Second Chances (8 page)

He had
no intention of shackling himself to a woman ever again.

Dusty
wiped sweat from his brow, noting more instantly appeared. He wanted to kick
himself for not bringing a sweatband or at least a handkerchief with him.
Fixing fence always proved hot work in the summer. Add in temperatures in the
triple digits and a clear, sun-filled sky, and he’d be lucky to have any dry
clothing by the time he finished. He yanked off his leather gloves, unsnapped
his lightweight shirt, and slid it off. His discarded garment safely wrapped
around the fence, he tugged on his gloves, picked up the pliers, and returned
to work.

The
crunch of shoes on moisture-starved grass drew his attention. Glancing up, he
found April walking his direction, a large thermos in hand. Her typical attire
of T-shirt and jeans covered a petite body with all the right curves. Blonde
hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail that swayed with each movement.
A light layer of makeup covered her face, adding to the natural beauty and
supple skin so soft to the touch. Lavender carried to him on the breeze, the
scent nearly as enticing as the woman headed his direction.

She’d
headed home after helping him with the early morning chores and had obviously
bathed and changed. After the past three days of her hanging out with him from
sunup to sundown, he found the time alone almost deafening quiet and a bit
lonely. They didn’t have to speak in order to share companionable silence,
simply having her close by made his day a bit brighter. Odd, considering he’d
moved there three years ago to escape meddlesome family and enjoy a fairly
isolated existence. Never once had he felt the depressing weight of loneliness,
not with Ben, the horses, and an endless list of chores to do. Not until April
showed up and stuck to him like a burr in a horse’s tail. Since then, he found
himself looking for her every morning, anticipating her presence, and chipper
attitude.

“I
thought you might be thirsty. It’s sweet tea.” She smiled at him and crossed
the remaining distance with a long stride before handing over the container.

He
stuffed the tool back in his pocket, took off his gloves, and set them on top
of the thick wooden post. “Thanks.” He flipped the lid open and took a long,
cooling drink, the liquid nearly as refreshing as a dip in a chilly creek. Each
swallow soothed his dry throat and pepped up his energy.

He
lowered the container, only to find April staring at his bare chest. Her gaze
reflected appreciation, intrigue, and a hint of blatant desire. He could almost
see the hamster wheel turning in her mind as she checked him out.

Before,
he might have reminded her of his solidly single status. Now, after spending
some time with her and hearing her background, he didn’t have the heart to criticize.
Instead, he soaked up the silent compliment with relish. Women had looked at
him before with all sorts of expressions written on their faces. Yet, no one
seemed as interested, as enthralled and sincere as April. She continued to
focus on him like a man stuck on a deserted island for months looking at a
juicy steak. Hungry.

Desire
hit him like a runaway train, sending a wave of absolute need straight to his
groin. Insistent and aching, his erection protested the tight quarters in his
denim jeans nearly as much as the hardness demanded an outlet. Preferably April
naked under him, spread for his taking, her nails biting into his back as she
begged him to sink deeper, to carry them both straight to rapture.

He drew
in a breath and ignored the sultry temptation of the woman before him. Getting
all hot and bothered each time she came around would sentence him to walking
around with a rigid boner the majority of each day. Not a bit comfortable for
work, let alone climbing in a saddle. Chastising himself, he pushed his body’s
needs far from his mind.

Glancing
up, he found a pretty pink blush coloring her cheeks, a telltale sign she’d
been caught staring at his half naked body. He grinned to himself, enjoying her
innocent reaction to his exposed body. His groin tightened incredibly more as
she continued to rake him with her twinkling gaze.

Time
for a distraction before he got another silly idea in his head like kissing her
once more, slipping his tongue inside for another heady taste of the woman who
proved a contradiction to his beliefs about the fairer sex. “I thought you were
going home to catch up on chores there.”

“I got
most of them done. The advantage of living in a small house, the cleaning takes
only a short time.” She shrugged. “I figured you’d be out here still working
since that was on your to-do list this morning and thought you might need
something cold to drink.”

“I
appreciate it.” He considered her generosity and the fact she spent so many
hours at his stable. If she had a hobby or a social life, he didn’t see how.
He’d wager her days were spent alone and devoid of excitement, which would
explain why she tagged along with him each day.

A
sudden observation came to mind. “You’ve never mentioned having a pet.”

“I
don’t have one.”

His
eyebrows arched. “As much as you love animals, I find that strange.”

She
sighed and reached out to steady herself on the corner post. “I had to put my
cat down a few months back. Cancer. After that, I’m still not sure I’m ready
for another one. Then, I saw the love between you and Ben are and decided to
take a chance with a dog. A war dog.”

“I
understand.” He could empathize. Bonds formed with animals were as strong as
family. In his case, stronger. Looking up, he found Ben still laying in the
shade at the entrance to the stable, guarding as Dusty told him to do. Not that
he expected someone to try to break in while he worked in the far pasture, but
he preferred Ben stay in the cooler shade rather than lay in the hot sun at his
side. The dog’s advanced age and thick coat wasn’t made for these extreme
conditions.

Once
more he replayed April’s words. To lose a pet, especially having to make the
difficult decision to end their life, took a toll on a person’s soul. He knew
Ben’s day would come and hoped Mother Nature made the decision instead of him.

“I
noticed the smoke is getting thicker.” She turned her attention to the sky,
effectively changing the difficult subject. “The news said the fire is still
out of control, pushed by high winds, and heading more this direction now.”

Dusty
took another drink, and replaced the lid. “Yeah. It’s getting worse.” He pinned
her with his gaze. “You need to start packing now.”

April
blinked at him and her face scrunching in bewilderment. “Packing? The news said
the fire is still a hundred miles away.”

