Night Driving
Night Driving
Lori Wilde
How do you spell disaster? For former army captain Boone Toliver, it's his sister's wedding to a man she hardly knows, and he'll die before he lets that happen. Boone has five days to get from Montana to Florida with an injured leg.And his only option is hitching a ride with his free-spirited neighbor, hairstylist Tara Duvall–whose body makes his mouth water and his libido burn.With each passing mile, the magnetic pull between them grows stronger, and Boone's trademark control is slipping away. But when his sex drive takes the wheel, will he be able to stop the wedding in time?
The night breeze blew coolly against his heated skin.
And for a long while, Boone and Tara just stood there, frozen in time. The make-or-break moment. Would he be strong enough to stop this and walk away before he did something he would regret?
He’d been resisting Tara’s allure for weeks, heck, months even. Trying to convince himself that getting together with her would be a bad thing.
His body didn’t care about reasons or excuses. It was too late for either, his brain issuing a primal message he was helpless to resist or deny.
His arms tightened around her.
She went up on tiptoes and leaned into him.
Turn back. Turn back. It’s still not too late. Just let her go. Move away.
But darn his Montana hide, he did not let her go. He did not turn away. He did not walk off. Instead Boone did what he’d been struggling hard not to do…
He kissed her.
Dear Reader,
What could be more fun than a road trip?
That is the question that led me to the premise of my new series, STOP THE WEDDING! Since it’s a three-book series, I thought why not have three different kinds of road trips? One by land, one by sea, one by air. All with the same objective: to stop a wedding. And the wedding they’re trying to stop is the marriage of Jackie Birchard and Coast Guard Lieutenant Scott Everly from Born Ready.
So to answer the question in Night Driving, what could be more fun than a road trip? Why, take one drop-dead handsome, broody former Green Beret in desperate need of love in his life. Add in one good-hearted dizzy hairdresser on a move from Bozeman, Montana, to Miami, Florida. Mix well and you have chemistry that lights up the night sky.
I hope you enjoy Night Driving, and that you’ll be on the lookout next month for Smooth Sailing, the second book in the STOP THE WEDDING! series. If you’re on Pinterest, drop by my Night Driving board to see the collage I made of Boone and Tara’s trip at: pinterest.com/loriwilde/night-driving/.
Until then, happy reading!
Lori Wilde
About the Author
LORI WILDE is a New York Times bestselling author and has written more than forty books. She’s been nominated for a RITA
Award and four RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ CHOICE Awards. Her books have been excerpted in Cosmopolitan, Redbook and Quick & Simple. Lori teaches writing online through Ed2go. She’s also an RN trained in forensics and she volunteers at a women’s shelter. Visit her website at www.loriwilde.com.
Night Driving
Lori Wilde
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To all the servicemen and women
who give their lives to their country.
1
Monday, June 29, 5:25 p.m.
FEELING LIKE Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, ex-Army Captain Boone Toliver stared glumly out at the treelined neighborhood as he sat on his front porch in Bozeman, Montana.
His right knee, fresh from a third surgery and wrapped in a stabilizing brace, lay propped up on a hassock. On the small table beside him sat a cell phone, a can of beer and a bottle of pain pills. He was trying to see if the beer would take the edge off his misery before surrendering to the medication. Although he knew well enough he wasn’t supposed to mix the two, he was a big guy in a world of hurt. Not all of it physical.
Third time’s a charm, the orthopedic surgeon had said.
It better damn well be. If not, he would never fully gain back the mobile life that a bomb in Afghanistan had stolen from him. For now, he had to hire someone to do everything—grocery shopping, housecleaning, chauffeuring him to doctor’s appointments.
Not that money was an issue. Along with this house, his father had left him over a million dollars. Boone had invested wisely; he was set for life, even if he never worked again. Although he’d much rather still have his dad around than any amount of money.
Plus, he was not an idle guy. He was at the end of his tether with this invalid malarkey. He had read books until his vision blurred, played video games until his thumbs ached and watched movies until his brain complained. All of his friends were military, and now that he was out of the service and injured to boot, their visits had become less and less frequent. He was no longer one of them.
Boone was bored, bummed out and bitter.
Not an attractive combo. He realized that, but he couldn’t seem to snap himself out of the doldrums. This surgery was his last chance to reclaim what he’d lost. This time he was determined to follow doctor’s orders to a T. Which meant sitting here twiddling his thumbs and watching the world pass him by.
Awfully hard for a man who’d spent a big chunk of his adult life at war.
He picked at the Velcro strap on his knee brace, pulling it off, then pressing it back down, then pulling it off again just to hear the crinkly, ripping noise it made as the two pieces separated. The sound underscored the monotony of his life.
A few houses over a couple of kids shot hoops in their driveway. The steady strumming of the basketball against cement made him nostalgic. Once upon a time, he’d been one helluva basketball player, but those days were long gone. The scent of supper hung in the air as the summer sun headed west. Idly, he thought about getting up and sticking a frozen dinner in the microwave, but he couldn’t seem to drum up enough enthusiasm for even that task.
He took a swallow of beer and tried not to think about the throbbing in his knee.
An older model Honda Accord crawled down the block and then pulled into the driveway of the ranch-style bungalow across the street. His ditzy neighbor, Tara Duvall, got out of the Accord. Quickly, Boone picked up his cell phone and pretended to be deep in conversation, but his ruse didn’t thwart Tara.
She raised her hand in greeting, gave him that radiant smile she was constantly flashing. Hell, he needed sunglasses and a bulletproof vest against her obnoxious cheerfulness.
“Hey, Boone.” She wore a skimpy little halter top and cutoff blue jeans that hit her midthigh.
He tried not to notice just how tanned and supple those long, lean legs were. Or how, when she moved, that halter top with a handkerchief hem fluttered up enough to give him a glimpse of her gold navel ring. Her abdomen was taut and flat, her skin flawless. His mouth went dry and he felt an unwanted stirring below his belt. Annoying she might be, but the woman possessed a killer body.
Block the urges, Toliver. Sure, she’s sexy, but she’s not worth the aggravation.
She toddled across the street toward him in wedge sandals that were far too high for her petite build, but somehow she managed to walk in them with startling grace.
Frick. She was coming over.
Frowning, he held up the phone for her to see and waved her away, then stuck the phone back to his ear. “Yes, uh-huh.” He feigned conversation.
Tara was one of those breezy, gabby women who could talk the hind leg off a mule. The last thing he wanted was to hear one of her upbeat, riotous stories about what had gone on at the hair salon where she worked. She was funny, impulsive, lively and reminded him far too much of his ex-wife. Spontaneous gals were nothing but trouble. Still, his body responded at her approach and he resented the heck out of her because of it.
She tiptoed up on the porch, an index finger laid over her lips.
“You don’t say,” Boone spoke into the phone.
She hitched her butt up on the porch railing, legs dangling off, blues eyes dancing with mischief.
Go away. He was not in the mood for Pollyanna.
“Yes, yes.” He nodded as if someone on the other end of his fictitious conversation had just said something he could really support.
Tara’s gaze skated over his injured knee. She pursed her lips in a pity pout, but then took in the beer and the bottle of pain pills. Her sympathy disappeared—thankfully—into a concerned scowl. She made a shame-on-you gesture, scraping one forefinger crossways over the other.
Buzz off, brat.
“Hang on a minute,” Boone said to his imaginary caller. He put his palm over the phone, met Tara’s eyes. “This conversation is going to go on for a while.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
What the hell did she want? “I mind.”
“Private conversation?”
“Yeah.”
Her lips were glossy cotton-candy-pink and her hair was four or five different shades of blond. Streaked in that chunky way that was popular these days. A modest dolphin tattoo graced her left shoulder and numerous earrings lay nestled in each ear. Her toenails were painted an alarming shade of aqua, and on the second toe of her right foot a gold toe ring spelled out LOVE.
“I’ll go water your shrubs while you’re talking,” she said. “They look thirsty.”
“No, no.” He didn’t want her doing him any favors. “Leave it be.”
“Okay.” She held up her palms. “Didn’t mean to tread on your pride.”
Glowering, he pressed the cell to his ear again. “I’m back,” he said, feeling stupid for having gotten trapped into a fake phone call.
Well, if you could try just talking to her.
Except that never worked. Give her an inch and she took a mile. If he struck up a conversation, she’d plunk down on the porch beside him for hours as if they were friends or something.
That’s when the phone rang for real.
Tara’s lips formed a humorous O and her eye twinkled. “Oh, dude, you’re so busted.” She did the finger-shaming gesture again. “You were trying to avoid talking to me.”
“Yes, and I really am on the phone now,” he snapped and pressed the talk button without bothering to look at the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Boone?”
“Jackie? Hold on a second.” He covered the receiver again. “It’s my sister. Could we have this conversation later?”
“You have a sister?”
“Half sister.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Thank goodness for that.
“You never talk about her.”
“I never talk about her to you.”
“Touché,” she murmured, but she looked slightly wounded.
He forced a smile past his injured-war-veteran grouchiness. “Right now I just want to talk to her, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “I only came by to tell you that I’m moving away.”
Yay! No more nosy neighbor butting into his business, throwing noisy late-night parties, no more bringing over casseroles and lecturing him on proper recycling techniques. But even as he thought it, Boone felt something else entirely. A strange, soft sadness. It was the same kind of melancholy that used to come over him every Sunday afternoon when he was a kid, knowing that the weekend was over, and he had to go back to school the next day.
Part of him almost told her to wait, but he managed to squelch the impulse. “See ya.”
“See ya,” she echoed and hopped from the railing.
He watched her lope across his lawn, her fanny swaying in those snug-fitting shorts. Mesmerized, his gaze locked helplessly on Tara’s delectable butt.
“Boone? You still there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He hitched in a deep breath and turned his full attention to Jackie. “Hey, sis. Long time no hear.”
“I’ve been really busy,” she said, sounding oddly giddy. Normally his sister was intense and serious. Her father was the famed oceanographer Jack Birchard. Jackie had followed in his footsteps and she was working on her PhD.
Boone realized it had been over four months since he’d spoken to her and he hadn’t told her about the third surgery. He hadn’t wanted her to worry. They hadn’t grown up together and they had really only gotten in touch with each other as teenagers when they’d bonded over the fact that their flighty mother had abandoned them both to their respective fathers. But Jackie was as resilient as Boone. They’d survived and thrived.
That is, he’d thrived until the damn bomb blast.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I’m getting married!” Jackie announced.
“Married?” he echoed, stunned. “To who?”
“You don’t know him. His name is Scott Everly and he’s a lieutenant in the Coast Guard.”
“Jackie, seriously? A coastie?”
“What’s wrong with a coastie?”
Boone wasn’t going to get into the fact that he didn’t consider Coast Guard real military. “I can’t see you as a military wife. In fact, I can’t see you as a wife at all.”
“What does that mean?” All the joy escaped from his sister’s voice.
Don’t be a jerk, Toliver. Apologize. “Your career means so much to you.”
“Yes, what’s that got to do with anything? Are you saying that I can’t have a meaningful career and be married at the same time?”
“How are you going to do research if you’re following him around from post to post?”
“He’s stationed in DC. Any promotions will just take him further up that chain. Besides, Scott is fully supportive of my career. He understands that there may be times when we’ll have to be separated.”
“How long have you known him?” Boone asked, feeling protective. She was his baby sister. He hated the thought of her making the same marital mistake he’d made. No matter how you sliced it, divorce hurt. He’d do whatever he could to save her from that heartache.
She didn’t answer him.
“How long have you known him?” Boone repeated.
“You’re being a jerk.”
“You’re not answering the question.”
“A little over a month,” she finally admitted.
“What!”
“Don’t go ballistic. I know what I’m doing. Scott is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s smart and kind and he loves the ocean as much as I do and—”
“Are you insane? Didn’t you learn anything from my experience with Shaina—”
“I’m not you, Boone,” she snapped. “And Scott isn’t Shaina. This is real love, not some hot, horny, drunken Vegas hook-up on the eve of your enlistment—”
“Listen to yourself. Real love? You’ve only been dating the guy a month. He could be a serial killer for all you know.” Boone clenched a fist, quelled the urge to jump up and start pacing.
“Six weeks. I’ve known him six weeks.”
“Oh yeah, my mistake. Two weeks makes all the difference. Why didn’t you say so?”
“I thought you’d be happy for me. I finally found someone who means as much to me as the ocean.”
“You know exactly who you’re acting like, don’t you?”
“Don’t say it,” Jackie growled.
“Miranda.”
“I am nothing like our mother.”
He knew he’d struck a chord but for some unfathomable reason he just kept pushing. “Miranda married my dad after only knowing him for two months. How long did she date Jack before she plunged into that relationship? Six weeks, wasn’t it?”
“I cannot believe you’re reacting this way.”
Boone couldn’t believe it either. What was the matter with him? His knee hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but that was no excuse. He could hear tears in her voice and that alarmed him. Jackie was a tough cookie. She didn’t cry easily.
You, Toliver, are the world’s biggest loser.
“I’m sorry.” He backed down. “You took me by surprise. Just tell me you’re going to have a nice, long engagement to make sure this guy is really the one.”
“We’re getting married in Key West on Saturday on the Fourth of July.”
“This Saturday? Are you out of your mind?”
“If you can be happy for me, then you’re welcome to attend the wedding. It’s at four o’clock on the Sea Anemone at Wharf 16,” she said, referring to Jack Birchard’s research vessel. “If not, then stay in Montana and stew in your own self-pity.”
“Jackie, I—”
She hung up on him.
Boone swore under his breath and immediately called her back. She didn’t pick up, letting the call go to voice mail. He tried three more times. She still did not answer.
A raw ache gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Disgusted with himself, he slung the cell phone across the yard.
Smart. Real smart. Now you gotta go get it.
Guilt was a rock on his shoulders. He pushed up from the chair, winced against the bolt of pain that shot up his leg. He stared at the steps, swallowed hard. Going down them would take forever. He blew out his breath.
And suddenly there was Tara.
Relief washed over him and he instantly hated the feeling. He didn’t need to be rescued.
She bent down to pick up his phone, then raised her head, concern in her eyes. “Did you have a fight with your sister?” She mounted the steps to hand him the phone.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly.
“You’re welcome.” She paused.
He said nothing.
“I guess you don’t want to talk about it?”
