Читать книгу Command Control - Sara Jane Stone - Страница 15

4

“YOU’RE HOVERING.” Laurel stood in front of the stove, a wooden spoon in one hand, the other resting on her belly.

“You should sit down.” Sadie plucked the utensil from her twin’s hand. “Rest. You’ve been standing over that stove all morning.”

“We need food,” her twin protested.

“I just filled your fridge with groceries yesterday.” Sadie had been horrified when she’d looked through her sister’s kitchen and realized her twin was barely getting by foodwise. She knew Laurel and her husband had been struggling since Laurel had lost her job, but Sadie sent money every month despite Laurel’s protests. Her very pregnant sister should not be living off mac and cheese.

“I need to fill the freezer. Once the baby comes I won’t feel like cooking. And we can’t live on takeout up here like you do in New York.” Laurel snatched the spoon back and turned away from Sadie.

“Greg can cook for you. Isn’t that part of a husband’s job after the baby comes?”

Laurel snorted. “He’s not allowed in my kitchen. But even if I did let him in, he won’t have the time, between work and the baby—”

“Wait, Greg’s not taking time off?”

“He can’t afford to. As it is they’ve cut his hours at the plant back to thirty-two. That’s how we lost our benefits.”

“I told you I’d pay the hospital bills. If you need more so Greg can stay for a week or two, the money is yours. I have more than enough to cover whatever you need, especially after this next book comes out.”

“No. He can’t risk losing his job. I appreciate the offer. So does Greg. But we can’t turn to you for everything. We’re trying to get back on our feet. If Greg does well, if he works hard and gets promoted, we’ll have benefits again. And when the baby’s old enough, I’m going to find another job,” Laurel said, stirring briskly.

“I know you’re trying. Greg, too,” she said. “But you’re about to have a baby. He should be home with you in the beginning.”

“I’ll have you here,” Laurel said. “I won’t need him.”

“I’m here now. Why don’t you let me finish that while you sit down?” Sadie made another grab for the spoon only to have her hand slapped away.

“I need to cook. And you’re worse than Greg in the kitchen. Go. Write. Enjoy the peace and quiet. Your hovering is driving me batty.”

Sadie closed her eyes and groaned in frustration. Three days. She had been in town for seventy-two hours and they were already making each other crazy. A month would be torture unless she started focusing on her book.

“Promise me you will rest after this casserole is in the oven,” Sadie said, “and I’ll leave you alone until dinner.”

“Scout’s honor.”

Sadie pursed her lips. “We were never Girl Scouts, Laurel.”

“I know.” Her twin waved the spoon at the screen door. “Out. Be back at seven for dinner.”

Sadie marched down the squeaky wooden steps and into the yard. She’d walked over. After living in Manhattan, it seemed odd to drive the equivalent of a few city blocks to visit her sister. She moved through Laurel’s overgrown backyard, not slowing down when she reached the mowed field indicating Aunt Lou’s farm. Following the fence line to the cow pasture, she headed for the red wooden barn. Her cute, quaint guesthouse stood on the other side of the cows’ home.

Sadie studied the barn as she approached. The building shone like a freshly washed fire truck in the midday sun. Someone had painted it recently. The metal gate at the front of the barn swung open. Sadie froze.

Mr. Ruggedly Handsome, the man who wanted “just hot sex, no whips,” walked out carrying a bucket. If she believed in fate, she would have thanked her lucky stars for depositing him on her doorstep. But she’d stopped believing in fairy godmothers and magic wands years ago. And destiny? It had never handed her anything. Her career, her success—those she chalked up to hard work and drive. No, it wasn’t fate; it was coincidence, and an opportunity to learn more about him.

Sadie watched him set the bucket down. Jeans hugged the backside she’d admired that first afternoon at The Quilted Quail and a gray army T-shirt showed off his muscular arms. Leaving the gate open, he disappeared inside. When he came back, he carried two more large blue buckets, his biceps flexing from the exertion.

Sadie bit her lip. She could return to her desk in the guesthouse and write, or she could offer to help Mr. Ruggedly Handsome with his buckets. Her brain didn’t even have a chance to vote before her legs started moving toward the barn.

She had hours to kill before dinner. She couldn’t think of a better way to spend her day than working alongside Logan, drawing him into conversation. She wanted to see him laugh again. He’d been full of humor at the bookstore, teasing her in the stacks. Then, one quick drive around town and he’d become withdrawn and quiet. Any woman in her shoes would be curious.

“Hi, stranger,” she said, offering him a smile.

Logan stopped a few feet outside the barn, but he held on to the buckets, which suited her fine. She didn’t mind seeing his muscles in action. His gaze ran down her body, taking in her plain black tank top, jean shorts that skimmed the tops of her thighs and slip-on canvas flats. Maybe not the best outfit for the farm.

