Tempted by the Soldier Read online

  A throbbing began in his head. All he wanted was to get inside and lie down. He followed Josh inside the screened-in porch and his new landlord unlocked the door.

  He made his way inside. Whoa. Unlike the simple cabin he’d envisioned, he walked into a spacious room anchored by a huge rock fireplace. A large leather sofa and two matching chairs were placed around it, and a small dining room table with four chairs was located next to a set of windows.

  “There’s two bedrooms and a bathroom down the hall,” Josh said. “The kitchen is on the left.” He led the way down the hall to a bedroom and placed the duffel on a double bed that was already made.

  He looked at Clint with concern. “Are you okay?”

  “I will be,” Clint said, the throbbing increasing.

  “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mind giving me the number?”

  Clint did and Josh handed him a card. “Here’s mine. Call me if you need anything.”

  The headache was on its way to pounding. He needed a pill. And fast.

  “Any rules?” he asked.

  “Nope. I have a suggestion, though. Your doctor in Texas said you have blackouts. Since you’re alone here, why don’t you give me a call every morning, any time. I know when I moved here, I didn’t want anything to do with anyone. Only wanted to crawl under a rock. So you just tell me to back off anytime you feel crowded. Okay?”

  Clint nodded. “Why don’t you just rent this place?”

  “It’s not mine,” he said. “Maybe on paper it is, but it was willed to me by a friend who died in Afghanistan. This is what he would have wanted, a refuge for vets. It was that for me. And that’s probably the last time I’ll talk about it.”

  “I want to pay something.”

  “I won’t take money, but you can build a dock down on the lake. I planned to do it but ran out of time.”

  The headache was getting worse. “I can do that.”

  Josh gave him a searching look. “Can I do anything before I leave?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Call me or Doc Bradley if you need anything. Don’t forget about the food in the fridge.” After Josh left, Clint used the crutches to get to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and swallowed a pill. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, but he didn’t think he could eat anything now. Using only one crutch so he could carry the glass of water, he made his way to the bedroom and sat down on the bed. He fought the headache by reviewing the day. The ups and downs. The downs were definitely the bus ride and being kicked by a cow. The up was Stephanie, although she obviously didn’t consider him an “up.”

  Was that part of the attraction? He was rarely rebuffed by women, and he definitely had been this afternoon. She had bristled almost immediately at the bus stop. Her gentleness with the cow and easy friendliness with the rancher contrasted with her brusque manner with him. Puzzling, especially since he’d liked her instantly. Maybe it was her slow, reluctant smile. Or the fire he suspected lay under the icy exterior.

  Just as well she didn’t return the interest. He sure as hell wasn’t ready for a heavy-duty involvement. He had damn few assets. A vanished career, a brain that didn’t work right, a near-empty bank account and now a bruised foot...

  He closed his eyes. He was dead-tired physically. He’d had damned little sleep since he’d left the hospital yesterday. But then again, he’d gone days without sleep as a chopper pilot...

  The sun danced and shimmered on the pavement ahead. His foot lightened on the pedal as the road took a turn and mounted an incline. An old battered truck appeared from nowhere, turning into... He slammed on the brakes...

  He woke suddenly. The end of the nightmare was always the same. It was the last thing he remembered before waking up days later in the hospital. One moment that changed his life. That haunted him.

  For several seconds, Clint couldn’t remember where he was. He was in a strange room in a strange house in a strange town. The glowing numbers on the clock next to the bed told him it was three thirty in the morning. He had slept longer than usual.

  He reached around in the dark and turned on the bedside lamp. He still wore yesterday’s clothes. The shirt still smelled of cow. The pounding headache was a memory, but a dullness remained.

  Had yesterday really happened? The weird afternoon. The pretty veterinarian who intrigued him. Was it real? Or another of the crazy dreams that plagued him since the accident. The pain in his right foot told him it was, indeed, real.

  It still throbbed, but he was damned thirsty and the water glass next to the clock was empty. He was also ravenous. He placed his good foot on the floor, then the injured one. He could put some weight on it now, but he had learned recently that caution was a good thing.

  Clint grabbed the crutch and hobbled out of the bedroom and down the hall, turning on lights as he went. He entered the kitchen and looked in the fridge.

  It was full as promised: a whole roasted chicken on a plate, a casserole dish probably filled with the chili, packages of cheese and ham, a quart of milk and veggies. A loaf of bread sat on the counter.

  He opted for a ham and cheese sandwich, which was easier to handle than a whole chicken. With one hand, he made a fat sandwich and took it to a chair in the living room, then returned for a glass of milk.

  He surveyed the cabin. He hadn’t noticed everything yesterday afternoon. He’d been too worried that the headache would spiral into a blackout. But he felt better now, and he looked around with interest. The walls were newly painted—a soft sand shade—and the wood floor was partly covered with a colorful Indian rug. Light from the moon filtered through the windows.

  Clint hobbled to a window and peered out. There was enough light to see a backyard with a large stone barbecue pit, and behind that the lot steepened into woods.