“I don’t.”
She nodded, sank her hands on her hips. “Okay. If you want to talk, though, I’m here. At least, for another week.”
“So,” he said, searching for something to say. “You’re moving.”
“Uh-huh. Going back home. My mom’s sick.”
“I hate to hear that.”
“Breast cancer, but they caught it early. She’s gotta have chemo and radiation, but she’s going to be okay. It’s just that, well, when something like this happens, you start thinking about what’s really important in life and there’s nothing more important than family, so I’m moving back.”
Boone almost said, “I’ll miss you.” But he bit down on his tongue to keep from uttering the words. He didn’t even know why he’d thought of it. She mainly drove him crazy with her good-natured prying. “Thanks for getting my phone for me. That was nice of you.”
“You’re welcome. I can tell you’ve been having a tough time of it.” Her gaze drifted to his knee brace. “You’re not nearly as gruff as you want everyone to think.”
Jackie would disagree.
“I know you’re the one who shoveled Mrs. Levison’s driveway last winter.” She nodded at the house of the elderly widow next door. “And that you got up at dawn to do it so she wouldn’t catch you and try to pay you.”
“Who, me?” He shrugged. “With this leg?”
“Probably one of the reasons you had to have a third surgery. You can’t stay still.”
Boone winced. She was right. “You’re too darn nosy for my own good.”
Their gazes met.
She raised a hand. “I have to go start packing.”
“Have a safe trip.”
“I’ll come say goodbye before I leave.”
“Okay,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.
A small furrow creased her brow. “Are you all right?”
“Never better.”
“You’re such a liar.”
An involuntary smile twitched his lip. “I know.”
She tilted her head, studied him like he was a sad case. “Take care of yourself, Toliver.”
“Same to you, Duvall.” He wished she’d go. Boone didn’t want her watching him limp inside.
He waited until she’d disappeared before he crushed the empty beer can, scooped the bottle of pills off the table and dragged himself into his living room. He dry-swallowed one of the pills and grimaced. He was too antsy to sit, in too much pain to stand and too worried about Jackie to do anything else. He tried calling her again, but she wasn’t answering. He left a voice mail apologizing for what he’d said and asked her to please call him.
He pictured her in Florida, telling her fiancé what a tool her big brother was. Who was Boone to think he had a right to dictate how she should live her life? He had no right, and yet he could not in good conscience let her marry in haste. He’d done it. Lived through the fallout. Didn’t want her to make the same mistake. He had to see her face-to-face. Had to talk to this coastie she seemed hell-bent on marrying.
Things hadn’t been easy for Jackie. Their mother might have stayed with her longer, but that only seemed to have messed with Jackie’s head more. Boone considered himself lucky that he didn’t even remember Miranda.
Jackie, on the other hand, had been ten when Miranda took off, leaving her to be raised by her demanding father. She’d spent her life trying to measure up to Jack Birchard, and she’d told Boone on more than one occasion that the only time she felt truly relaxed were the summers they spent together in Montana at their Aunt Caroline’s lake house. Both of them kept hoping that one day Miranda would show up at her sister’s house, but she never did.
Boone’s dad had married Miranda right out of high school. He told Boone that he couldn’t call the marriage a mistake, because if he hadn’t married her, he wouldn’t have such a wonderful son. Wade Toliver knew how to make a kid feel loved. He’d been a hardworking building contractor who’d scrimped and saved and invested in buying and flipping houses, and then he was smart enough to get out of real estate before the housing bubble hit. With a father like Wade, Boone had barely missed having a mother. His dad had taken him everywhere with him, showing him the ins and outs of home maintenance, teaching him right from wrong.
Yeah. He’d be ashamed of you right now.
Okay. He’d screwed up, but whether his sister knew it or not, Jackie needed his clear-eyed perspective. He had to get to Key West before the wedding and talk some sense into her. He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty on Monday afternoon. That didn’t even give him five days.
His knee felt like it was set in cement. He eased down on the couch. How was he going to get to Key West? During his last surgery, he’d had problems with blood clots, and this time the doctor had told him that under no circumstances was he to fly, and he’d even discouraged long car trips as well. If Boone had to travel by car, he was supposed to stop frequently, get out and move around. But it wasn’t as if he could drive himself all the way to Key West. Hell, he couldn’t even drive himself to the grocery store. Pathetic.
He whipped out his cell phone and did a Google search for the distance from Bozeman to Key West. Twenty-three hundred miles. Approximately a thirty-eight-hour drive, and that wasn’t factoring in any stops.
Dammit. He shoved a hand through the hair that had grown shaggy since he’d left the military.
How was he going to get to Key West? Call a car service? That would cost a frigging fortune. Yes, he had the nest egg his father had left him, but most of that was tied up in investments, and since he hadn’t grown up rich, he was still tight with a dollar.
Which is more important? Money or keeping Jackie from ruining her life?
Jackie. No doubt about it.
He called the only car service in Bozeman and they flat-out told him they wouldn’t drive him to Key West. Now what? Hire someone to drive him? But who?
Too bad he couldn’t find someone to carpool with who was already going to Key W. He could pay for their gas.
Good idea. Great idea, in fact. But where could he find someone from his area headed in that direction ASAP?
Back to the internet.
He’d give it a shot. If he didn’t get a reply by tomorrow morning, he’d try to find someone who could drive him. Pushing himself up off the couch, he lumbered into the spare bedroom that he’d turned into an office. Angling his leg with care, he dropped stiffly into the chair and then booted up his computer.
He placed the ad on a number of sites, figuring it was a long shot. He ate dinner, packed a bag and then spent the rest of the evening fretting about Jackie. He tried calling her numerous times only to discover she’d turned off her voice mail. She was really steamed.
Bullhead. You got yourself into this, you better get yourself out.
He checked for a response to his ads. Nothing. Finally, he went to bed.
Boone woke up at his usual time. Five in the morning. He’d been out of the military for almost nine months, but he couldn’t seem to break the early-rising habit. Routine served him well today. He needed to get a move on if he was going to find a way to Key West by four o’clock on Saturday. Maybe this Scott Everly was the real deal, maybe he wasn’t, but Boone was determined to see for himself firsthand. He hadn’t been able to look after Jackie when they were kids, but he was definitely going to make up for it now.
He had a breakfast of eggs and oatmeal, worked out his upper body with weights, took a shower and then went to the computer with little expectation of a reply. Already he was thumbing through a list of his acquaintances who might be in a position to drive him to Key West. The list was pitifully short.
He opened his email and pop!
There it was. A reply to his ad. Yes. Eagerly, Boone read the message.
I am moving to Miami next week. I can take you that far if your trip can wait until Monday.
Disappointment stiffened his spine. He posted back.
That’s too late. Is there any way you can leave today instead of next week?
He pushed back from the desk, not expecting a quick reply, but the person must have been at his or her computer, because he’d no more than gotten to his feet than his computer pinged, letting Boone know that he had a new message.
Sorry, no, I still have to pack and load my things into a U-Haul. The soonest I could leave would be Thursday afternoon.
Boone did the math. If they left on Thursday afternoon and drove straight through they could arrive in Key West early Saturday morning, but with his knee, there was no way he could ride in the car for thirty-eight hours nonstop. He would have to factor in at least another day. The latest he could leave was Wednesday afternoon. He sat back down and typed.
What if I paid to have someone come pack your things and load the U-Haul today? Could you leave tonight?
Feeling antsy, he hit Send and waited.
Sounds like you have an emergency situation, but Mercury is in retrograde. I try not to travel when Mercury is in retrograde. It messes with travel plans.
Seriously? Was this person for real?
What if I threw in five hundred dollars on top of everything else? Will that overcome your fear of Mercury?
It went against his sense of economy, but this might be the only opportunity he had.
It took a few minutes, but then the reply came.
All right. You have a deal.
Relief had him splaying both palms across the top of his head. Whew.
Done, he wrote. Where do you live?
There was another pause, this time so long that he started worrying. Had he scared off the prospect? Maybe it was a woman leery of driving with a man she didn’t know. He couldn’t blame her. It was smart to be prudent. In this case, honesty was the best policy.
I’m a war vet with a bum knee so I can’t drive myself. My sister is about to make a big mistake, marrying a guy she barely knows, and I need to get to Key West before the wedding to talk some sense into her.
He held his breath. If honesty didn’t work, he was back to square one, and he was running out of time. He stroked a hand over his jaw, drummed his fingers on the desk.
Come on, come on, just say yes.
He thought of Shaina, of how young and dumb they’d been, blundering into marriage without any real knowledge of what it meant to commit to one person fully and completely. Then he thought of Jackie, knowing how easy it was to fool yourself into thinking you were in love when it was nothing more than lust. He could not let her make a mistake this big. He had to get to Key West no matter what he had to do.
His computer pinged and he returned his attention to the screen.
Boone?
He blinked at his name. Who was this?
Yes.
Small world. It’s me. Tara.
2
Tuesday, June 30, 1:00 p.m.
BOONE STOOD OFF to one side of Tara’s driveway clothed in an army-green T-shirt and camouflage cargo shorts, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, supervising the movers like a high school principal monitoring the hallways. His brow was knitted in a dark scowl, his right leg encased in a heavy metal brace.
“Hey, Toliver. You oughta get a patent,” Tara teased as she breezed past him, her arms loaded with boxes.
“Patent?” he growled. “For what?”
“That broody frown. James Dean and Marlon Brando combined got nothing on you.”
His glower deepened.
“Yup, watch out, you’re heading for Darth Vadar territory.”
“Darth Vadar wore a mask.”
“Exactly.”
His face relaxed. Just a bit. “Total mystery.”
“What is?” Tara loaded the boxes into the back of the U-Haul, turned and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the back of a hand.
“You.”
She smiled big, pleased.
Boone shook his shaggy head, two months past the point of needing a good haircut. But that was okay. Overgrown hair gave a stylist something to work with. She canted her head and imagined how he’d look in different cuts—slicked-back undercut, Brit-rock indie, men’s quiff. Who was she kidding? He’d probably spoil her fun and insist on a military buzz.
“It’s not a compliment,” he said.
“What are you so prickly about?” She dusted her hands against her back pockets.
“I hate this.” He hissed the last word through clenched teeth.
“What?” She studied him. He was in so much pain—both physical and mental—that it wrenched her heart. But she also knew he had no use for pity. How many times had he rebuffed her when she’d tried to help? Boone was one of those proud protector dudes who thought he was invincible. He hadn’t handled life’s curveball very well. Poor baby.
“Having to stand here and watch you carry boxes when I should be the one doing it.”
“Oh, so you’re responsible for the whole world? Good to know.”
“Not the whole world, just my slice of it.”
“Newsflash, Hercules. I’m not part of your world and I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own boxes.”
“If I were healthy you would not be carrying your own boxes.”
“If you were healthy, I wouldn’t be driving you to Miami. Besides, I’m not some helpless damsel. I know how to take care of myself.”
“You sure know how to wound a man, Duvall.”
“I’m not in the military. You can call me Tara.”
“Okay, then let the men I hired do the heavy lifting…Tara.”
The sarcastic way he muttered her name didn’t get to her. She knew he was a big softy underneath all the gruffness. She’d seen Boone tenderly cradle their neighbor’s new baby when Mrs. Winspree had brought her infant over to show him off. She’d seen him struggle not to shed a tear at his father’s funeral. Had watched him drive his friends away because he was too proud to admit he needed help. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she was the one person who kept him from disappearing into himself completely, even though he did his best to keep her at arm’s length. What would happen to him once she was gone? Probably turn into a hermit and holler at kids for walking across his lawn.
Tara smiled sweetly and gently bumped Boone with a playful hip as she walked past him on her way to the house for another load of boxes. It was her way of telling him everything was going to be okay, but she wasn’t prepared for the blast of pure heat that shot through her at the contact or the low, throaty masculine sound of alarm that he made in response.
Quickly she sprinted off, her heart bounding erratically. She was in such a rush that she ran headlong into one of the movers. Reflexively, the guy wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Slow down there, sweetcheeks.” The man possessed a chest like a brick wall, a Tom Selleck mustache and a red bandana wrapped around his bald dome. “Is there a fire someone didn’t tell me about?”
“We’re on a tight time schedule,” she said. “Have to get a move on.”
“Let me just check my magic watch.” He pretended to consult an imaginary wristwatch.
“What?”
“It’s telling me that you don’t have any panties on.”
“Yes I do,” she blurted, then belatedly realized it was some stupid pickup line. Duh, how could she be so gullible?
His grin widened and he made a big show of shaking his imaginary wristwatch and holding it up to his ear. “Damn, it must be ten minutes fast.”
Ha-ha. She got it. He was suggesting that in ten minutes he’d have her panties off.
“Dude.” Tara fake chuckled, rolled her eyes and pushed back against his embrace. She was about to tell him he needed a course in how and where to pick up women, but she never got a chance.
Boone was there, clamping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let go of her,” he said in a voice as ruthless as the sound of a .45 Magnum round being chambered.
Instantly, Bandana Head released her, stepped back and raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Chill, man. Just a little harmless flirting. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Get out!” Boone commanded and pointed toward the door, his expression deadly.
“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t know she was your woman. I swear.”
“She’s not my woman, but that still doesn’t give you the right to manhandle her.” Boone’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Boone was big, but the bald guy was bigger and Boone had a bum knee.
The guy puffed out his chest. “She ran into me.”
“Look, look.” Tara winnowed her way between the two men. To Boone she said, “I did run into him. It was my fault.” Then to the bald guy she said, “Dude, cheesiest pickup line ever and borderline offensive.”
“Borderline!” Boone snorted.
“Okay, it was offensive, but I’m sure…” She waved a hand. “What’s your name?”
“Rodney.”
“That Rodney meant nothing by it.”
“Didn’t mean a thing.” Rodney raked a lascivious glance over her body and Tara regretted her snug-fitting T-shirt. She’d worn it for Boone’s sake, knowing that it clung to her curves. She never thought twice about being too provocative for the moving men.
“Out.” Boone pointed toward the door. He plucked his wallet from his back pocket, peeled off two onehundred-dollar bills and a fifty and thrust them at the man.
“Hey, the deal was for five hundred dollars.”
“That was before you insulted Miss Duvall. You’ve only done half the job, that’s all I’m paying for.”
