couldn’t, he made it to
the guard position. Not a surprise, he found the machine gun jammed. The men had obviously
fired at the attackers until the barrel melted.

Tuck still had the weapons he’d carried in with him, and a good spot to shoot from.
He scanned the area, trying to determine the locations of the incoming. That’s when
he saw it—a sight that made his blood run cold. An enemy fighter was dragging a heavily
loaded tarp away from the outpost. The barrel of an automatic weapon stuck out from
one of the folds. Tuck swung the sights of his 240 and fired, just as the enemy ducked
behind an outcropping.

“Fuck!” He shouted to nobody, because that was exactly who was near enough to hear
him—no one.

He couldn’t let those weapons remain in enemy hands. Not so they could be used to
kill American troops in the foreseeable future.

Conseco and Thompson must have made it to the bunker. Tuck heard fire coming from
the other side of the outpost now. His teammates would help the survivors while he
went after those weapons. Getting hit by friendly fire was a real danger, but he couldn’t
radio anyone to tell them where he was with the platoon’s radio frequency jammed.
He’d have to risk it. The Apaches wouldn’t be here for another half hour, and with
any luck, he’d have gotten the bastard and those weapons back by then . . . or have
died trying.

With adrenaline pumping, he left the relative safety of the outpost and set out in
pursuit of the fighter and those weapons.

T
he door to Logan’s office was open, but Becca couldn’t bring herself to walk through
it. Instead she stood in the hallway of the military science building trying to gather
the nerve to approach him.

Back in New York, with a glass of Emma’s wine in her belly fueling her emotions, she’d
been ready to fly to Oklahoma, barge right in on Logan, and demand he find out for
her what was happening with Tucker half a world away. Now, it seemed her nerve had
abandoned her along with her wine buzz.

What right did she have to question Logan or anyone else about Tucker? She had no
claim on him. Nothing more than the fact they’d had sex.

But he had promised he’d call her again and hadn’t.

“Miss Hart?”

Uh-oh. Now it was too late to change her mind and sneak away. Logan, being a soldier,
must have sensed her standing there. Or maybe he’d heard her. That wouldn’t have been
too hard, the way she was having trouble breathing from her nerves.

Time to throw on a brave façade. Becca tried to ignore how her heart pounded with
fear that she might not like Logan’s answer to her question and pasted on a smile.
“I thought we’d agreed on first names.”

Logan donned a smile to match hers. “I do believe we did. My apologies, Becca. Please,
come in.”

“Thank you, Logan.” A little flirting could go a long way. She was determined to see
exactly how much information it could get her without having to disclose the extent
of her relationship with Tucker to Logan since she didn’t know how much he did or
didn’t already know.

“It’s a pleasant surprise to see you again.” The subtext of Logan’s comment was clear
to her—
what the hell are you doing here?

How to play this? Lying was an option. More like stretching the truth actually. Really,
really stretching it. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, and since I was nearby, I thought
I’d pop in and say hi.”

“Oh, really?” One dark brow rose.

“Mmm, hmm. So how have you been?”

“Good. Very good.” His eyes were a little too intensely focused on her for her taste.

“The semester going well? The ROTC . . . stuff and all.” Becca realized she didn’t
know enough about what Tucker taught to even fake asking Logan about it. That would
change when he got back. She’d make sure to take an interest in his job . . . If he
was interested in a relationship, that was.

“Yes, all of our
stuff
is coming along very nicely. Thank you.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“And you? The English department treating you well?”

“Oh, it’s great. Everyone’s been so nice.” She ran a hand along the back of the chair
she was still standing near rather than sitting in.

“Good to hear.” Logan nodded and then sat silently, hands folded.

Time to get this recon mission moving forward or he’d think she was a nutcase. “So,
I . . . uh . . . haven’t heard from Tucker in a while.”

“That’s not too surprising, given he’s in Afghanistan.”

“Oh, I know. He told me he was going there.”

Logan wasn’t giving an inch or making this any easier for her. He just stared, unblinking,
waiting. Dammit. She was going to have to tell the truth.

She sat in the chair and leaned forward. “Look, Logan, I’m not sure what you know
about my relationship with Tuck—”

He held up one hand. “I know enough.”

Logan was obviously not a man who wanted details, so she decided not to go into that
portion of the truth and skip right to the point of her visit. “Okay, well I’m worried.
He called over a month ago from Afghanistan. He told me they had phones at the . .
. I can’t remember exactly, but there was a base and an outpost and he could call
from one and not from the other. But the point is, he promised he’d call and he hasn’t.
He hasn’t written, either, even though I wrote him a few times and now I’m worried
something’s happened.”