  Loneliness hit him like a sledgehammer. He’d lost his friends, his community, even his identity. He was used to being in a crowd, the life of any party. At the base, he’d shared a house with three other pilots, and in Afghanistan, he’d shared a large tent. He was used to noise, people coming and going, laughter, clowning, sharing harrowing stories, which made them less painful.

  After learning he probably wouldn’t fly again, certainly not in the near future, he had assessed possibilities. He was good at mechanics. He had accrued credits at the University of Maryland in computer engineering, although he was about twenty hours short of a degree. People generally liked him. He had learned to compensate for the loneliness and rejection he’d felt as a boy by being gregarious. He wasn’t sure whether it was learned or natural, but he was usually comfortable with others, and they with him.

  Dr. Stephanie Phillips was an exception. He pictured her in his mind: her deep blue eyes and copper hair tied back, the high cheekbones and full mouth. And grace. Despite her height, or maybe because of it, she moved with the grace of an athlete. She was a natural beauty who seemed totally unaware of it. Or even contemptuous of it.

  He thought about looking her up on his laptop to see what he might find, then realized it wasn’t with him. He rarely forgot it, but he’d been distracted and left it tucked next to his seat in the van.

  A good excuse to call her tomorrow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  STEPHANIE WAS FEEDING her two canine boarders when the phone in her office rang. She glanced at her watch. Seven thirty. She looked down at the ID display.

  She didn’t answer “Unavailable” or “Name unknown” or “Anonymous,” all tactics her ex-husband had used.

  But it was none of those. Instead, the ID reported “C. Morgan.” She muttered an oath, disliking the treasonable reaction of her body, the sudden warmth that crept up her spine. She could ignore him, but doing so would give him power. She knew all about that kind of thing.

  Stephanie had worked
too hard to let anyone knowingly or unknowingly dictate what she would or would not do.

  She picked up the phone. “Mr. Morgan.”

  “Clint,” he insisted. “Surely, my adventure with Isobel elevates me above the ‘Mr.’ status.”

  She couldn’t resist his self-deprecating charm, dang it. “Clint, then.”

  “Next time, too,” he teased. “No more Mr. Morgan. I don’t answer to that.” Then his tone changed. “I hope I didn’t wake you, but I left my laptop in your truck, and right now, it’s my world. I figured a veterinarian would be up early.”

  He’d figured right. In fact, she’d been up at six after a restless night. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. She’d gone over the afternoon a dozen times trying to find something out of kilter, something wrong, some sign of a major character flaw.

  Maybe he was a stalker. She hadn’t given him her number.

  But she certainly owed him a few minutes of time this morning. Beth would arrive at 8:30 a.m. Her first appointment was at nine. It would take her maybe fifteen minutes to deliver the laptop.

  “Where is the laptop?” she asked.

  “I left it down the side of the seat,” he said.

  She had little choice. She owed him. She had practically thrown him out of her van yesterday.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She hung up before he could answer.

  She looked at her clothes. Jeans and a blue shirt. Good enough.

  She thought about lipstick, but discarded the idea. She hadn’t had time to refresh it yesterday before picking him up and if she wore some today, he might think it was for him.

  Why on God’s earth was she even thinking about him? She finished feeding the boarders and found her keys. Her dogs, Sherry and her brother, Stryker, looked at her anxiously.

  “Okay,” she said. “You both can go.”

  Their entire bodies wagged with delight as they followed her out the back door, then through the fence gate to the driveway where she parked the van. The dogs jumped inside, Sherry taking the passenger seat and Stryker edging behind the seat. She found the laptop lodged tightly between the seats. No wonder she hadn’t noticed it.

  For a moment, she wondered whether he left it there on purpose, but why would he? He certainly had reasons to be distracted. Injured vet. New town. New home. Bruised foot. She pictured him again in her head. He was maybe in his midthirties, possibly a year or two younger than she. She had no idea—Josh had been as reticent about Clint Morgan as he had been about himself.

  She didn’t need to know more. She wasn’t interested. She had Sherry, a trained search-and-rescue dog, and Stryker, a rescue dog in training. She had a horse stabled at Eve and Josh’s ranch and loved riding on Sunday mornings and whenever else she had time. She had a satisfying practice that paid the bills.

  Living quarters? She lived in the apartment above the practice. It was spacious, practical and cheap, and she didn’t need more. It was good to have someone in residence while boarding other people’s pets. Her fenced backyard served as an adventure land for dogs with an agility track, balls and pull toys.

  Life on the whole was good. More than good. She had no intention of changing it.

  Why did she think this newcomer could change it? He was nothing more than a passing stranger. She had learned hard lessons, and she damned well wasn’t going to forget them. Still, she had slept terribly last night. Clint’s warm dark eyes constantly interrupted it.

  She drove slowly, so slowly it took her more than the ten minutes she’d promised. It seemed strange to drive to the cabin that Josh Manning had made his own. She remembered the first time she had met Amos, Josh’s ex-military dog with a bad case of PTSD. It was seeing Josh with the dog that convinced her most of the rest of town was wrong about him...

  She grabbed the laptop and stepped out of the truck. Sherry and Stryker waited until she gave them permission to jump out.

  Clint sat on a swing in the screen porch, a cup in his hand. A crutch leaned on the wall behind him. He started to get up.