Rodney looked like he was going to protest, but then he shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’re gonna have fun loading up that van with your gimp leg.” He turned, hollered to his partner who was in the back room packing up Tara’s home office, “C’mon, Joe, we’re outta here.”
“Wow,” Tara said to Boone as the front door slammed behind Rodney and Joe. “That’s one of the best jobs of shooting yourself in the foot that I’ve seen in a long time.”
“What? I was supposed to stand by and just let him grope you?”
“He didn’t grope me.”
“He was inappropriate.”
“He was, but it’s not your place to defend me, Boone. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
He snorted, folding those steely arms over his chest, blocking her out.
“What’s that noise supposed to mean?”
“I’m not going there.” He limped over to the kitchen counter where boxes were stacked, half-filled with the dishes Rodney had been packing up.
Tara wasn’t going to let him get away with that. She scurried after him. “Where aren’t you going?”
He turned to face her. His dark eyes flashed a warning. “You can take care of yourself, huh?”
She squared her shoulders, drew herself up to her full five foot four. “Absolutely.”
“Your faucet leaks.”
“So what?”
“At the end of the month you’re chronically low on cash from helping out your free-loading friends and you’re forced to subsist on ramen noodles and food sample giveaways at the grocery store.”
Tara cringed. It was true. “Times are tough. I can’t turn my back on people in need.”
“Not even when you’re one of those people? I know that worthless boyfriend of yours cleaned out your savings before he left town.”
A sick feeling settled in her stomach. “How do you know that?”
A rueful expression softened his angular mouth. “Mrs. Levison likes to gossip.”
“It’s not really any of your business.”
“And yet you’re always trying to meddle in mine. Face it, Duvall, you’re too generous for your own good.”
She notched her chin up. “I consider generosity a positive trait to have.”
“Not at the expense of your own welfare. Do you know how hard it is to sit across the street watching you making the same mistakes over and over?”
“No. How hard is it?” she asked impishly, hoping to get him off her case by embarrassing him. Humor was her weapon of choice.
It worked. Boone’s face flushed. “Time’s wasting,” he mumbled.
“And you just made things worse by running off the movers.”
“Hell, if you hadn’t been so flirty, I wouldn’t have had to run them off.”
Oh no, he didn’t just say that! Outrage shoved a cold barb down her spine. Chuffing out her breath, she sank her hands on her hips. It took a lot to piss her off, but seriously? He was making this her fault? “Excuse me?”
“You know what your problem is, Duvall?” he asked.
“You mean, besides being too generous?” Her tone was as cold and brittle as a Montana winter.
“You have no boundaries.”
His criticism stung, but it wasn’t the first time she’d heard something similar. Well, fudge crackers. She was who she was and if he didn’t like her, he could kiss her derriere.
Her mind flashed to an image of Boone’s lips planted on her bare backside and she instantly grew hot all over. See? No boundaries. The man made a good point. Damn him.
“You dress too provocatively. No wonder the mover was eyeing you like chocolate candy. Your shorts are too darn short.”
Her head shot up and she caught Boone checking out her legs.
Holy ham sandwich! He was jealous!
Hmm. Tara suppressed a grin, touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “Sorry. I’m not going to wear a snowsuit just to suit you and I don’t appreciate you making me feel badly about myself.”
To his credit, Boone looked chagrined, but then he went and ruined it by saying, “I’m not responsible for how you feel. I’m just calling it like I see it.”
“Hey, you’re not my big brother.”
“Thank God.”
“Why do you say that? I’m a good sister. A great sister, in fact. I can play shortstop and I don’t scream when my brothers put bugs down the back of my shirt, and I have cute girlfriends for my brothers to date and I—”
“Because if you were my sister, I’d be arrested for the thoughts I’ve been having about you.”
“Oh.” She blinked. Grinned. “What kind of thoughts?”
“Illicit thoughts.”
Imagine that. She sidled closer. “Real-ly?”
Boone stepped back, shook his head. “Duvall, you have no boundaries.”
“I have five siblings,” she explained, not knowing why she bothered other than the supreme satisfaction of knowing that he wanted her. For months, she’d been trying to charm him, but he’d been immune. Or so she’d thought, but apparently he put up a good front. Yet here he was admitting he liked her when she was moving thousands of miles away. What lousy timing.
“Five? That’s quite a brood.”
“Three brothers, two sisters. When you grow up in a crowd, it’s a free-for-all. Try riding in the back of a minivan where you can’t move an elbow without smacking someone in the eye and you wouldn’t have any boundaries either.”
For the briefest moment, he smiled. “Hey, I was in the military. I can relate to cramped quarters.”
“So why do you have a problem with no boundaries?”
“Because it feels…” He trailed off.
“What?”
“Where are you in the birth order?” he asked, changing the subject.
She let it go, even though what he had not said whetted her curiosity. “Third youngest or fourth oldest, however you want to look at it.”
“Stuck in the middle, huh? That explains some things.”
Tara frowned. “Yeah, like what?”
“The outrageous clothes, the way you change your hair color every time the wind blows, the in-your-face cheerfulness. It’s all a bid to stand out from the pack.”
“Seriously? We’re doing this? Because if we’re pointing fingers, boy, do I have some stuff to unload on you.”
“I wasn’t pointing fingers. Merely making an observation.”
“Guess what? I have eyes. I’ve observed a few things about you, too.”
His eyes narrowed and darn if he didn’t looked amused. “Yeah? Let’s have it.”
She ticked off his faults on her fingers, one by one. “Testy. Controlling. Rigid. Hypervigilant. I’d take no boundaries any day over brooding stick-in-the-mud.”
“That’s the worst you can do?” He arched an eyebrow, made come-on-let’s-fight motions with his fingers.
“Oh,” she said, new understanding dawning. “I finally get it.”
“Get what?”
“You think you deserved to be punished. That’s why you resist my attempts to draw you out. Sorry to break it to you, but I’m not going to be the one to crack the bullwhip against your back.”
“Huh?” He made such a disgusted face that she knew she’d nailed him. Boone hadn’t forgiven himself for coming home. Survivor’s guilt. She didn’t know much about the details of his injury, only snippets of local gossip, but clearly Boone was still torturing himself over it. Her heart went out to him.
Being a hairstylist gave her a peek into the human psyche. People spilled more confidences to her than to their therapists. There was something about having your hands deep in someone’s hair that made them talky. An odd intimacy developed between a stylist and her clientele. A lack of conventional boundaries. It was one of the things she liked about her profession.
Boone’s dark-eyed stare seared her skin, making her feel as naked as the day she was born. Things normally rolled right off her back, but for one split second she was tempted to jump into her car and drive away in the half-loaded U-Haul.
“We better get to work,” she mumbled and reached for one of the boxes sitting on her kitchen table. “Without the movers this is going to take us twice as long.”
He didn’t say another word, just moved over to reach for a second box. In the process, his arm accidentally brushed against hers and a tingle of awareness shot straight to her groin. Instantly, her nipples tightened. Hello, soldier, pleased to see you.
Involuntarily, Tara sucked in her breath.
“What is it?” Boone asked. “Are you all right?”
“Just a catch in my back,” she lied and set the box down.
“Where?”
She splayed a palm over her lower back, inched away from him. “It’s all better. Gone already.”
“Sounds like a muscle spasm.” He came closer.
“I’m good.” She’d never been able to get away with the occasional white lie—which was why she rarely told one. Falsehoods invariably came back to bite her in the butt.
He kept coming toward her. The closer he got, the more Tara’s throat tightened. She would have kept backing up, but she was hemmed into the corner between the refrigerator and the stove.
“Let me see,” he said.
“No need,” she croaked.
He took her by the shoulders, slowly turned her around and didn’t she just let him like some silly, awestruck teenager meeting her rock idol. His hands were warm and heavy, stirring up the languid sensation that had settled deep in her core.
“Here?” He rested his palm against her spine, just above the waistband of her shorts.
She swallowed, barely able to nod. Why was she nodding? The next thing she knew he was gently rubbing his knuckles across her back. He didn’t say anything else, just kept slowly massaging her.
They stood like that for a while, not saying a word, Boone’s big hand touching her so tenderly it sucker-punched her. The refrigerator cycled on with a click and hum. She could feel his slow, steady breathing stir her hair at her temple and this moment…the two of them in her kitchen together for the first and last time, was both strange and wondrous. And tainted with remorse, because it was too late now to start something up. They could have had something special, she and Boone. She felt it in her bones. If only she could have gotten him to walk across the street, open up his heart, months ago.
“How’s that?” he asked, stepping back, leaving her both regretful and relieved.
“Fine, fine.”
He scowled. “You shouldn’t be lifting boxes.”
She shifted her gaze to his knee. “Yes, Pot, are you calling the Kettle out?”
“You’re right. I need to get some new movers in here ASAP.”
“Or you could just call Rodney and Joe back and apologize.”
He looked as if he’d rather have his leg squeezed in a vise. “Not a chance.”
She sympathized. “Tell you what. I have a lot of friends. Let me give them a call. There’s bound to be a few of them who wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”
He nodded with a quick jerk of his head. He had so much pride. This was really hard for him, letting others help him.
“Call ’em,” he said gruffly and limped toward the back door.
Tara blew out her breath and pulled her cell phone from her pocket to start making calls. If she and Boone kept butting heads the entire way to Miami, it was shaping up to be a very long trip.
OVER A DOZEN of Tara’s friends converged on the house. By the end of the afternoon, the U-Haul was packed and loaded, the house cleaned and empty of everything except the furniture that came with the rental. But now, everyone was sitting around drinking beer and eating the pizza that Tara had bought to thank them for their help. They were laughing and joking and lamenting about having to say goodbye. A few of her female friends even had tears in their eyes when they hugged her.
See, this was the problem with recruiting friends to help you move, Boone thought. You couldn’t just pack up, say thanks for the help and get the hell out of town. No, you had to sit around and make small talk and linger. It wasn’t worth the hassle.
Tara, however, was the life of her impromptu party. Teasing and smiling and telling everyone how much she appreciated their friendship. Promising to stay in touch via Facebook, Twitter and texts.
C’mon. All that social media stuff was crap. Nothing but a huge time suck. And honestly, those relationships were superficial at best. Why bother?
Yeah? These days, how many of your friends would show up to help you move?
Once upon a time, he’d had a handful of good friends he could count on, but these days? Boone licked his dry lips. Well, were they really friends? They’d abandoned him in tough times.
Or hey, maybe you were the one who pushed them away.
He caught Tara’s eye from across the room and tapped the face of his watch. She gave him a bright, empty smile, like she thought he was the most pathetic guy in Bozeman.
Someone said something to her. She threw back her head and laughed with a rich, deep sound that rattled him to his core. No wonder people surrounded her like they were honeybees and she was their queen.
His gaze tracked from Tara’s face down her long, slender throat to the cleavage revealed by the V-neck of her tie-dyed T-shirt. She had a cola in her hand. No beer for her, since she would be driving later tonight. His eyes dropped lower to take in those denim shorts sitting low on her curvy hips. The cuffed hem hit high on her thighs, showing off those pinup-quality legs.
He felt a stirring below his belt and swallowed hard. No, no. No way. She might be sexy as ten kinds of sin, but he was not even going to allow himself to fantasize about her. That was just inviting trouble. He had to be confined in a car with her for the next several days. He was not letting his libido off the chain. His focus was on getting to Key West to keep Jackie from making a huge mistake, and he was not going to let anything distract him.
Not even sexy Tara.
In fact, he was antsy as hell, hating that he had to wait for her to wind down this dumb party so they could get on the road. Plus, his leg was achy. He needed to get up and move around. He hoisted himself from the chair and limped toward the door.
The summer sun hung on the horizon. The evening breeze was cool against his face. Perfect. Just what he needed to snap him out of red-hot thoughts about Tara. He wasn’t the kind of guy who went in for temporary flings, and of course that’s all it could be between them. Not just because she was moving away, but because they had as much in common as a brightly colored helium balloon and a brick wall.
You’re the brick wall.
That hadn’t been a bad thing back in high school when he’d played linebacker. Or in the army where physical strength was a man’s biggest asset. But now? The qualities he’d cultivated—staunchness, dependability, strength—were either lost to him or passé. What was a soldier without an enemy to vanquish?
“You’re doing it again,” a light voice murmured behind him.
Too close behind him. He could feel her body heat. Tara again. Violating boundaries. Hadn’t she ever heard of personal space?
He stepped away from her and in his haste, almost lost his balance. If she hadn’t reached out a hand to stabilize him, he would have taken a tumble off her porch. Damn knee. Damn heavy brace.
“Doing what?” he grumbled, wrenching his arm away. He caught a glimpse of her face in the shadows. For a split second she looked hurt, but quickly pasted a smile on her face.
You’re a moron, Toliver.
“Brooding,” she said.
“I’m not brooding. I just needed some air.”
“Come back inside and have some pizza and beer,” she invited, her voice soft and understanding.
She was so nice. Too damn nice. And ultimately, that was the real reason he would never ever sleep with her. He couldn’t taint her happy little world. That’s why he was gruff with her.
Well, she’s moving now, all you have to do is get through the next few days and she’ll be out of your life forever.
Why did that thought make his gut burn? He was glad she was going. No more having to make idle conversation with her. No more having to respond to her cheery conversations. No more Tara cluttering up his thoughts.
“We need to get on the road.” He hitched his thumbs through his belt loops.
“Right.” Her smile was wan. “You have a wedding to bust up.”
“Jackie’s making a big mistake.”
“Because you know her so well.” She was taunting him now, in that wide-eyed, “who, me?” way she had about her—all innocent, yet sly.
“She’s my sister.”
“And a grown woman.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t try to protect her?”
“I’m saying that I understand how overprotective big brothers can be and how they can ruin a woman’s love life when they stick their noses in where they don’t belong. Why do you think I moved to Montana?”
“I thought you came up here after a cowboy.”
“Yes, and my brothers hated him.”
“From the way things turned out, seems like your brothers had a point.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Just because things didn’t work out between me and Chet doesn’t mean my brothers had the right to meddle in my business. The mistake was mine to make.”
“And yet, you’re running back home.”
Her eyes flashed sparks. He’d upset her. He was good at that. Quite an accomplishment, since she was usually so easygoing.
“Because my mother is ill.” She took a step toward him.
