Читать книгу Command Control - Sara Jane Stone - Страница 12

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“EVERY WOMAN IN here is staring at you.”

U.S. Army Ranger Logan Reed looked up from his burger at the petite, white-haired woman across the table. Fact was he would rather be anywhere—Iraq, Afghanistan, a remote African village—but here, sitting across the table from his aunt Lou at The Quilted Quail, an old barn that had been converted into the only respectable restaurant in Mount Pleasant, Vermont.

“Because they want to raffle me off at the Summer Festival.” He returned his attention to his food. After a week spent hiking and camping, he’d thought a decent meal would be worth venturing into town for an early dinner. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“You can’t hide from the people who have known you since you were in diapers. Look, there’s Cindy.” Aunt Lou waved her hand at the blond-haired, blue-eyed first-grade teacher. “She was asking when you’d be back from your trip. She is in charge of this year’s raffle and she thinks ‘lunch with a hero’ will be a big-ticket item.”

“I’m not a goddamn hero.”

“Language, Logan,” his aunt scolded.

He watched as Cindy weaved through the wooden tables. He’d been approached by nearly everyone who had anything to do with the town’s Summer Festival since his commanding officer had ordered him to take some time to rest, relax and get his head on straight. After Logan’s mistake had left his teammate with a bullet in the shoulder, he couldn’t blame his CO. And now that a journalist wanted to write a book about the mission Logan had screwed up? The army had even more reason to keep him on R & R.

Active duty Special Forces soldiers did not give interviews. Press, good or bad, hindered his team’s ability to do their jobs. His team, like many of the other elite units, was designed to slip into an area unnoticed, execute their task and leave undetected. Sometimes, their missions required them to blend in with the local population without alerting the enemy. They wore their hair longer than the average military buzz cut. Some of the guys grew beards. And at times, they worked alongside the good guys in the area. If the media put their names and faces out there, along with their rank and job description, the enemy would see it and there was a chance it would handicap their future missions.

Not to mention the fact that nine times out of ten, the press focused on their mistakes, not their wins. His team had completed hundreds of successful missions, but the only one anyone wanted to write about was the one that had gone south. His CO was determined to make sure that didn’t happen.

Logan was ready and willing to do his part and lie low in rural Vermont. His job as a Ranger—it was everything to him. This time, when Logan returned to his team, he would be ready for duty—no distractions. That meant he needed to put his grief to rest.

He’d never forget. Not by a long shot. But he didn’t need to feel like he was drowning in loss every damn day. Jane had been gone for over a year now. At some point, he had to put the past behind him.

But thanks to his friends and family, he felt more bound to his memories than ever. They had good intentions. Still, everyone treated him as if he was supposed to spend the rest of his life immersed in sorrow. Unless he was on the battlefield. Out there they assumed he could do no wrong, as if putting on the uniform transformed him into some sort of idol. That’s why he’d gone hiking in the first place, to get away from the town determined to label him a freaking hero.

“I agreed to come to town for a burger,” he said. “Nothing else.”

“If we always got what we wanted out of life,” Aunt Lou said, “I’d be living in one of those fancy homes like the ladies on The Real Housewives.”

And he’d be back with his team doing the job he loved instead of sidelined indefinitely. Or better yet, Jane would still be alive and he wouldn’t have spent the past year feeling like everyone in his life was tiptoeing around him. He didn’t need an endless pity party.

The smell of Cindy’s floral perfume reached the table first. Logan glanced at the door, debating whether to abandon his burger.

“Mind your manners,” Aunt Lou ordered as Cindy followed her perfume cloud to their table.

Logan stood, allowing Cindy to wrap her arms around him.

“Logan, it’s so good to see you out.” Cindy drew back and looked at him, her brow furrowed. “How are you?”

God, how he hated those three little words. “Just fine, ma’am.”

He reclaimed his seat and his burger. Without waiting for an invitation, Cindy pulled a chair from an empty table and sat down next to him.

“Have you given any more thought to the raffle? The people of Mount Pleasant would be lining up to buy tickets if they knew the grand prize was lunch with our very own U.S. Army ranger. Everyone is dying to learn more about your latest mission.” Cindy dropped her voice to a near whisper, leaning in until the scent of her perfume left him practically gagging. “Especially after seeing that picture in the paper.”

She wasn’t the first person in town to reference the picture that had spread like wildfire through the nation’s media. The image showed Logan and his teammates riding horses provided by an Afghan warlord, their faces thankfully obscured by handkerchiefs. “That’s classified.”

“Surely you can share some of the details,” Cindy pressed. “Perhaps over lunch with the raffle winner? All the proceeds go to the school’s literacy program.”