He
raked the horizon, sniffing the breeze. The whoosh of chopper blades carried to
him. Turning, he spotted the helicopter flying fairly low to the ground.

Images
flashed into his mind like pictures in a slideshow before smoothing out into a
3-D action movie on a big screen.

Explosions covered the sound of
the Black Hawk as it landed. His team jumped out, rifles at the ready, as a
hail of bullets flew their direction. Men dove for cover. He hit the deck, felt
sand kick up in his face as a bullet landed too close for comfort. Adrenaline
spurted into his blood, giving him the energy to regain his feet, and surge
ahead, running in a crouch to make less of a target. Thick acrid smoke filled
the air along with the stench of blood, battle, and death. Gunshots drowned out
the yells of solider and the cries of the wounded. Ahead of him, a Humvee
jumped as yet another roadside bomb detonated, throwing the passengers high
into the air before they plummeted to the ground and lay crumpled like a sack
of potatoes, blood covering their clothes. Body parts without owners flew like
projectiles through the dust.

His team leader waved them
ahead. With a burst of speed, Dusty ran flat out to the line of military
vehicles, hit the ditches for cover once again, then lifted his rifle and
aimed. Rounds burst from his gun at a furious pace. Over and over he aimed and
shot, not keeping count of the numbers of men who went down under the
relentless barrage. The barrel of his gun heated to near scorching as he shoved
yet another clip in and fired once more, laying a steady stream of deadly
bullets in an effort to eradicate the enemy, protect his team members, and
rescue the ambushed Army personnel before they suffered any more losses.

Turning his head to the side, he
saw a man dressed in white palm his cell phone. Urgency rushed through him at
the realization of the man’s brutal intentions. Spinning around, he barely
aimed, simply shooting off enough rounds to ensure the man wouldn’t sit back
up, reclaim his cell phone, and set off another deadly bomb.

A sharp bite of pain drew a
vicious curse from his throat. Looking down, he found his shirt turning red.
Rage and months of rigid training took over. Ignoring the wound, he emptied the
rest of his clip, not stopping until his gun clicked empty and no other tangos
stuck their head over the small hill.

Hearing a moan, he twisted to
find one of his teammates on the ground, holding his leg, or what was left of
it. A medic rushed over and opened his treatment box. Another man spoke into his
radio, presumably calling for a medical chopper pickup. Hurrying over, Dusty
dropped to his knees, and took Blaine’s hand in his. “Hang in there, buddy.
You’re gonna make it.”

Blaine’s brown eyes, filled with
pain, met his. “Kill that son of a bitch for me.”

Dusty nodded. “Gladly.”

The medical staff shuffled
Blaine onto a board and scurried off toward a safe landing zone several yards
behind them. He watched them go, his heart in his throat as he wondered if
Blaine would even survive.

“Dusty?
Dusty?”

For a
moment he thought one of the team called his name. A few seconds later, he
realized a woman’s voice had spoken.

Blinking,
he struggled to pull himself away from the horrific scene.

“What
do you see?” April stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on his bicep.

He
flinched at her touch, but managed to pull himself out of the waking nightmare.
Sucking in a deep breath, he focused on the concern written on her face, the
pretty blue eyes full of sympathy.

“A
glimpse into hell.” The quiet words came out gravelly and hoarse.

“A
flashback.” She trailed her fingers down his arm, her touch light and soothing.
Finding his hand, she linked her fingers with his.

He
tilted his head back, drew in air, and willed his pounding heart to slow.

She
squeezed his fingers. “It’s okay now.”

Swiveling,
he faced her, finding the caress reassuring and helpful in banishing the
memories back into the recesses of his mind. He seized the present reality and
held on tight.

“Shit.”
He ran his free hand through his hair and then shook his head. Still a bit
rattled, he forced calm and control back to the fore.

That was fucking awful.
He’d had nightmares countless
times. Never before had he experienced a flashback and he sure as hell didn’t
want to see another one. To have his life taken over in a split second where he
could have sworn he’d returned to the front unsettled him like nothing else
could. He prided himself on a will of steel and supreme control. Having a
flashback nearly demolished his hard won determination shook him to the core.

Gathering
up his inner control, he blew out a long breath, and looked back to April.

She
found the scar on his upper arm with her fingers, then lightly traced the
roughened and uneven skin. Her brow furrowed. “You were wounded.”

He
nodded, her caress and fascination stole his ability to speak. Emotions flooded
him, namely relief and need. No other woman in recent memory touched him like
April did, with care and tenderness. She dug a little deeper under his skin and
planted roots.

Why her? Why now?

After
months of contentment alone, why did she have to come along and show him how
much he longed for the company of a woman, the gentle contact, her listening
ear? April’s gift of humor kept him off balance as did her stubbornness and
refusal to back down at his surliness. He thought he just needed to get laid,
to work off some built up steam. Instead, he found himself drawn in to the
moment, standing in the hot sun, with April holding his hand and rubbing his
arm in a show of support, soothing the last images from his mind, as she eased
him back into the present.

“Does
it still hurt?”

“No.”
He dropped her hand in order to reach for another drink. He opened the thermos
and took another long swallow, trying to add moisture to his suddenly dry
mouth. Done, he replaced the lid, and set the container at his feet. “Thanks
again.”

“Sure.”
She studied him for a long moment. “Is the fence stable for now?”

He
tilted his head, perplexed by her question. “Yeah, why?”

She
smiled shyly. “Why don’t you come up to the house? I’ll fix us some lunch.”

Dusty
opened his mouth to protest, but quickly changed his mind. The more he tried to
push her away, the stickier she became. Instead of a harsh rejection, he met
her gaze and nodded. “I’m about done here. Why don’t I finish up first while
you go on inside?”