The smell of her—both sweet and sensual—tangled up in his nose. His body hardened instantly. He clenched his jaw to fight off the erection and prayed she would not look down.
“Is that the only reason?”
“I miss Florida. Nothing wrong with that.”
“And your brothers. You miss them, too.”
“I do,” she admitted.
“I’m just saying, they probably have your best interests at heart. More so than some cowboy named Chet.”
“I’ll get rid of my friends,” she said in a low voice that left him hungry and aroused.
His gaze hooked on her mouth. What beautiful, full lips, strawberry-pink and glistening with shiny gloss. “Thanks,” he managed.
She touched him lightly, the bare brushing of her fingertips over his forearm, but it was enough to ignite his desire. He suppressed a groan.
“We’ll be on the road within the hour.” Tara turned and went back into the house.
Leaving Boone wondering how he was going to survive the next few days alone in a car with this tantalizing bombshell he wanted absolutely no part of.
3
Tuesday, June 30, 11:50 p.m.
FOR THE PAST three hours, they’d been driving east down lonely Highway 90. The barren landscape made Tara happy that she wasn’t traveling this route alone. Montana was pretty, but in the dark, it stretched out long and lonesome.
Funny, she’d never noticed how empty the state was when she’d made the drive up from Florida fourteen months ago following Chet, more for fun and adventure than true love. Her friends raved about falling in love, finding that special someone, but Tara had never been that lucky. She’d liked lots of guys, sure, and had plenty of friends, but she’d never had that special connection with a guy.
Sometimes, she wondered if there was something wrong with her, some secret inability to experience love the way others did. Her mother told her it was simply because she just hadn’t met the right man yet. The guy who would make her happy to give up her independence and settle down.
Tara sneaked a glance over at Boone and her heart did this strange little tightening thing. She was grateful for Boone’s company, even though he was trying mighty hard to pretend he was asleep.
The plan he’d given her—the control freak—detailed driving to Billings tonight, catching a few hours of sleep in a truck-stop motel and then hitting the road again at dawn. He’d programmed all their stops into his GPS and given her an estimated time frame for how long each stop should take. He’d made no allowances for detours. He was methodical and prepared. It drove Tara bonkers. How in the world could you truly experience life if you never strayed from the beaten path? If all your time was carefully plotted, where did spontaneity come in?
Boone had the passenger seat pushed back as far as it would go and he wore a Minnesota Twins baseball cap pulled down over his face. His breathing was slow and steady, but he had his arms crossed over his chest. Her gaze drifted down to his right leg encased in the metal brace. He had to be hurting from the day’s efforts, but she hadn’t seen him take a pain pill. He’d even refused the beer she’d offered him at her impromptu goodbye party.
Leaving Bozeman was more difficult than she’d thought it was going to be and it was all because of the man sitting beside her. She was excited about seeing her family again and happy that she wouldn’t be spending another winter in Montana, but for all his gruffness, she was really going to miss Boone.
Her cell phone rang. Who was calling her this late at night? She couldn’t see the caller ID in the dark, so she just answered it through the hands-free device that broadcast the conversation throughout the car. She tried to whisper so as not to disturb Boone. “Hello?”
“Tara? I can’t hear you,” said her older sister, Kate.
“I’m here.” She raised her voice and cast a glance over at Boone to see if she was bothering him.
“Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?”
“I’m at the hospital with Mom. She came through the surgery with flying colors and most likely she’ll be released tomorrow.”
Tara breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I regret that I couldn’t be there for the surgery.”
“It’s okay,” Kate said. “You’re coming home now.”
“I’m sorry this is all falling on your shoulders.”
“It’s not. Everyone is pitching in. Joe and Matt are staying at the house with Dad. Erin and Dave are flying in tomorrow.”
“I’m still several days away.”
“No worries. You’ll be home to help drive her to chemo treatments once she recovers from the surgery. Really, the doctors say she’s got an excellent chance for a complete recovery.”
“Still, it’s scary to think of losing her.”
“I know,” Kate said softly. “She’s really happy you’re moving back home for good. We’ve all missed you.”
Guilt nibbled at Tara. Her mother had been her biggest cheerleader, always urging her to follow her dreams and her heart, but she couldn’t help feeling selfish that in her wanderlust, she’d left her family behind. While she loved adventure, Tara was a traditionalist at heart. Family meant a lot to her. It was time she went home.
“I’ll call in the morning,” Tara said.
“You be careful on the drive. Don’t rush. We’ve got everything covered here.”
More guilt. “’Night, Kate.”
“Good night, Tara.”
She cut off the call and peeped over at Boone again. Had he heard her conversation? The guilt turned into another feeling she couldn’t quite identity, a cross between regret and wistfulness. He hadn’t moved a muscle.
The car’s headlights cut a swath through the darkness, the single illumination on the silent highway. A shiver of loneliness passed through her and, for a second, she felt as if she were completely alone on the surface of the moon.
Up ahead, she could see the lights of Billings, and an impish part of her wanted to drive on through without stopping. Throw off his best-laid plans; prove to him there was nothing wrong with a little impulsiveness. She would have done it, too, except she had no idea how far away the next town was.
“Take the next exit,” Boone said.
Tara startled. “You’re not even looking at the road. How do you know the exit to Billings is coming up next?”
“I have an acute sense of time. At the speed you’re driving, we should be coming up to Billings.”
She shifted her gaze to the clock in the dash. He was right on the money. “Dude, that’s a freaky skill.”
He shrugged, didn’t bother to lift the cap off his face. There’d be no making end runs around this guy.
“Is the whole trip going to be like this?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“I’m only asking because if you’re going to be quiet as a corpse the whole way, I want to dig out my earphones before we hit the road in the morning so I can listen to some tunes.”
“You’re not supposed to wear earbuds while you’re driving.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s only common courtesy to have a conversation with the person who’s driving you to Miami. I mean it’s miles and miles of driving. If you can’t at least talk to me, then you’re forcing me to break the law.”
“You don’t have to wear earbuds. You can play whatever you want on the radio.”
“So, in other words, you’re not going to talk to me.”
He heaved a sigh, swept the cap from his face and sat up in the seat. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing now. We’re almost to the truck stop.” She sailed up the exit ramp.
“Why don’t you talk,” he said. “Tell me something about yourself. Your hopes, your dreams, your secrets.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to talk.”
“You’re impossible.” Peeved, Tara reached over and clicked on the radio. The Black Keys were singing “Howlin’ for You.” She turned up the volume. Loud.
Boone winced.
“Too loud?” She smiled sweetly.
“No.” He settled a hand on his knee.
“Is your knee hurting?” Contrite, she turned down the music.
“I don’t need your pity. Crank the damn music.” He reached over and turned the volume back up again.
“You’re a real sorehead, you know that?”
“I wasn’t always,” he mumbled.
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She turned down the music. “What did you say?”
Silence settled over the car.
“I know you’re a wounded warrior and all that, but this dark and broody stuff isn’t working for me. Get some sleep tonight, but then tomorrow, I expect a complete attitude adjustment.”
One eyebrow shot up high on his forehead. “Oh, you do?”
“I do.” She pulled to a stop outside the bed-and-bath motel connected to the truck stop.
“You think it’s that easy to just turn your mood around?”
“Fake it till you make it, baby.” Okay, maybe she was being glib, but there was only so much gloom and doom she could handle and she’d noticed whenever she issued a challenge, he got feisty. “You know what I think?”
“How can anyone know what you think? Your mind jumps around like a spider monkey.” The blinking lights of the motel sign flashed across his face in green neon.
Vacancy.
“I think that maybe deep down, underneath the pain and grief and pissiness, you’re just plain bored.”
“Bored, huh?”
“Yep. You’re accustomed to lots of action and you’re not getting any.”
“Is that supposed to be a double entendre?” He lowered his eyelids, gave her a sultry look that sizzled her shorts.
Tara gulped, ignored that and trudged ahead. “From here on in, I want to see smiles, smiles, smiles.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll drive off and leave you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Just try me.”
He reached over and plucked the keys out of the ignition.
“Hey!”
“I’ll give them back to you in the morning.”
“You’re a pain in the butt,” she said. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
“All the time,” he said. Then, for the first time that day, he gave her a genuine smile. “All the damn time.”
EVEN IF BOONE didn’t want to admit it, Tara was right. He was a pain in the butt, he was bored and he hadn’t had any action in a very long time.
That included sex.
He lay on the narrow motel bed and stared up at the ceiling. He could hear the chuff of Jake brakes as eighteen-wheelers rolled in off the highway. He tried to sleep, but Tara crowded and clouded his mind. He had underestimated exactly how tough this was going to be—sitting beside her in the car, hour after hour, smelling her feminine scent, taking in the bare stretch of skin from the hem of her shorts to her sandals, hearing the sweet sound of her voice. It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. Now, he fully realized why he’d kept her at arm’s length all these months.
She was in the room next door. The walls were thin and when she’d taken her shower, he heard the water come on.
Instantly, he pictured her in those shorts that crept high on her thighs when she sat down. She had million-dollar legs and he imagined her sliding them over his. Her features were etched on the back of his eyelids and it was as real as if she were standing right in front of him—from the gentle arch of her sandy eyebrows to her determined little chin beneath those wide, luscious lips. Her face was shaped like a soft heart, wider across the forehead, smaller at her jawline. Her nose was short with a delicate tip.
He might want to deny it, but she was cuter than a basketful of puppies. Boone hated cute. Nothing could trip a guy up faster than cute.
An unwelcome stiffness gripped him.
Dammit. He did not want her starring in his X-rated fantasies, but his body had other ideas, his brain teasing his appendage with provocative images of her. Stepping out of the shower, naked, wet and slippery.
She turned him inside out and she wasn’t even in the same room.
“Stop thinking about her,” he commanded himself, but it was like telling a dieter to stay away from chocolate cake.
Goose bumps spread over him at the thought of what it would feel like to take her into his arms with those spectacular breasts pressed against his chest. Inhale the scent of her hair. Taste the sweetness of her lips.
His erection tightened, throbbed.
Ah, hell.
He flopped ungracefully over onto his side, dragging his injured knee after him and stared at the digital clock on the bedside table. Two in the morning. He was never going to get any sleep at this rate.
His shaft ached. He pulled in a deep breath.
Just do it and get it over with so you can get a few hours of sleep.
He didn’t want to give in. His body had betrayed him enough, but if he didn’t do something about this erection soon, he’d lie awake until dawn.
Once upon a time, he’d had an iron will, but these days? No such luck.
The persistent throbbing won out. Blowing out his breath, Boone reached down a hand, and with visions of Tara parading through his head, proceeded to take care of his problem in the most expedient way possible.
SUNLIGHT PUSHING through the dusty window jerked Boone awake sometime later. He sat up abruptly and immediately regretted it when his knee twinged. He gritted his teeth, shoved a hand through his hair. What in the hell time was it? His plan had been to get on the road at dawn. What he’d done last night had worked, but he’d slept far longer than he intended.
A glance over at the clock told him it was seventhirty—a good hour and a half later than he’d planned. He’d no sooner gotten dressed and put on his knee brace than a knock sounded at his door. He opened it to find Tara standing there wearing a short red sundress and matching red sandals that showed off the sexiest toes this side of Montana.
“Good morning,” she chirped.
“Why did you let me sleep so long?” he groused. “I told you we needed to be on the road by six.”
“Relax. We’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to be in Key West until Saturday.”
“It’s already Wednesday and I don’t like cutting things close.”
“C’mon.” She beckoned with a wriggly finger. “Let’s go have breakfast.”
“No. Let’s get on the road. We can hit a drive-through on the way out of town.”
But she was already swishing away from him, headed across the parking lot toward the truck-stop diner, her oversized purse slung over her shoulder.
He swore under his breath, picked up his knapsack and limped after her as fast as he could. “Tara,” he hollered. “We don’t have time for this.”
Stepping lightly, she turned and, still walking toward the diner, grinned at him. “You’ll feel better after a hearty breakfast.”
“I’ll feel better when we’re on the road.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Watch where you’re walking.”
“I’m—” Her retort was cut off by an eighteen-wheeler bread truck as it whizzed away from massive gas pumps at the back of the diner. The truck came barreling straight for Tara.
Adrenaline shot through Boone. His natural instinct was to run toward her, throw himself between her and the truck, but given the shape his knee was in, he simply could not move that fast. “Stop!” he commanded and then took half a dozen deities’ names in vain.
Tara froze, her face gone deathly pale.
The driver of the eighteen-wheeler blasted his horn, coming within inches of Tara as he rocketed from the parking lot.
Boone’s stomach had vaulted into his throat.
She jumped then, leaping into a hedge of bushes surrounding the diner. Boone moved as fast as he could, heart hammering. He’d intended to give her a good long lecture, but when he reached her, she was trembling all over.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
She nodded mutely. Her legs wobbled beneath her.
He reached out and took her into his arms.
“You were right,” she said. “We should have gotten on the road. If we’d been on the road ahead of that stupid truck, I wouldn’t have been acting like a dummy.”
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe,” he reassured her, but she was a leaf in his arms, shaking uncontrollably.
“That was almost the end of me. Why don’t I ever think?”
“You were just caught up in the moment, enjoying the morning. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“It could have been my last breath.” She leaned heavily against him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been walking backward,” he conceded. “But that guy shouldn’t have come cannonballing around the building knowing that people come walking through the parking lot from the motel to the diner.”
“You’re letting me off the hook?” She seemed surprised.
“I think you’re shaken up enough without me making any more comments. Let’s get some breakfast,” he murmured in her ear, surprised by the tender feeling of relief that had evaporated all his anger. She was okay. That’s all that mattered.
“No, we should get on the road.”
“You’re in no shape to drive. You need to sit down a bit. Get some color back into those cheeks.”
“Okay,” she agreed in a weak voice.
Boone let his hand drop to her waist, pressed his palm to the small of her back and escorted her toward the door. He had the strangest urge to grin.
They found a booth near the front door. Tara plunked down. It took Boone a minute to get seated across from her. He dropped his knapsack to the floor and stretched his right leg out across it.
Tara exhaled audibly.
He reached across the table to touch her hand. “You sure you’re okay?”
Her smile was wan. She pushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “I’m getting there.”