Logan reached for his beer and took a long drink, wishing like hell he could get up and leave. He had a hunch the raffle winner would be a woman—the men in town wouldn’t be caught dead on a lunch date with him—and she wouldn’t be interested in the nitty-gritty details of his latest mission.

Since he’d been home, a number of single women had tried to cozy up to him, always proclaiming how sorry they were for his loss while trying to drop subtle hints they were interested if he was ready to start dating again. It was plain weird.

Logan glanced at the door. Too bad he couldn’t call for an extraction team and fast-rope out of there. But walking away wouldn’t stop Cindy from trying any tactic to get a commitment out of him. He gave his aunt a pleading look.

“Cindy, you know he can’t talk about the details of his missions.” His aunt stood and took Cindy’s arm. “I think I saw Suzanne Hummel on the patio, and I need to speak with her about the band she hired to play at Summer Festival.”

“Of course.” Cindy turned to him, dropping her voice low. “Promise me you’ll think about the raffle. We need an answer soon. The festival is only days away.”

Aunt Lou pulled Cindy away, but they were still within earshot when Lou called over her shoulder, “If you leave first, do me a favor and move the small desk in the library down to the guesthouse.”

Logan nodded. He had every intention of ducking out as soon as he finished his burger. He’d driven his truck here knowing he might need to escape before his aunt. “Sure. After I feed the cows.”

“Before,” his aunt insisted. “I have a tenant arriving today and she’s a writer. Asked if we could provide a space for her to work.”

Logan frowned. A writer—specifically a journalist—was the reason he was on forced R & R. “A writer? What kind?”

“She didn’t say, but you can ask her yourself when she arrives.” Aunt Lou walked away, taking Cindy with her. “And think about the raffle, Logan.”

Logan turned his attention back to his burger. He had nothing against raising money for literacy, but posing as a hero? It made him feel like a hypocrite. Yes, he’d ridden a horse through Taliban country. Big deal. He’d also been so damn distracted when his team had gone in to rescue the three female aid workers held captive in a remote region of Afghanistan that he’d forgotten to cover his teammate. One inch in another direction and that bullet would have hit the woman in Hunter’s arms. It had practically brushed the top of her head.

No, he couldn’t sit down to lunch and recount his heroics. He was biding his time in Mount Pleasant, helping his aunt with the farm, until he could return to work. It killed him, sitting on his hands, away from the action. But he knew he deserved the punishment. And this time when he went back, he needed to have his head in the game 100 percent.

Still, his team was like family. Aside from Aunt Lou, the only one he had left. Being away from them—the loneliness ate at him.

Logan shook away the thought and returned to his burger. Across the restaurant, the door opened, letting in a shaft of midday summer sunlight. A redhead with mile-long legs walked in and headed for the bar that ran the length of the barn-turned-restaurant.

He studied the mysterious woman as she moved across the restaurant with carefree confidence. In one hand, she held a spiral notebook and a small purse. She was new to town, probably a tourist, though she didn’t look like the type to spend her free time hiking and biking. Her high-heeled sandals screamed big city.

Her loose curls bounced with each step, the bright red a sharp contrast to her creamy white skin. And her green eyes shone with playful mystery, as if she had a secret she wanted to whisper in his ear. Everything about her was vivid, fresh and exciting.

His gaze returned to her legs, narrowing on the point where they disappeared beneath her black miniskirt.

If you think her skirt is too short, she’s too young for you. His teammate wasn’t with him tonight, but Mike’s familiar mantra echoed in Logan’s mind. One of his T-shirts would cover more of her legs. He closed his eyes. And, great, an image of the redhead in his army T-shirt was now planted in his mind.

Logan forced himself to look away. She was too young for him. Not that thirty-five was ancient, but the word widower made a man seem older than his years.

He took one last look as the redhead slid onto a stool at the end of the bar. She’d chosen a seat close to his table and the proximity offered an up-close view as she crossed her legs, the indecent skirt sliding a little higher. Too young and too wild. Logan turned away, praying no one saw the longing in his eyes.

If he was being honest with himself, what he really wanted was a few nights of hot and heavy sex to take the edge off his loneliness. Nothing serious. Just something physical to make him feel alive.

Logan caught the waiter’s eye and signaled for the check. While he waited, his gaze drifted back to the woman.

He watched as she accepted a glass of red wine and opened her notebook. She took a sip, but her eyes never moved from the words in front of her. Setting the glass down, she drew her lower lip into her mouth and ran her teeth over it. She made reading look like a forbidden act, something that should be done behind closed doors.

The waiter returned and Logan opened up his wallet. Then he stood and headed for the door. He had to get out of here. Longing and loneliness would not change the fact that any reasonable woman would expect things he wasn’t ready to deliver.