Logan drew in a deep breath, then rose. He walked around Becca, closed the office
door, and then went back to his seat. She wasn’t sure why he thought they needed privacy.
All she had done was ask whether he knew if Tucker was all right.

He folded his hands on the desk in front of him again. “I haven’t heard from him,
if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You haven’t?” Becca didn’t know what to think of that. Maybe Tucker and Logan weren’t
as close as she’d assumed. They could be just coworkers and not good friends as she’d
thought.

“No. But knowing the kind of... conditions at the firebase where he is, I’m honestly
not at all surprised I haven’t gotten a call.”

Huh. She hadn’t realized things were that primitive there. She figured today’s modern
army would have state-of-the-art communications and technology at their bases, but
Logan was telling her otherwise, and she supposed he should know. “Hmm, then I guess
I should be the one surprised he called me at all.”

Logan’s burst of a laugh had her looking up. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Becca frowned. “But you just said—”

“Becca, the man volunteered to go to the Kunar Province because of you. So no, the
fact he called you from there is not a surprise to me. Not at all.”

This visit was creating more questions than it was answers. “Okay, so then you’re
saying I
should
be worried he hasn’t called again or I
shouldn’t
be?”

“I’m saying I don’t know. In that region anything is possible.” Logan spread his hands.

This was not the reassurance she’d hoped for. “Can you find out if he’s all right?
I mean is there someone you can call and check? If he’s busy and can’t call, or the
phones are down or whatever, that’s fine. I’d just like to know he’s okay.”

Logan took his time answering again. This man should be in charge of military interrogations
or something. It was really unnerving the way he kept pausing before he answered,
all while staring at her. Finally, he nodded. “All right. I’ll call his parents. If
anything has happened, they’d be the first ones notified.”

If anything has happened
. Becca’s stomach fell as she pictured the men in uniform knocking on the door of
Tucker’s parents’ house to deliver the news that would change their lives forever.
She’d seen it happen in movies and on television shows, but this was real life. Horrifying,
sickening reality. She swallowed away the nausea. “Okay. But don’t scare them when
you ask, just in case nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t worry. I’m an old friend of the family. My parents still live next door to
them. I spent half of my youth in the Jenkins kitchen eating cookies, so it’s long
overdue I call and check in with them anyway. They won’t think it’s out of the ordinary.”
Logan glanced at the watch on his wrist. “They’ll both be at work now, but I can call
later tonight.”

“Good. That’s good. And then you’ll call me?” Knowing her worrying would soon be over
once the Jenkinses told Logan everything was fine made Becca feel enormously relieved.

“Right after I talk to them. I promise.”

“My number’s in the faculty directory.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.

Everything would be fine. Logan would confirm with Tucker’s parents that he was okay,
he’d call her, and then she could rest easy knowing he was very busy there and probably
couldn’t call even though he wanted to.

“All right. I feel better now. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“I’ll let you get back to work.” Becca stood and turned toward the door, about to
take her leave when something he’d said hit her. “Um, you said something before. That
Tucker went because of me. What did you mean by that?”

For the first time since she’d entered the office, Logan looked uncomfortable. “Nothing.
I’m sorry; I misspoke.”

Becca was a terrible liar, but that meant she was good at identifying other people
with the same affliction. She zeroed in on Logan’s face and decided his comment had
definitely not been nothing. “Logan, what did you mean? Why in the world would Tucker
go to this Kunar place because of me?”

“Becca, it’s not for me to say. You’ll have to discuss this with Tuck.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here. I can’t get in touch with him.” Her voice rose higher
along with her rising panic. She leaned both palms on the edge of the desk. “And if
he doesn’t ever come home and it’s because of me . . .”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” The expression on Logan’s face told her he wasn’t sure at all.

“Logan, I swear to God, if you don’t want a very loud and hysterical woman in your
office, you had better tell me everything.”

That seemed to scare him. Good. Becca took great satisfaction in that since he’d sure
done a good job of scaring her.

She tried desperately to remember Tucker’s exact words the last time she’d seen him,
the day he’d told her he was leaving. She didn’t remember anything about his going
involving her. In fact, he’d acted as if he’d had no choice in the matter. That the
army was sending him, or was that just what she’d assumed?

“Logan. Please.”

He leveled his gaze and finally said, “He volunteered to go.”

“Why?” She couldn’t even begin to think of a reason.

“He left to save your job.”