But then he looked her straight in the eyes. Not a hint of disapproval there. No, she was willing to bet her next book advance that the soldier-turned-farmhand liked what he saw.

“Sadie.” The way he said her name—it was as if he’d expected to run into her. He paused before adding, “Good to see you again.”

She smiled. “I’m renting the guesthouse. If you’re working here now, soldier, you might be seeing a lot of me.”

“Lou is my aunt.”

Her smiled faded. He could have mentioned that in the car. Was that why he’d pulled away?

“I’m helping her out while I’m home,” he added.

“Need a hand?”

“I’m good. Just watering cows,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you.”

He turned to the fields. The water in the buckets sloshed up the sides with each step. Sadie fell in beside him. She wasn’t going to let him get away. Not this time.

“Laurel kicked me out. I could write, but I’d rather procrastinate and enjoy the fresh air.” She moved closer and that sharp need she’d felt in the bookstore sent her pulse racing. She wanted to grab the front of his T-shirt and pull him up against her. Instead, she reached for one of the buckets.

Logan stepped to the side. “I’ve got this. If you don’t mind walking through cow fields, I could use a hand running the hose out to the watering troughs near the barn. It will reach the first two enclosures.”

He was sending her out to pasture. Alone. “I think I can handle that.”

He nodded. “The hose is at the back of the barn. Half of the herd is in the first field, but they shouldn’t bother you. The back one is empty at the moment. I’ll be working in the front if you need help.”

Logan turned and headed off. Sadie took that as her cue to start her chores. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could find him and ask for another task, one that required two people. Eventually she’d learn why he was so intent on pushing her away.

Two hours later, Sadie knew she’d found trouble. She’d filled the first two troughs easily enough. Then she’d spotted the third, smaller pen with tall metal fencing set apart from the others with one big cow pacing in circles. Figuring she would be doing Logan a favor, one he might thank her for later, she pulled the hose over and opened the metal gate.

Big mistake. The cow, or rather the bull—how had she missed the horns?—charged past her, knocking her off her feet. Her eyes widened in horror. She waited for the animal to run for the road. But, no, he headed straight for the pastures Sadie had just watered, and gracefully—which was flat-out astounding given his size—leaped over the lower wire fence.

“Shit, shit, shit!” She sprung to her feet and ran for the barn. She needed to find Logan. Fast. And she had a sinking feeling this wouldn’t make him laugh.

* * *

LOGAN HAD KNOWN he’d run into Sadie. She was living on his aunt’s property. Part of him—the same part that reacted to the sight of her long legs in those shorts—had been eager to see her again. But common sense told him to stay away from the sexy, vibrant writer.

Ten paces back from the last empty water trough, Logan’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Not many people had his number. It was probably Aunt Lou calling to harass him about the raffle.

Logan set the overflowing buckets down and retrieved his cell, glancing at the caller ID. Or his commanding officer calling him back to active duty.

“Colonel,” he said.

“Reed,” Lieutenant Colonel Walt Johnson barked. “How are you?”

He closed his eyes and pressed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. “Fine, sir. Ready for duty.”

“I’m not calling you back yet. You’re to remain on R & R until we handle the fallout from your last mission,” Johnson said. “I am in New York with Chief Cross. Your teammate will be working with the writer who is so damn intent on digging into your little joyride. Cross will act as her official liaison, helping her set up interviews with your team. Unofficially, he’s under orders to control the message of her book.”

“Sir, if there is anything I can do—”

“There is. Sit tight and stay the hell out of trouble. Don’t talk to the press. I don’t care if a kid wants to interview you for their fourth-grade paper. The answer is no. Do you understand?”

There was only one response to that question. “Yes, sir.”

“Trust Chief Cross to do his job.”

“I do.” Logan’s team was like family. They had each other’s backs. Always. And Hunter Cross never failed when it came to a mission—or a woman. But if he messed this one up? Logan’s career was likely over. The last thing the top brass wanted to see was mistake and Special Forces in the same sentence. Not to mention the fact that after publicity had rained down on the SEAL team who’d taken out bin Laden, the army wanted the Rangers to stay out of the media. Period.

“Expect a call in the next few weeks. When that call comes, be ready to return to work. Do whatever you need to do. Talk to a shrink if that is what it takes. The minute you set foot on base, I need you here and focused. One hundred percent. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

The line went dead. Logan slipped his cell into his pocket and reached for his water buckets. It was almost over. In a few weeks, this clusterfuck would be behind him. All he had to do was make damn sure he had a handle on how to move forward with his life, how to be something more than the guy who’d lost his young wife to cancer. And while he worked on that, he had to keep a low profile, stay out of the media and away from writers.

Like the one living in his aunt’s guesthouse and watering his cows. Didn’t mean he couldn’t daydream about Sadie’s long legs, or—

“Logan! Logan!” The mental picture in his head, the one he’d been unable to stop replaying over and over since she’d walked up to him wearing those too-short shorts, carried a similar soundtrack, but without the panic.