The waitress came over. Boone ordered oatmeal and toast. Tara ordered the Slam Bang special. He eyed her speculatively. Where did she plan on putting all that food?
“What?” she asked as she handed the waitress her menu.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I have a high metabolism. I can eat like a horse and not gain weight.”
“Good for you.”
She took a sip of the orange juice the server brought her but didn’t meet his gaze. The steam from Boone’s coffee curled up between them. She fiddled with the wrapper from her straw, rolling the paper around her index finger, then unfurling it again.
“So,” she said. “How do you plan to get back home after you ruin your sister’s wedding?”
Boone blinked at her. For all his planning out the route and time scheduled, it had never once crossed his mind how he was going to get back to Montana. He’d been so single-minded about reaching Key West in time to stop Jackie from making a big mistake that he’d forgotten the return trip home.
“I’ll figure something out,” he said.
“Wow, something the great planner hasn’t thought out? I’m shocked.”
“Yeah, well, I was preoccupied.”
“Sticking your nose in your sister’s business.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No?” She planted her elbows on the table, rested her chin into her upturned palms. “What’s it like?”
“This is the first time Jackie has ever been in love. She doesn’t understand that she can’t trust those feelings.”
“Why not?”
“They’re not based on anything solid.” He studied her mouth. “It’s just lust. Not the real thing. You should know that.”
“What does that mean?”
“Guys fall all over you.”
“So?” She narrowed her eyes. “You think I’ve been in love gobs of times?”
“Haven’t you?”
“Just because I’m lively and like people doesn’t mean I go falling in love willy-nilly.”
That was precisely what he’d thought of her. Her house was always filled with people. She dated a lot. It was a natural assumption.
“How many times have you been in love?” he asked, not knowing why he was pursuing this topic. It was none of his damned business.
She studied him for a long moment, her winsome blue eyes drilling into his until he started feeling downright antsy. “How many times have you been in love?”
Boone drummed his fingers on the Formica tabletop. “I asked you first.”
She dropped her hands into her lap, notched up her chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”
“Not even with Chet?”
“Oh, heck no. He was good in bed and lots of fun and I was ready for an adventure. I was going through a cowboy phase, which was why I moved up here with him.”
Jealousy shot through Boone, crisp and concise. The last thing he wanted to think about was Tara in bed with that cowboy. He wondered if she’d ever gone through a soldier phase, and then mentally kicked himself for wondering it.
“So you weren’t crushed when he left?”
“Only because I had to pay the rent all on my own.”
Boone shook his head.
“What?” A smile played at her lips.
“I envy you.”
“For what?”
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Lori Wilde
How do you spell disaster? For former army captain Boone Toliver, it's his sister's wedding to a man she hardly knows, and he'll die before he lets that happen. Boone has five days to get from Montana to Florida with an injured leg.And his only option is hitching a ride with his free-spirited neighbor, hairstylist Tara Duvall–whose body makes his mouth water and his libido burn.With each passing mile, the magnetic pull between them grows stronger, and Boone's trademark control is slipping away. But when his sex drive takes the wheel, will he be able to stop the wedding in time?
The night breeze blew coolly against his heated skin.
And for a long while, Boone and Tara just stood there, frozen in time. The make-or-break moment. Would he be strong enough to stop this and walk away before he did something he would regret?
He’d been resisting Tara’s allure for weeks, heck, months even. Trying to convince himself that getting together with her would be a bad thing.
His body didn’t care about reasons or excuses. It was too late for either, his brain issuing a primal message he was helpless to resist or deny.
His arms tightened around her.
She went up on tiptoes and leaned into him.
Turn back. Turn back. It’s still not too late. Just let her go. Move away.
But darn his Montana hide, he did not let her go. He did not turn away. He did not walk off. Instead Boone did what he’d been struggling hard not to do…
He kissed her.
Dear Reader,
What could be more fun than a road trip?
That is the question that led me to the premise of my new series, STOP THE WEDDING! Since it’s a three-book series, I thought why not have three different kinds of road trips? One by land, one by sea, one by air. All with the same objective: to stop a wedding. And the wedding they’re trying to stop is the marriage of Jackie Birchard and Coast Guard Lieutenant Scott Everly from Born Ready.
So to answer the question in Night Driving, what could be more fun than a road trip? Why, take one drop-dead handsome, broody former Green Beret in desperate need of love in his life. Add in one good-hearted dizzy hairdresser on a move from Bozeman, Montana, to Miami, Florida. Mix well and you have chemistry that lights up the night sky.
I hope you enjoy Night Driving, and that you’ll be on the lookout next month for Smooth Sailing, the second book in the STOP THE WEDDING! series. If you’re on Pinterest, drop by my Night Driving board to see the collage I made of Boone and Tara’s trip at: pinterest.com/loriwilde/night-driving/.
Until then, happy reading!
Lori Wilde
About the Author
LORI WILDE is a New York Times bestselling author and has written more than forty books. She’s been nominated for a RITA
Award and four RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ CHOICE Awards. Her books have been excerpted in Cosmopolitan, Redbook and Quick & Simple. Lori teaches writing online through Ed2go. She’s also an RN trained in forensics and she volunteers at a women’s shelter. Visit her website at www.loriwilde.com.
Night Driving
Lori Wilde
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To all the servicemen and women
who give their lives to their country.
1
Monday, June 29, 5:25 p.m.
FEELING LIKE Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, ex-Army Captain Boone Toliver stared glumly out at the treelined neighborhood as he sat on his front porch in Bozeman, Montana.
His right knee, fresh from a third surgery and wrapped in a stabilizing brace, lay propped up on a hassock. On the small table beside him sat a cell phone, a can of beer and a bottle of pain pills. He was trying to see if the beer would take the edge off his misery before surrendering to the medication. Although he knew well enough he wasn’t supposed to mix the two, he was a big guy in a world of hurt. Not all of it physical.
Third time’s a charm, the orthopedic surgeon had said.
It better damn well be. If not, he would never fully gain back the mobile life that a bomb in Afghanistan had stolen from him. For now, he had to hire someone to do everything—grocery shopping, housecleaning, chauffeuring him to doctor’s appointments.
Not that money was an issue. Along with this house, his father had left him over a million dollars. Boone had invested wisely; he was set for life, even if he never worked again. Although he’d much rather still have his dad around than any amount of money.
Plus, he was not an idle guy. He was at the end of his tether with this invalid malarkey. He had read books until his vision blurred, played video games until his thumbs ached and watched movies until his brain complained. All of his friends were military, and now that he was out of the service and injured to boot, their visits had become less and less frequent. He was no longer one of them.
Boone was bored, bummed out and bitter.
Not an attractive combo. He realized that, but he couldn’t seem to snap himself out of the doldrums. This surgery was his last chance to reclaim what he’d lost. This time he was determined to follow doctor’s orders to a T. Which meant sitting here twiddling his thumbs and watching the world pass him by.
Awfully hard for a man who’d spent a big chunk of his adult life at war.
He picked at the Velcro strap on his knee brace, pulling it off, then pressing it back down, then pulling it off again just to hear the crinkly, ripping noise it made as the two pieces separated. The sound underscored the monotony of his life.
A few houses over a couple of kids shot hoops in their driveway. The steady strumming of the basketball against cement made him nostalgic. Once upon a time, he’d been one helluva basketball player, but those days were long gone. The scent of supper hung in the air as the summer sun headed west. Idly, he thought about getting up and sticking a frozen dinner in the microwave, but he couldn’t seem to drum up enough enthusiasm for even that task.
He took a swallow of beer and tried not to think about the throbbing in his knee.
An older model Honda Accord crawled down the block and then pulled into the driveway of the ranch-style bungalow across the street. His ditzy neighbor, Tara Duvall, got out of the Accord. Quickly, Boone picked up his cell phone and pretended to be deep in conversation, but his ruse didn’t thwart Tara.
She raised her hand in greeting, gave him that radiant smile she was constantly flashing. Hell, he needed sunglasses and a bulletproof vest against her obnoxious cheerfulness.
“Hey, Boone.” She wore a skimpy little halter top and cutoff blue jeans that hit her midthigh.
He tried not to notice just how tanned and supple those long, lean legs were. Or how, when she moved, that halter top with a handkerchief hem fluttered up enough to give him a glimpse of her gold navel ring. Her abdomen was taut and flat, her skin flawless. His mouth went dry and he felt an unwanted stirring below his belt. Annoying she might be, but the woman possessed a killer body.
Block the urges, Toliver. Sure, she’s sexy, but she’s not worth the aggravation.
She toddled across the street toward him in wedge sandals that were far too high for her petite build, but somehow she managed to walk in them with startling grace.
Frick. She was coming over.
Frowning, he held up the phone for her to see and waved her away, then stuck the phone back to his ear. “Yes, uh-huh.” He feigned conversation.
Tara was one of those breezy, gabby women who could talk the hind leg off a mule. The last thing he wanted was to hear one of her upbeat, riotous stories about what had gone on at the hair salon where she worked. She was funny, impulsive, lively and reminded him far too much of his ex-wife. Spontaneous gals were nothing but trouble. Still, his body responded at her approach and he resented the heck out of her because of it.
She tiptoed up on the porch, an index finger laid over her lips.
“You don’t say,” Boone spoke into the phone.
She hitched her butt up on the porch railing, legs dangling off, blues eyes dancing with mischief.
Go away. He was not in the mood for Pollyanna.
“Yes, yes.” He nodded as if someone on the other end of his fictitious conversation had just said something he could really support.
Tara’s gaze skated over his injured knee. She pursed her lips in a pity pout, but then took in the beer and the bottle of pain pills. Her sympathy disappeared—thankfully—into a concerned scowl. She made a shame-on-you gesture, scraping one forefinger crossways over the other.
Buzz off, brat.
“Hang on a minute,” Boone said to his imaginary caller. He put his palm over the phone, met Tara’s eyes. “This conversation is going to go on for a while.”
“I don’t mind waiting.”
What the hell did she want? “I mind.”
“Private conversation?”
“Yeah.”
Her lips were glossy cotton-candy-pink and her hair was four or five different shades of blond. Streaked in that chunky way that was popular these days. A modest dolphin tattoo graced her left shoulder and numerous earrings lay nestled in each ear. Her toenails were painted an alarming shade of aqua, and on the second toe of her right foot a gold toe ring spelled out LOVE.
“I’ll go water your shrubs while you’re talking,” she said. “They look thirsty.”
“No, no.” He didn’t want her doing him any favors. “Leave it be.”
“Okay.” She held up her palms. “Didn’t mean to tread on your pride.”
Glowering, he pressed the cell to his ear again. “I’m back,” he said, feeling stupid for having gotten trapped into a fake phone call.
Well, if you could try just talking to her.
Except that never worked. Give her an inch and she took a mile. If he struck up a conversation, she’d plunk down on the porch beside him for hours as if they were friends or something.
That’s when the phone rang for real.
Tara’s lips formed a humorous O and her eye twinkled. “Oh, dude, you’re so busted.” She did the finger-shaming gesture again. “You were trying to avoid talking to me.”
“Yes, and I really am on the phone now,” he snapped and pressed the talk button without bothering to look at the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Boone?”
“Jackie? Hold on a second.” He covered the receiver again. “It’s my sister. Could we have this conversation later?”
“You have a sister?”
“Half sister.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” Thank goodness for that.
“You never talk about her.”
“I never talk about her to you.”
“Touché,” she murmured, but she looked slightly wounded.
He forced a smile past his injured-war-veteran grouchiness. “Right now I just want to talk to her, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “I only came by to tell you that I’m moving away.”
Yay! No more nosy neighbor butting into his business, throwing noisy late-night parties, no more bringing over casseroles and lecturing him on proper recycling techniques. But even as he thought it, Boone felt something else entirely. A strange, soft sadness. It was the same kind of melancholy that used to come over him every Sunday afternoon when he was a kid, knowing that the weekend was over, and he had to go back to school the next day.
Part of him almost told her to wait, but he managed to squelch the impulse. “See ya.”
“See ya,” she echoed and hopped from the railing.
He watched her lope across his lawn, her fanny swaying in those snug-fitting shorts. Mesmerized, his gaze locked helplessly on Tara’s delectable butt.
“Boone? You still there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He hitched in a deep breath and turned his full attention to Jackie. “Hey, sis. Long time no hear.”
“I’ve been really busy,” she said, sounding oddly giddy. Normally his sister was intense and serious. Her father was the famed oceanographer Jack Birchard. Jackie had followed in his footsteps and she was working on her PhD.
Boone realized it had been over four months since he’d spoken to her and he hadn’t told her about the third surgery. He hadn’t wanted her to worry. They hadn’t grown up together and they had really only gotten in touch with each other as teenagers when they’d bonded over the fact that their flighty mother had abandoned them both to their respective fathers. But Jackie was as resilient as Boone. They’d survived and thrived.
That is, he’d thrived until the damn bomb blast.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I’m getting married!” Jackie announced.
“Married?” he echoed, stunned. “To who?”
“You don’t know him. His name is Scott Everly and he’s a lieutenant in the Coast Guard.”
“Jackie, seriously? A coastie?”
“What’s wrong with a coastie?”
Boone wasn’t going to get into the fact that he didn’t consider Coast Guard real military. “I can’t see you as a military wife. In fact, I can’t see you as a wife at all.”
“What does that mean?” All the joy escaped from his sister’s voice.
Don’t be a jerk, Toliver. Apologize. “Your career means so much to you.”
“Yes, what’s that got to do with anything? Are you saying that I can’t have a meaningful career and be married at the same time?”
“How are you going to do research if you’re following him around from post to post?”
“He’s stationed in DC. Any promotions will just take him further up that chain. Besides, Scott is fully supportive of my career. He understands that there may be times when we’ll have to be separated.”
“How long have you known him?” Boone asked, feeling protective. She was his baby sister. He hated the thought of her making the same marital mistake he’d made. No matter how you sliced it, divorce hurt. He’d do whatever he could to save her from that heartache.
She didn’t answer him.
“How long have you known him?” Boone repeated.
“You’re being a jerk.”
“You’re not answering the question.”
“A little over a month,” she finally admitted.
“What!”