  All he needed was to be knocked down by her dogs, compounding her sins against him. Still, Stryker and Sherry were well mannered. They were protection, a distraction against...against what?

  “Come on, guys.” They followed her to the porch. Clint Morgan was standing when she reached the steps.

  “I wish you wouldn’t stand,” she said. “I suspect Doc told you to stay off that foot.”

  “Did you stay off your feet?” he asked. “You said it had happened to you several times.”

  “No,” she admitted. “But I had patients to care for.”

  A shadow crossed his face, then vanished so quickly she wondered whether she’d imagined it.

  His gaze left her face and went to the dogs. Sherry pushed her way to him and held out her paw. He took it, then turned to Stryker. “Who is this?”

  “Sherry’s brother, Stryker.”

  Clint sat back in the swing and offered his hand to Stryker, who sniffed it suspiciously, then wagged his tail slowly.

  “There’s coffee in the pot inside,” Clint said as Stryker moved back to her side.

  “I can’t stay. I have patients.”

  “Can you refill my cup, then? It’s not easy to carry...”

  She would swear she saw a twinkle in his eye, but how could she say no? So much for running in with the laptop and leaving. Then she noticed it was still in her hands. “Where do you want this?”

  “The table in the living room is near a plug, and I’m sure the batteries need charging.”

  She opened the door, turned back when the dogs started to follow. “Stay,” she told the two dogs who promptly sat next to her nemesis.

  “And would you put some bread in the toaster?”

  Now she knew. Payback for the cow.

  But she did as he asked. The sooner she did, the quicker she could leave. Cow or not, there was a limit. She hurried inside before he thought of another errand. She placed the laptop on the table, found an outlet and plugged it in. She strode into the kitchen. A major inroad had been made in the open loaf of bread. An open package of cheese lay next to it, along with two dirty dishes and two empty glasses.

  She tucked two pieces of bread in a toaster and washed dishes while she waited for them to toast. The kitchen was well stocked with appliances. Josh had probably left behind all the stuff he’d bought for the cabin when he moved in with Eve. She wondered what Eve would think of the newcomer. Most likely, she wouldn’t share her own misgivings. Eve liked everyone, and everyone liked Eve.

  The toast popped up. She buttered the two pieces, filled a cup with coffee and took both outside.

  “Thank you,” he said. “While you’re here, could you also bring the jar of jam in the fridge?” This time he made no attempt to disguise his amusement.

  She gritted her teeth and returned to the kitchen, found the jam. She grabbed a knife to go with it, and returned to the porch. He gave her a bland look as he scratched Stryker’s ears who, in turn, groaned in delight.

  Traitor.

  “I appreciate you bringing the dogs,” he said. “A friendly tail is welcome.”

  She didn’t know whether it was a rebuke or whether she imagined it. “You’ve had dogs?” He seemed so natural with her two.

  “Nope. Always wanted one, but I was never any place long enough.”

  “Not even as a kid?”

  The shadow returned to his face. “No,” he said without elaborating.

  She hated that his answers were so...uninformative. That part of him was like Josh although the delivery was softer.

  She was curious despite herself. “Are you from the west? I can’t place your accent.”

  “No, but I did some survival training here. I like the mountains.”

  He obviously wasn�
��t going to say anything more. “I have to go,” she said. “Four-legged patients.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for bringing the laptop. And breakfast.”

  Stephanie decided to leave before he wanted anything else. “Sherry, Stryker, come.” She opened the porch door.

  Sherry glanced back at Clint as if reluctant to leave, then trotted toward the van. The dogs jumped inside and Stephanie drove off without looking back.

  * * *

  CLINT WATCHED THE VAN disappear between the tall pines that lined the dirt drive. The lake was just barely visible. To the left were the mountains. It was cool this morning, and the scent of pine freshened the air. It was, in a word, peaceful.

  Stephanie had certainly spiced it. Something about her challenged him, and he hadn’t realized how badly he needed a challenge. He’d drifted since the morning he’d awakened from a coma and discovered he might never fly again. He hadn’t been willing to explore a future without it. He’d refused to make plans.

  Dr. Payne had pried and prodded, suggesting he contact his father. The shrink knew from Clint’s record that Frank Morgan was alive. But he wasn’t alive to Clint and never would be. He hadn’t talked to him since he was eighteen. A far as he knew, his father had never tried to contact him, either.

  He wanted nothing to do with him now.

  But now it was time to stop feeling sorry for himself. What was done was done, and he needed to decide his next step. He’d had a plan before the accident: obtain a degree in computer engineering and eventually work in helicopter computer systems. He was damned good at operation and repair. Better than most of the chopper mechanics. Now he didn’t know whether he could work around choppers without flying.

  Maybe he would switch to computer programming. In any event, the enrollment for online sessions at the University of Maryland was over. He would have to wait for the next quarter.

  He hobbled back inside and opened his laptop to check emails. There were a number from pilots in his unit in Afghanistan. No losses, thank God, but some close calls. A woman had joined their unit as a pilot. She wasn’t the first, but it was still a novelty. The weather was fierce as usual, hot as hell during the day and freezing cold at night. They envied him.