“Logan!”

He dropped the filled buckets and ran toward the sound of Sadie’s voice. She came racing around the corner, barreling straight into him. He pulled her close, preparing to take the brunt of the fall as they hit the ground. Stumbling back a step, he felt something hit the back of his knees, sending them both tumbling into a recently filled trough. She landed squarely on top of him, her long wet limbs tangling with his, rubbing back and forth as she flailed about in the water.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” she said.

The adrenaline rush combined with the feel of her body against his. The wet, frantic friction overloaded his senses. He could feel every inch of her wet limbs gliding over his. And it was too damn much.

Without a word, Logan dunked his head back and let it sink under the water, hoping to find some perspective. But the only thing waiting for him was wanting. It had been so long since he’d felt anything like it. The desire to strip away her shirt, to touch her, while she rode his thigh...

Christ, she’d knocked all the common sense out of him. He couldn’t go there. Not with her. As far as threat levels went, she was more than a few notches above a fourth-grade reporter, even if he didn’t know for sure if she was a journalist.

Slowly, he lifted his head. Sadie’s wild thrashing had stopped. Her hands rested on the side of the tub, lifting her top half out of the trough. Her bottom half straddled his waist, a knee on either side of him, but she was doing her best to keep her body lifted off his.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I let the bull escape.”

“You went into Titan’s pen?” He looked her over, this time checking for signs of injury. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She pressed down on the sides of the trough and lifted herself out. He missed the contact instantly. “But he jumped the wire fence.”

Logan sighed. “And now he is in with the heifers.”

“I’m sorry.”

He stood, his soaking wet clothes forming a puddle in the dirt at his feet. “Not your fault. I should have warned you to steer clear of him.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, obscuring his view of the tank top clinging to her like a second skin. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

Logan looked out at the heifers’ field. He had a list a mile long of the things he wanted to do, but he knew what needed to be done. “Round him up.”

They spent the next hour chasing one very determined bull. Or rather, he chased the bull and Sadie did her best to distract him, running around in those damn shorts. Still, he had to give her credit. She put her heart into the chase, waving her arms, screaming at Titan. She looked so damn cute he half expected the animal to follow her home. Hell, he wanted to.

When they finally secured the bull in his pen, she turned to him. “Not how you planned to spend your afternoon?”

He let out a laugh. “No.”

She smiled and it lit up her whole face. “Come back to the guesthouse with me. Those rocking chairs on the front porch are calling my name. And I owe you a cold drink.”

He knew he should turn around and head back to his chores. Maybe change into dry clothes. His jeans and shirt were damp, though no longer dripping thanks to the hot afternoon sun. Still, clean clothes were probably a good idea. But after herding a bull, he was too tired to fight the attraction.

“All right,” he said.

She led the way around the barn and up the three wooden steps he’d rebuilt when he’d first arrived back home. Waving toward the pair of green rocking chairs, she said, “Wait here and I’ll grab our drinks. Beer, water or orange juice?”

“I’ll take a beer.”

Sadie disappeared through the front door and he settled into a rocker. Eventually, he’d get around to asking her what kind of writer she was. He hoped like hell her answer wouldn’t be “reporter.”

The door swung open and Sadie appeared carrying two bottles, a pair of forks and a pie dish. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And the only thing I have is half a leftover apple pie from The Quilted Quail.”

“I like pie. Here, let me get that.” Logan took the dish from her hands.

“Thanks.” Sadie claimed the empty rocker, and handed him a beer and a fork. “Dig in.”

They passed the dish back and forth in silence, sipping their drinks, and watching the sun sink lower behind the green mountains and casting long shadows over the cow pastures. It wouldn’t be dark for several hours, but they were well into late afternoon. Aside from the occasional moo from the field, everything was quiet.

“I’m sorry again about letting Titan out,” she said. “As you can probably tell, I don’t have much experience with farm animals.”

“Now you know to steer clear. Messing with a bull.” He shook his head. “It’s risky.”

She laughed. And hearing that sound—it was worth spending an hour chasing a horny beast.

“You don’t get anywhere without taking risks and looking for new adventures,” she said.

Logan nodded slowly, digesting this bit of wisdom. “This is where you’re looking to go? A rural Vermont cow farm?”

“If you’d asked me that a couple of days ago, I would have said absolutely not, I’m just here for my sister. But right now, I’m thinking I like it here. Risks and all.” She turned to him. “What about you? Is this where you want to be?”

“I’m enjoying the company right now.” He lifted his beer bottle to his lips, not meeting her intense gaze. The way she looked at him—it felt as if she could see straight through him.

“But?”

“Most days I’d rather be with my team than playing farmer,” he admitted.

“Then why are you here?”