“Don’t go ballistic. I know what I’m doing. Scott is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s smart and kind and he loves the ocean as much as I do and—”
“Are you insane? Didn’t you learn anything from my experience with Shaina—”
“I’m not you, Boone,” she snapped. “And Scott isn’t Shaina. This is real love, not some hot, horny, drunken Vegas hook-up on the eve of your enlistment—”
“Listen to yourself. Real love? You’ve only been dating the guy a month. He could be a serial killer for all you know.” Boone clenched a fist, quelled the urge to jump up and start pacing.
“Six weeks. I’ve known him six weeks.”
“Oh yeah, my mistake. Two weeks makes all the difference. Why didn’t you say so?”
“I thought you’d be happy for me. I finally found someone who means as much to me as the ocean.”
“You know exactly who you’re acting like, don’t you?”
“Don’t say it,” Jackie growled.
“Miranda.”
“I am nothing like our mother.”
He knew he’d struck a chord but for some unfathomable reason he just kept pushing. “Miranda married my dad after only knowing him for two months. How long did she date Jack before she plunged into that relationship? Six weeks, wasn’t it?”
“I cannot believe you’re reacting this way.”
Boone couldn’t believe it either. What was the matter with him? His knee hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but that was no excuse. He could hear tears in her voice and that alarmed him. Jackie was a tough cookie. She didn’t cry easily.
You, Toliver, are the world’s biggest loser.
“I’m sorry.” He backed down. “You took me by surprise. Just tell me you’re going to have a nice, long engagement to make sure this guy is really the one.”
“We’re getting married in Key West on Saturday on the Fourth of July.”
“This Saturday? Are you out of your mind?”
“If you can be happy for me, then you’re welcome to attend the wedding. It’s at four o’clock on the Sea Anemone at Wharf 16,” she said, referring to Jack Birchard’s research vessel. “If not, then stay in Montana and stew in your own self-pity.”
“Jackie, I—”
She hung up on him.
Boone swore under his breath and immediately called her back. She didn’t pick up, letting the call go to voice mail. He tried three more times. She still did not answer.
A raw ache gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Disgusted with himself, he slung the cell phone across the yard.
Smart. Real smart. Now you gotta go get it.
Guilt was a rock on his shoulders. He pushed up from the chair, winced against the bolt of pain that shot up his leg. He stared at the steps, swallowed hard. Going down them would take forever. He blew out his breath.
And suddenly there was Tara.
Relief washed over him and he instantly hated the feeling. He didn’t need to be rescued.
She bent down to pick up his phone, then raised her head, concern in her eyes. “Did you have a fight with your sister?” She mounted the steps to hand him the phone.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly.
“You’re welcome.” She paused.
He said nothing.
“I guess you don’t want to talk about it?”
“I don’t.”
She nodded, sank her hands on her hips. “Okay. If you want to talk, though, I’m here. At least, for another week.”
“So,” he said, searching for something to say. “You’re moving.”
“Uh-huh. Going back home. My mom’s sick.”
“I hate to hear that.”
“Breast cancer, but they caught it early. She’s gotta have chemo and radiation, but she’s going to be okay. It’s just that, well, when something like this happens, you start thinking about what’s really important in life and there’s nothing more important than family, so I’m moving back.”
Boone almost said, “I’ll miss you.” But he bit down on his tongue to keep from uttering the words. He didn’t even know why he’d thought of it. She mainly drove him crazy with her good-natured prying. “Thanks for getting my phone for me. That was nice of you.”
“You’re welcome. I can tell you’ve been having a tough time of it.” Her gaze drifted to his knee brace. “You’re not nearly as gruff as you want everyone to think.”
Jackie would disagree.
“I know you’re the one who shoveled Mrs. Levison’s driveway last winter.” She nodded at the house of the elderly widow next door. “And that you got up at dawn to do it so she wouldn’t catch you and try to pay you.”
“Who, me?” He shrugged. “With this leg?”
“Probably one of the reasons you had to have a third surgery. You can’t stay still.”
Boone winced. She was right. “You’re too darn nosy for my own good.”
Their gazes met.
She raised a hand. “I have to go start packing.”
“Have a safe trip.”
“I’ll come say goodbye before I leave.”
“Okay,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.
A small furrow creased her brow. “Are you all right?”
“Never better.”
“You’re such a liar.”
An involuntary smile twitched his lip. “I know.”
She tilted her head, studied him like he was a sad case. “Take care of yourself, Toliver.”
“Same to you, Duvall.” He wished she’d go. Boone didn’t want her watching him limp inside.
He waited until she’d disappeared before he crushed the empty beer can, scooped the bottle of pills off the table and dragged himself into his living room. He dry-swallowed one of the pills and grimaced. He was too antsy to sit, in too much pain to stand and too worried about Jackie to do anything else. He tried calling her again, but she wasn’t answering. He left a voice mail apologizing for what he’d said and asked her to please call him.
He pictured her in Florida, telling her fiancé what a tool her big brother was. Who was Boone to think he had a right to dictate how she should live her life? He had no right, and yet he could not in good conscience let her marry in haste. He’d done it. Lived through the fallout. Didn’t want her to make the same mistake. He had to see her face-to-face. Had to talk to this coastie she seemed hell-bent on marrying.
Things hadn’t been easy for Jackie. Their mother might have stayed with her longer, but that only seemed to have messed with Jackie’s head more. Boone considered himself lucky that he didn’t even remember Miranda.
Jackie, on the other hand, had been ten when Miranda took off, leaving her to be raised by her demanding father. She’d spent her life trying to measure up to Jack Birchard, and she’d told Boone on more than one occasion that the only time she felt truly relaxed were the summers they spent together in Montana at their Aunt Caroline’s lake house. Both of them kept hoping that one day Miranda would show up at her sister’s house, but she never did.
Boone’s dad had married Miranda right out of high school. He told Boone that he couldn’t call the marriage a mistake, because if he hadn’t married her, he wouldn’t have such a wonderful son. Wade Toliver knew how to make a kid feel loved. He’d been a hardworking building contractor who’d scrimped and saved and invested in buying and flipping houses, and then he was smart enough to get out of real estate before the housing bubble hit. With a father like Wade, Boone had barely missed having a mother. His dad had taken him everywhere with him, showing him the ins and outs of home maintenance, teaching him right from wrong.
Yeah. He’d be ashamed of you right now.
Okay. He’d screwed up, but whether his sister knew it or not, Jackie needed his clear-eyed perspective. He had to get to Key West before the wedding and talk some sense into her. He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty on Monday afternoon. That didn’t even give him five days.
His knee felt like it was set in cement. He eased down on the couch. How was he going to get to Key West? During his last surgery, he’d had problems with blood clots, and this time the doctor had told him that under no circumstances was he to fly, and he’d even discouraged long car trips as well. If Boone had to travel by car, he was supposed to stop frequently, get out and move around. But it wasn’t as if he could drive himself all the way to Key West. Hell, he couldn’t even drive himself to the grocery store. Pathetic.
He whipped out his cell phone and did a Google search for the distance from Bozeman to Key West. Twenty-three hundred miles. Approximately a thirty-eight-hour drive, and that wasn’t factoring in any stops.
Dammit. He shoved a hand through the hair that had grown shaggy since he’d left the military.
How was he going to get to Key West? Call a car service? That would cost a frigging fortune. Yes, he had the nest egg his father had left him, but most of that was tied up in investments, and since he hadn’t grown up rich, he was still tight with a dollar.
Which is more important? Money or keeping Jackie from ruining her life?
Jackie. No doubt about it.
He called the only car service in Bozeman and they flat-out told him they wouldn’t drive him to Key West. Now what? Hire someone to drive him? But who?
Too bad he couldn’t find someone to carpool with who was already going to Key W. He could pay for their gas.
Good idea. Great idea, in fact. But where could he find someone from his area headed in that direction ASAP?
Back to the internet.
He’d give it a shot. If he didn’t get a reply by tomorrow morning, he’d try to find someone who could drive him. Pushing himself up off the couch, he lumbered into the spare bedroom that he’d turned into an office. Angling his leg with care, he dropped stiffly into the chair and then booted up his computer.
He placed the ad on a number of sites, figuring it was a long shot. He ate dinner, packed a bag and then spent the rest of the evening fretting about Jackie. He tried calling her numerous times only to discover she’d turned off her voice mail. She was really steamed.
Bullhead. You got yourself into this, you better get yourself out.
He checked for a response to his ads. Nothing. Finally, he went to bed.
Boone woke up at his usual time. Five in the morning. He’d been out of the military for almost nine months, but he couldn’t seem to break the early-rising habit. Routine served him well today. He needed to get a move on if he was going to find a way to Key West by four o’clock on Saturday. Maybe this Scott Everly was the real deal, maybe he wasn’t, but Boone was determined to see for himself firsthand. He hadn’t been able to look after Jackie when they were kids, but he was definitely going to make up for it now.
He had a breakfast of eggs and oatmeal, worked out his upper body with weights, took a shower and then went to the computer with little expectation of a reply. Already he was thumbing through a list of his acquaintances who might be in a position to drive him to Key West. The list was pitifully short.
He opened his email and pop!
There it was. A reply to his ad. Yes. Eagerly, Boone read the message.
I am moving to Miami next week. I can take you that far if your trip can wait until Monday.
Disappointment stiffened his spine. He posted back.
That’s too late. Is there any way you can leave today instead of next week?
He pushed back from the desk, not expecting a quick reply, but the person must have been at his or her computer, because he’d no more than gotten to his feet than his computer pinged, letting Boone know that he had a new message.
Sorry, no, I still have to pack and load my things into a U-Haul. The soonest I could leave would be Thursday afternoon.
Boone did the math. If they left on Thursday afternoon and drove straight through they could arrive in Key West early Saturday morning, but with his knee, there was no way he could ride in the car for thirty-eight hours nonstop. He would have to factor in at least another day. The latest he could leave was Wednesday afternoon. He sat back down and typed.
What if I paid to have someone come pack your things and load the U-Haul today? Could you leave tonight?
Feeling antsy, he hit Send and waited.
Sounds like you have an emergency situation, but Mercury is in retrograde. I try not to travel when Mercury is in retrograde. It messes with travel plans.
Seriously? Was this person for real?
What if I threw in five hundred dollars on top of everything else? Will that overcome your fear of Mercury?
It went against his sense of economy, but this might be the only opportunity he had.
It took a few minutes, but then the reply came.
All right. You have a deal.
Relief had him splaying both palms across the top of his head. Whew.
Done, he wrote. Where do you live?
There was another pause, this time so long that he started worrying. Had he scared off the prospect? Maybe it was a woman leery of driving with a man she didn’t know. He couldn’t blame her. It was smart to be prudent. In this case, honesty was the best policy.
I’m a war vet with a bum knee so I can’t drive myself. My sister is about to make a big mistake, marrying a guy she barely knows, and I need to get to Key West before the wedding to talk some sense into her.
He held his breath. If honesty didn’t work, he was back to square one, and he was running out of time. He stroked a hand over his jaw, drummed his fingers on the desk.
Come on, come on, just say yes.
He thought of Shaina, of how young and dumb they’d been, blundering into marriage without any real knowledge of what it meant to commit to one person fully and completely. Then he thought of Jackie, knowing how easy it was to fool yourself into thinking you were in love when it was nothing more than lust. He could not let her make a mistake this big. He had to get to Key West no matter what he had to do.
His computer pinged and he returned his attention to the screen.
Boone?
He blinked at his name. Who was this?
Yes.
Small world. It’s me. Tara.
2
Tuesday, June 30, 1:00 p.m.
BOONE STOOD OFF to one side of Tara’s driveway clothed in an army-green T-shirt and camouflage cargo shorts, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, supervising the movers like a high school principal monitoring the hallways. His brow was knitted in a dark scowl, his right leg encased in a heavy metal brace.
“Hey, Toliver. You oughta get a patent,” Tara teased as she breezed past him, her arms loaded with boxes.
“Patent?” he growled. “For what?”
“That broody frown. James Dean and Marlon Brando combined got nothing on you.”
His glower deepened.
“Yup, watch out, you’re heading for Darth Vadar territory.”
“Darth Vadar wore a mask.”
“Exactly.”
His face relaxed. Just a bit. “Total mystery.”
“What is?” Tara loaded the boxes into the back of the U-Haul, turned and wiped perspiration from her forehead with the back of a hand.
“You.”
She smiled big, pleased.
Boone shook his shaggy head, two months past the point of needing a good haircut. But that was okay. Overgrown hair gave a stylist something to work with. She canted her head and imagined how he’d look in different cuts—slicked-back undercut, Brit-rock indie, men’s quiff. Who was she kidding? He’d probably spoil her fun and insist on a military buzz.
“It’s not a compliment,” he said.
“What are you so prickly about?” She dusted her hands against her back pockets.
“I hate this.” He hissed the last word through clenched teeth.
“What?” She studied him. He was in so much pain—both physical and mental—that it wrenched her heart. But she also knew he had no use for pity. How many times had he rebuffed her when she’d tried to help? Boone was one of those proud protector dudes who thought he was invincible. He hadn’t handled life’s curveball very well. Poor baby.
“Having to stand here and watch you carry boxes when I should be the one doing it.”
“Oh, so you’re responsible for the whole world? Good to know.”
“Not the whole world, just my slice of it.”
“Newsflash, Hercules. I’m not part of your world and I’m perfectly capable of carrying my own boxes.”
“If I were healthy you would not be carrying your own boxes.”
“If you were healthy, I wouldn’t be driving you to Miami. Besides, I’m not some helpless damsel. I know how to take care of myself.”
“You sure know how to wound a man, Duvall.”
“I’m not in the military. You can call me Tara.”
“Okay, then let the men I hired do the heavy lifting…Tara.”
The sarcastic way he muttered her name didn’t get to her. She knew he was a big softy underneath all the gruffness. She’d seen Boone tenderly cradle their neighbor’s new baby when Mrs. Winspree had brought her infant over to show him off. She’d seen him struggle not to shed a tear at his father’s funeral. Had watched him drive his friends away because he was too proud to admit he needed help. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she was the one person who kept him from disappearing into himself completely, even though he did his best to keep her at arm’s length. What would happen to him once she was gone? Probably turn into a hermit and holler at kids for walking across his lawn.
Tara smiled sweetly and gently bumped Boone with a playful hip as she walked past him on her way to the house for another load of boxes. It was her way of telling him everything was going to be okay, but she wasn’t prepared for the blast of pure heat that shot through her at the contact or the low, throaty masculine sound of alarm that he made in response.
Quickly she sprinted off, her heart bounding erratically. She was in such a rush that she ran headlong into one of the movers. Reflexively, the guy wrapped an arm around her waist.
“Slow down there, sweetcheeks.” The man possessed a chest like a brick wall, a Tom Selleck mustache and a red bandana wrapped around his bald dome. “Is there a fire someone didn’t tell me about?”
“We’re on a tight time schedule,” she said. “Have to get a move on.”
“Let me just check my magic watch.” He pretended to consult an imaginary wristwatch.
“What?”
“It’s telling me that you don’t have any panties on.”
“Yes I do,” she blurted, then belatedly realized it was some stupid pickup line. Duh, how could she be so gullible?
His grin widened and he made a big show of shaking his imaginary wristwatch and holding it up to his ear. “Damn, it must be ten minutes fast.”
Ha-ha. She got it. He was suggesting that in ten minutes he’d have her panties off.
“Dude.” Tara fake chuckled, rolled her eyes and pushed back against his embrace. She was about to tell him he needed a course in how and where to pick up women, but she never got a chance.
Boone was there, clamping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let go of her,” he said in a voice as ruthless as the sound of a .45 Magnum round being chambered.
Instantly, Bandana Head released her, stepped back and raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Chill, man. Just a little harmless flirting. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Get out!” Boone commanded and pointed toward the door, his expression deadly.
“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t know she was your woman. I swear.”
“She’s not my woman, but that still doesn’t give you the right to manhandle her.” Boone’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Boone was big, but the bald guy was bigger and Boone had a bum knee.
The guy puffed out his chest. “She ran into me.”
“Look, look.” Tara winnowed her way between the two men. To Boone she said, “I did run into him. It was my fault.” Then to the bald guy she said, “Dude, cheesiest pickup line ever and borderline offensive.”
“Borderline!” Boone snorted.
“Okay, it was offensive, but I’m sure…” She waved a hand. “What’s your name?”
“Rodney.”
“That Rodney meant nothing by it.”
“Didn’t mean a thing.” Rodney raked a lascivious glance over her body and Tara regretted her snug-fitting T-shirt. She’d worn it for Boone’s sake, knowing that it clung to her curves. She never thought twice about being too provocative for the moving men.
“Out.” Boone pointed toward the door. He plucked his wallet from his back pocket, peeled off two onehundred-dollar bills and a fifty and thrust them at the man.
“Hey, the deal was for five hundred dollars.”
“That was before you insulted Miss Duvall. You’ve only done half the job, that’s all I’m paying for.”
Rodney looked like he was going to protest, but then he shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’re gonna have fun loading up that van with your gimp leg.” He turned, hollered to his partner who was in the back room packing up Tara’s home office, “C’mon, Joe, we’re outta here.”
“Wow,” Tara said to Boone as the front door slammed behind Rodney and Joe. “That’s one of the best jobs of shooting yourself in the foot that I’ve seen in a long time.”
“What? I was supposed to stand by and just let him grope you?”
“He didn’t grope me.”
“He was inappropriate.”
“He was, but it’s not your place to defend me, Boone. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
He snorted, folding those steely arms over his chest, blocking her out.
“What’s that noise supposed to mean?”
“I’m not going there.” He limped over to the kitchen counter where boxes were stacked, half-filled with the dishes Rodney had been packing up.
Tara wasn’t going to let him get away with that. She scurried after him. “Where aren’t you going?”
He turned to face her. His dark eyes flashed a warning. “You can take care of yourself, huh?”
She squared her shoulders, drew herself up to her full five foot four. “Absolutely.”
“Your faucet leaks.”
“So what?”
“At the end of the month you’re chronically low on cash from helping out your free-loading friends and you’re forced to subsist on ramen noodles and food sample giveaways at the grocery store.”
Tara cringed. It was true. “Times are tough. I can’t turn my back on people in need.”
“Not even when you’re one of those people? I know that worthless boyfriend of yours cleaned out your savings before he left town.”
A sick feeling settled in her stomach. “How do you know that?”
A rueful expression softened his angular mouth. “Mrs. Levison likes to gossip.”
“It’s not really any of your business.”
“And yet you’re always trying to meddle in mine. Face it, Duvall, you’re too generous for your own good.”
She notched her chin up. “I consider generosity a positive trait to have.”
“Not at the expense of your own welfare. Do you know how hard it is to sit across the street watching you making the same mistakes over and over?”
“No. How hard is it?” she asked impishly, hoping to get him off her case by embarrassing him. Humor was her weapon of choice.
It worked. Boone’s face flushed. “Time’s wasting,” he mumbled.
“And you just made things worse by running off the movers.”
“Hell, if you hadn’t been so flirty, I wouldn’t have had to run them off.”
Oh no, he didn’t just say that! Outrage shoved a cold barb down her spine. Chuffing out her breath, she sank her hands on her hips. It took a lot to piss her off, but seriously? He was making this her fault? “Excuse me?”
“You know what your problem is, Duvall?” he asked.
“You mean, besides being too generous?” Her tone was as cold and brittle as a Montana winter.
“You have no boundaries.”
His criticism stung, but it wasn’t the first time she’d heard something similar. Well, fudge crackers. She was who she was and if he didn’t like her, he could kiss her derriere.
Her mind flashed to an image of Boone’s lips planted on her bare backside and she instantly grew hot all over. See? No boundaries. The man made a good point. Damn him.
“You dress too provocatively. No wonder the mover was eyeing you like chocolate candy. Your shorts are too darn short.”
Her head shot up and she caught Boone checking out her legs.
Holy ham sandwich! He was jealous!
Hmm. Tara suppressed a grin, touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “Sorry. I’m not going to wear a snowsuit just to suit you and I don’t appreciate you making me feel badly about myself.”
To his credit, Boone looked chagrined, but then he went and ruined it by saying, “I’m not responsible for how you feel. I’m just calling it like I see it.”
“Hey, you’re not my big brother.”
“Thank God.”
“Why do you say that? I’m a good sister. A great sister, in fact. I can play shortstop and I don’t scream when my brothers put bugs down the back of my shirt, and I have cute girlfriends for my brothers to date and I—”
“Because if you were my sister, I’d be arrested for the thoughts I’ve been having about you.”
“Oh.” She blinked. Grinned. “What kind of thoughts?”
“Illicit thoughts.”
Imagine that. She sidled closer. “Real-ly?”
Boone stepped back, shook his head. “Duvall, you have no boundaries.”
“I have five siblings,” she explained, not knowing why she bothered other than the supreme satisfaction of knowing that he wanted her. For months, she’d been trying to charm him, but he’d been immune. Or so she’d thought, but apparently he put up a good front. Yet here he was admitting he liked her when she was moving thousands of miles away. What lousy timing.
“Five? That’s quite a brood.”
“Three brothers, two sisters. When you grow up in a crowd, it’s a free-for-all. Try riding in the back of a minivan where you can’t move an elbow without smacking someone in the eye and you wouldn’t have any boundaries either.”
For the briefest moment, he smiled. “Hey, I was in the military. I can relate to cramped quarters.”
“So why do you have a problem with no boundaries?”
“Because it feels…” He trailed off.
“What?”
“Where are you in the birth order?” he asked, changing the subject.
She let it go, even though what he had not said whetted her curiosity. “Third youngest or fourth oldest, however you want to look at it.”
“Stuck in the middle, huh? That explains some things.”
Tara frowned. “Yeah, like what?”
“The outrageous clothes, the way you change your hair color every time the wind blows, the in-your-face cheerfulness. It’s all a bid to stand out from the pack.”
“Seriously? We’re doing this? Because if we’re pointing fingers, boy, do I have some stuff to unload on you.”
“I wasn’t pointing fingers. Merely making an observation.”
“Guess what? I have eyes. I’ve observed a few things about you, too.”
His eyes narrowed and darn if he didn’t looked amused. “Yeah? Let’s have it.”
She ticked off his faults on her fingers, one by one. “Testy. Controlling. Rigid. Hypervigilant. I’d take no boundaries any day over brooding stick-in-the-mud.”
“That’s the worst you can do?” He arched an eyebrow, made come-on-let’s-fight motions with his fingers.
“Oh,” she said, new understanding dawning. “I finally get it.”
“Get what?”
“You think you deserved to be punished. That’s why you resist my attempts to draw you out. Sorry to break it to you, but I’m not going to be the one to crack the bullwhip against your back.”
“Huh?” He made such a disgusted face that she knew she’d nailed him. Boone hadn’t forgiven himself for coming home. Survivor’s guilt. She didn’t know much about the details of his injury, only snippets of local gossip, but clearly Boone was still torturing himself over it. Her heart went out to him.
Being a hairstylist gave her a peek into the human psyche. People spilled more confidences to her than to their therapists. There was something about having your hands deep in someone’s hair that made them talky. An odd intimacy developed between a stylist and her clientele. A lack of conventional boundaries. It was one of the things she liked about her profession.
Boone’s dark-eyed stare seared her skin, making her feel as naked as the day she was born. Things normally rolled right off her back, but for one split second she was tempted to jump into her car and drive away in the half-loaded U-Haul.
“We better get to work,” she mumbled and reached for one of the boxes sitting on her kitchen table. “Without the movers this is going to take us twice as long.”
He didn’t say another word, just moved over to reach for a second box. In the process, his arm accidentally brushed against hers and a tingle of awareness shot straight to her groin. Instantly, her nipples tightened. Hello, soldier, pleased to see you.
Involuntarily, Tara sucked in her breath.
“What is it?” Boone asked. “Are you all right?”
“Just a catch in my back,” she lied and set the box down.
“Where?”
She splayed a palm over her lower back, inched away from him. “It’s all better. Gone already.”
“Sounds like a muscle spasm.” He came closer.
“I’m good.” She’d never been able to get away with the occasional white lie—which was why she rarely told one. Falsehoods invariably came back to bite her in the butt.
He kept coming toward her. The closer he got, the more Tara’s throat tightened. She would have kept backing up, but she was hemmed into the corner between the refrigerator and the stove.
“Let me see,” he said.
“No need,” she croaked.
He took her by the shoulders, slowly turned her around and didn’t she just let him like some silly, awestruck teenager meeting her rock idol. His hands were warm and heavy, stirring up the languid sensation that had settled deep in her core.
“Here?” He rested his palm against her spine, just above the waistband of her shorts.
She swallowed, barely able to nod. Why was she nodding? The next thing she knew he was gently rubbing his knuckles across her back. He didn’t say anything else, just kept slowly massaging her.
They stood like that for a while, not saying a word, Boone’s big hand touching her so tenderly it sucker-punched her. The refrigerator cycled on with a click and hum. She could feel his slow, steady breathing stir her hair at her temple and this moment…the two of them in her kitchen together for the first and last time, was both strange and wondrous. And tainted with remorse, because it was too late now to start something up. They could have had something special, she and Boone. She felt it in her bones. If only she could have gotten him to walk across the street, open up his heart, months ago.
“How’s that?” he asked, stepping back, leaving her both regretful and relieved.
“Fine, fine.”
He scowled. “You shouldn’t be lifting boxes.”
She shifted her gaze to his knee. “Yes, Pot, are you calling the Kettle out?”
“You’re right. I need to get some new movers in here ASAP.”
“Or you could just call Rodney and Joe back and apologize.”
He looked as if he’d rather have his leg squeezed in a vise. “Not a chance.”
She sympathized. “Tell you what. I have a lot of friends. Let me give them a call. There’s bound to be a few of them who wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”
He nodded with a quick jerk of his head. He had so much pride. This was really hard for him, letting others help him.
“Call ’em,” he said gruffly and limped toward the back door.
Tara blew out her breath and pulled her cell phone from her pocket to start making calls. If she and Boone kept butting heads the entire way to Miami, it was shaping up to be a very long trip.
OVER A DOZEN of Tara’s friends converged on the house. By the end of the afternoon, the U-Haul was packed and loaded, the house cleaned and empty of everything except the furniture that came with the rental. But now, everyone was sitting around drinking beer and eating the pizza that Tara had bought to thank them for their help. They were laughing and joking and lamenting about having to say goodbye. A few of her female friends even had tears in their eyes when they hugged her.
See, this was the problem with recruiting friends to help you move, Boone thought. You couldn’t just pack up, say thanks for the help and get the hell out of town. No, you had to sit around and make small talk and linger. It wasn’t worth the hassle.
Tara, however, was the life of her impromptu party. Teasing and smiling and telling everyone how much she appreciated their friendship. Promising to stay in touch via Facebook, Twitter and texts.
C’mon. All that social media stuff was crap. Nothing but a huge time suck. And honestly, those relationships were superficial at best. Why bother?
Yeah? These days, how many of your friends would show up to help you move?
Once upon a time, he’d had a handful of good friends he could count on, but these days? Boone licked his dry lips. Well, were they really friends? They’d abandoned him in tough times.
Or hey, maybe you were the one who pushed them away.
He caught Tara’s eye from across the room and tapped the face of his watch. She gave him a bright, empty smile, like she thought he was the most pathetic guy in Bozeman.
Someone said something to her. She threw back her head and laughed with a rich, deep sound that rattled him to his core. No wonder people surrounded her like they were honeybees and she was their queen.
His gaze tracked from Tara’s face down her long, slender throat to the cleavage revealed by the V-neck of her tie-dyed T-shirt. She had a cola in her hand. No beer for her, since she would be driving later tonight. His eyes dropped lower to take in those denim shorts sitting low on her curvy hips. The cuffed hem hit high on her thighs, showing off those pinup-quality legs.
He felt a stirring below his belt and swallowed hard. No, no. No way. She might be sexy as ten kinds of sin, but he was not even going to allow himself to fantasize about her. That was just inviting trouble. He had to be confined in a car with her for the next several days. He was not letting his libido off the chain. His focus was on getting to Key West to keep Jackie from making a huge mistake, and he was not going to let anything distract him.
Not even sexy Tara.
In fact, he was antsy as hell, hating that he had to wait for her to wind down this dumb party so they could get on the road. Plus, his leg was achy. He needed to get up and move around. He hoisted himself from the chair and limped toward the door.