He shook his head. “Let’s just say I screwed up. Big-time. That’s why I’m home. I’ve been ordered to remain on R & R.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’d rather be at war?”

“It’s what I do,” he said. “Being in Mount Pleasant is driving me crazy.”

“Ah, the raffle.”

“That’s part of it.” There were also the memories, some good and some that reminded him of all the mistakes he’d made in his life.

“Are you going to do it?”

He watched as she licked her fork clean, her lips running over the utensil until she’d consumed every last drop. He’d never been attracted to the way a woman ate pie before. But everything about this woman’s mouth turned him on. “Probably. Aunt Lou will insist.”

“And you always listen to your aunt?”

He shrugged. “Most of the time.”

“That’s sweet.” She smiled, piling another large bite onto her fork.

“My mom passed away when I was a kid and my dad, well, he was never in the picture. My aunt and uncle raised me. My uncle died of a heart attack three years ago. Lou is... She’s all I have left.” He heard the grief in his voice and knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

Logan brought his beer to his lips and drained it, careful not to look over at Sadie. He wanted something from her, but not pity. Still, he felt her gaze on him, studying his profile. He had a feeling she wanted to ask him a question.

“Whatever it is, go ahead and spit it out.”

She turned her fork over in her hands. “You said you screwed up. What happened?”

Logan looked off into the surrounding Green Mountains. Lined with evergreens, these peaks were a world away from the ragged war-ravaged cliffs in Afghanistan. He was about to feed her his automatic “that’s classified” response, but first he had to know why she was digging. “Aunt Lou said you’re a writer. Are you a reporter?”

He studied her face, waiting for her answer. But he knew before she opened her mouth that his paranoia had pushed him way off base. Her brow furrowed with surprise. Then laughter transformed her face, making her eyes sparkle.

“Nope,” she said. “Not even close. I write fiction.”

“All right, then,” he said. “The answer to your question is classified. I can’t talk about my missions.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “I’m going in for another. You want one?”

“I’m thinking about it,” he said.

She cocked her head to one side and looked at him, her gaze burning a path down his body before she nodded and headed inside. He watched the screen door close behind her. If she could set him on fire by just looking at him, what would happen when he touched her? Did he want to find out?

Yes. No hesitation. It was the first time in months he’d made a split-second decision, one that felt certain and solid. After all, his colonel had told him to do whatever it took to move forward. He had a feeling going after Sadie, kissing her, maybe more, would do more for him than sitting down with a shrink. Logan stood and followed her inside.

* * *

SADIE HEADED DOWN the short hall, her mind still turning over his words. She’d been on the verge of asking him whether he was married, but something in his voice had stopped her. The depth of his grief when he talked about his family seemed too raw and fresh for a childhood loss. It left her wondering about his secrets again. Everyone had them, but his seemed edged with sorrow. And a far cry from a married man looking to sneak around on his wife.

She’d thought about offering the usual expression of sympathy, but she had a hunch this wasn’t a man who wanted pity. She’d rather see him laughing, and maybe after another drink or two, naked.

She carried the empty bottles to the kitchen and found two more, setting them on the counter. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the fridge. A picture of Logan without his work jeans and T-shirt filled her mind. She’d seen the outline of those muscles when she’d sent them both tumbling into the water trough. But her imagination went a step further, picturing him in the shower, wet and glistening, begging for her to touch and taste.

In her fantasy, he stood back against the wall, his hands flat on the tiles. It would take all of the man’s willpower to keep his hands off her, but he would if he wanted to feel her mouth on him. She’d make that clear. And like a good soldier, he’d follow her orders.

The wooden floorboards creaked in the hall and Sadie opened her eyes. The erotic shower scene vanished, but it had left its mark. She was leaning against the fridge practically panting with desire, the downside to having an overactive imagination.

Logan turned the corner. She saw him hesitate for a second and guessed he’d noted her come-and-get-me look. He crossed the kitchen and planted one hand on either side of her head. Holding his body away from hers, he looked down into her eyes before dropping his gaze to her parted lips.

That look—it was part question, part warning. He wanted to kiss her. He planned on kissing her. And right here, right now, she wanted the real thing, no more almost-kisses in bookstores. But he didn’t move.

“Kiss me,” she demanded.

Heat flared in his eyes.

“Now,” she added.

He lowered his head until their lips almost touched. And then, damn him, he froze.

Sadie reached out, grabbed his hips and drew him close, craving contact. This man wanted her. She could feel it. But something had a hold on him. And she needed to know what it was.

Running her hands up from his hips, over his oh-so-tempting chest and shoulders, she moved to his biceps, then down his powerful forearms to his hands. Entwining her fingers with his, she forced him to release his hold on the fridge.

“The other day, in the bookstore, you started to say something. You said ‘I’m a’—but never finished the sentence. Now might be a good time to tell me.”