The summer sun hung on the horizon. The evening breeze was cool against his face. Perfect. Just what he needed to snap him out of red-hot thoughts about Tara. He wasn’t the kind of guy who went in for temporary flings, and of course that’s all it could be between them. Not just because she was moving away, but because they had as much in common as a brightly colored helium balloon and a brick wall.
You’re the brick wall.
That hadn’t been a bad thing back in high school when he’d played linebacker. Or in the army where physical strength was a man’s biggest asset. But now? The qualities he’d cultivated—staunchness, dependability, strength—were either lost to him or passé. What was a soldier without an enemy to vanquish?
“You’re doing it again,” a light voice murmured behind him.
Too close behind him. He could feel her body heat. Tara again. Violating boundaries. Hadn’t she ever heard of personal space?
He stepped away from her and in his haste, almost lost his balance. If she hadn’t reached out a hand to stabilize him, he would have taken a tumble off her porch. Damn knee. Damn heavy brace.
“Doing what?” he grumbled, wrenching his arm away. He caught a glimpse of her face in the shadows. For a split second she looked hurt, but quickly pasted a smile on her face.
You’re a moron, Toliver.
“Brooding,” she said.
“I’m not brooding. I just needed some air.”
“Come back inside and have some pizza and beer,” she invited, her voice soft and understanding.
She was so nice. Too damn nice. And ultimately, that was the real reason he would never ever sleep with her. He couldn’t taint her happy little world. That’s why he was gruff with her.
Well, she’s moving now, all you have to do is get through the next few days and she’ll be out of your life forever.
Why did that thought make his gut burn? He was glad she was going. No more having to make idle conversation with her. No more having to respond to her cheery conversations. No more Tara cluttering up his thoughts.
“We need to get on the road.” He hitched his thumbs through his belt loops.
“Right.” Her smile was wan. “You have a wedding to bust up.”
“Jackie’s making a big mistake.”
“Because you know her so well.” She was taunting him now, in that wide-eyed, “who, me?” way she had about her—all innocent, yet sly.
“She’s my sister.”
“And a grown woman.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t try to protect her?”
“I’m saying that I understand how overprotective big brothers can be and how they can ruin a woman’s love life when they stick their noses in where they don’t belong. Why do you think I moved to Montana?”
“I thought you came up here after a cowboy.”
“Yes, and my brothers hated him.”
“From the way things turned out, seems like your brothers had a point.”
Tara rolled her eyes. “Just because things didn’t work out between me and Chet doesn’t mean my brothers had the right to meddle in my business. The mistake was mine to make.”
“And yet, you’re running back home.”
Her eyes flashed sparks. He’d upset her. He was good at that. Quite an accomplishment, since she was usually so easygoing.
“Because my mother is ill.” She took a step toward him.
The smell of her—both sweet and sensual—tangled up in his nose. His body hardened instantly. He clenched his jaw to fight off the erection and prayed she would not look down.
“Is that the only reason?”
“I miss Florida. Nothing wrong with that.”
“And your brothers. You miss them, too.”
“I do,” she admitted.
“I’m just saying, they probably have your best interests at heart. More so than some cowboy named Chet.”
“I’ll get rid of my friends,” she said in a low voice that left him hungry and aroused.
His gaze hooked on her mouth. What beautiful, full lips, strawberry-pink and glistening with shiny gloss. “Thanks,” he managed.
She touched him lightly, the bare brushing of her fingertips over his forearm, but it was enough to ignite his desire. He suppressed a groan.
“We’ll be on the road within the hour.” Tara turned and went back into the house.
Leaving Boone wondering how he was going to survive the next few days alone in a car with this tantalizing bombshell he wanted absolutely no part of.
3
Tuesday, June 30, 11:50 p.m.
FOR THE PAST three hours, they’d been driving east down lonely Highway 90. The barren landscape made Tara happy that she wasn’t traveling this route alone. Montana was pretty, but in the dark, it stretched out long and lonesome.
Funny, she’d never noticed how empty the state was when she’d made the drive up from Florida fourteen months ago following Chet, more for fun and adventure than true love. Her friends raved about falling in love, finding that special someone, but Tara had never been that lucky. She’d liked lots of guys, sure, and had plenty of friends, but she’d never had that special connection with a guy.
Sometimes, she wondered if there was something wrong with her, some secret inability to experience love the way others did. Her mother told her it was simply because she just hadn’t met the right man yet. The guy who would make her happy to give up her independence and settle down.
Tara sneaked a glance over at Boone and her heart did this strange little tightening thing. She was grateful for Boone’s company, even though he was trying mighty hard to pretend he was asleep.
The plan he’d given her—the control freak—detailed driving to Billings tonight, catching a few hours of sleep in a truck-stop motel and then hitting the road again at dawn. He’d programmed all their stops into his GPS and given her an estimated time frame for how long each stop should take. He’d made no allowances for detours. He was methodical and prepared. It drove Tara bonkers. How in the world could you truly experience life if you never strayed from the beaten path? If all your time was carefully plotted, where did spontaneity come in?
Boone had the passenger seat pushed back as far as it would go and he wore a Minnesota Twins baseball cap pulled down over his face. His breathing was slow and steady, but he had his arms crossed over his chest. Her gaze drifted down to his right leg encased in the metal brace. He had to be hurting from the day’s efforts, but she hadn’t seen him take a pain pill. He’d even refused the beer she’d offered him at her impromptu goodbye party.
Leaving Bozeman was more difficult than she’d thought it was going to be and it was all because of the man sitting beside her. She was excited about seeing her family again and happy that she wouldn’t be spending another winter in Montana, but for all his gruffness, she was really going to miss Boone.
Her cell phone rang. Who was calling her this late at night? She couldn’t see the caller ID in the dark, so she just answered it through the hands-free device that broadcast the conversation throughout the car. She tried to whisper so as not to disturb Boone. “Hello?”
“Tara? I can’t hear you,” said her older sister, Kate.
“I’m here.” She raised her voice and cast a glance over at Boone to see if she was bothering him.
“Why are you calling so late? Is something wrong?”
“I’m at the hospital with Mom. She came through the surgery with flying colors and most likely she’ll be released tomorrow.”
Tara breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I regret that I couldn’t be there for the surgery.”
“It’s okay,” Kate said. “You’re coming home now.”
“I’m sorry this is all falling on your shoulders.”
“It’s not. Everyone is pitching in. Joe and Matt are staying at the house with Dad. Erin and Dave are flying in tomorrow.”
“I’m still several days away.”
“No worries. You’ll be home to help drive her to chemo treatments once she recovers from the surgery. Really, the doctors say she’s got an excellent chance for a complete recovery.”
“Still, it’s scary to think of losing her.”
“I know,” Kate said softly. “She’s really happy you’re moving back home for good. We’ve all missed you.”
Guilt nibbled at Tara. Her mother had been her biggest cheerleader, always urging her to follow her dreams and her heart, but she couldn’t help feeling selfish that in her wanderlust, she’d left her family behind. While she loved adventure, Tara was a traditionalist at heart. Family meant a lot to her. It was time she went home.
“I’ll call in the morning,” Tara said.
“You be careful on the drive. Don’t rush. We’ve got everything covered here.”
More guilt. “’Night, Kate.”
“Good night, Tara.”
She cut off the call and peeped over at Boone again. Had he heard her conversation? The guilt turned into another feeling she couldn’t quite identity, a cross between regret and wistfulness. He hadn’t moved a muscle.
The car’s headlights cut a swath through the darkness, the single illumination on the silent highway. A shiver of loneliness passed through her and, for a second, she felt as if she were completely alone on the surface of the moon.
Up ahead, she could see the lights of Billings, and an impish part of her wanted to drive on through without stopping. Throw off his best-laid plans; prove to him there was nothing wrong with a little impulsiveness. She would have done it, too, except she had no idea how far away the next town was.
“Take the next exit,” Boone said.
Tara startled. “You’re not even looking at the road. How do you know the exit to Billings is coming up next?”
“I have an acute sense of time. At the speed you’re driving, we should be coming up to Billings.”
She shifted her gaze to the clock in the dash. He was right on the money. “Dude, that’s a freaky skill.”
He shrugged, didn’t bother to lift the cap off his face. There’d be no making end runs around this guy.
“Is the whole trip going to be like this?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“I’m only asking because if you’re going to be quiet as a corpse the whole way, I want to dig out my earphones before we hit the road in the morning so I can listen to some tunes.”
“You’re not supposed to wear earbuds while you’re driving.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s only common courtesy to have a conversation with the person who’s driving you to Miami. I mean it’s miles and miles of driving. If you can’t at least talk to me, then you’re forcing me to break the law.”
“You don’t have to wear earbuds. You can play whatever you want on the radio.”
“So, in other words, you’re not going to talk to me.”
He heaved a sigh, swept the cap from his face and sat up in the seat. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Nothing now. We’re almost to the truck stop.” She sailed up the exit ramp.
“Why don’t you talk,” he said. “Tell me something about yourself. Your hopes, your dreams, your secrets.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to talk.”
“You’re impossible.” Peeved, Tara reached over and clicked on the radio. The Black Keys were singing “Howlin’ for You.” She turned up the volume. Loud.
Boone winced.
“Too loud?” She smiled sweetly.
“No.” He settled a hand on his knee.
“Is your knee hurting?” Contrite, she turned down the music.
“I don’t need your pity. Crank the damn music.” He reached over and turned the volume back up again.
“You’re a real sorehead, you know that?”
“I wasn’t always,” he mumbled.
She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. She turned down the music. “What did you say?”
Silence settled over the car.
“I know you’re a wounded warrior and all that, but this dark and broody stuff isn’t working for me. Get some sleep tonight, but then tomorrow, I expect a complete attitude adjustment.”
One eyebrow shot up high on his forehead. “Oh, you do?”
“I do.” She pulled to a stop outside the bed-and-bath motel connected to the truck stop.
“You think it’s that easy to just turn your mood around?”
“Fake it till you make it, baby.” Okay, maybe she was being glib, but there was only so much gloom and doom she could handle and she’d noticed whenever she issued a challenge, he got feisty. “You know what I think?”
“How can anyone know what you think? Your mind jumps around like a spider monkey.” The blinking lights of the motel sign flashed across his face in green neon.
Vacancy.
“I think that maybe deep down, underneath the pain and grief and pissiness, you’re just plain bored.”
“Bored, huh?”
“Yep. You’re accustomed to lots of action and you’re not getting any.”
“Is that supposed to be a double entendre?” He lowered his eyelids, gave her a sultry look that sizzled her shorts.
Tara gulped, ignored that and trudged ahead. “From here on in, I want to see smiles, smiles, smiles.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I’ll drive off and leave you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Just try me.”
He reached over and plucked the keys out of the ignition.
“Hey!”
“I’ll give them back to you in the morning.”
“You’re a pain in the butt,” she said. “Anyone ever tell you that?”
“All the time,” he said. Then, for the first time that day, he gave her a genuine smile. “All the damn time.”
EVEN IF BOONE didn’t want to admit it, Tara was right. He was a pain in the butt, he was bored and he hadn’t had any action in a very long time.
That included sex.
He lay on the narrow motel bed and stared up at the ceiling. He could hear the chuff of Jake brakes as eighteen-wheelers rolled in off the highway. He tried to sleep, but Tara crowded and clouded his mind. He had underestimated exactly how tough this was going to be—sitting beside her in the car, hour after hour, smelling her feminine scent, taking in the bare stretch of skin from the hem of her shorts to her sandals, hearing the sweet sound of her voice. It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. Now, he fully realized why he’d kept her at arm’s length all these months.
She was in the room next door. The walls were thin and when she’d taken her shower, he heard the water come on.
Instantly, he pictured her in those shorts that crept high on her thighs when she sat down. She had million-dollar legs and he imagined her sliding them over his. Her features were etched on the back of his eyelids and it was as real as if she were standing right in front of him—from the gentle arch of her sandy eyebrows to her determined little chin beneath those wide, luscious lips. Her face was shaped like a soft heart, wider across the forehead, smaller at her jawline. Her nose was short with a delicate tip.
He might want to deny it, but she was cuter than a basketful of puppies. Boone hated cute. Nothing could trip a guy up faster than cute.
An unwelcome stiffness gripped him.
Dammit. He did not want her starring in his X-rated fantasies, but his body had other ideas, his brain teasing his appendage with provocative images of her. Stepping out of the shower, naked, wet and slippery.
She turned him inside out and she wasn’t even in the same room.
“Stop thinking about her,” he commanded himself, but it was like telling a dieter to stay away from chocolate cake.
Goose bumps spread over him at the thought of what it would feel like to take her into his arms with those spectacular breasts pressed against his chest. Inhale the scent of her hair. Taste the sweetness of her lips.
His erection tightened, throbbed.
Ah, hell.
He flopped ungracefully over onto his side, dragging his injured knee after him and stared at the digital clock on the bedside table. Two in the morning. He was never going to get any sleep at this rate.
His shaft ached. He pulled in a deep breath.
Just do it and get it over with so you can get a few hours of sleep.
He didn’t want to give in. His body had betrayed him enough, but if he didn’t do something about this erection soon, he’d lie awake until dawn.
Once upon a time, he’d had an iron will, but these days? No such luck.
The persistent throbbing won out. Blowing out his breath, Boone reached down a hand, and with visions of Tara parading through his head, proceeded to take care of his problem in the most expedient way possible.
SUNLIGHT PUSHING through the dusty window jerked Boone awake sometime later. He sat up abruptly and immediately regretted it when his knee twinged. He gritted his teeth, shoved a hand through his hair. What in the hell time was it? His plan had been to get on the road at dawn. What he’d done last night had worked, but he’d slept far longer than he intended.
A glance over at the clock told him it was seventhirty—a good hour and a half later than he’d planned. He’d no sooner gotten dressed and put on his knee brace than a knock sounded at his door. He opened it to find Tara standing there wearing a short red sundress and matching red sandals that showed off the sexiest toes this side of Montana.
“Good morning,” she chirped.
“Why did you let me sleep so long?” he groused. “I told you we needed to be on the road by six.”
“Relax. We’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to be in Key West until Saturday.”
“It’s already Wednesday and I don’t like cutting things close.”
“C’mon.” She beckoned with a wriggly finger. “Let’s go have breakfast.”
“No. Let’s get on the road. We can hit a drive-through on the way out of town.”
But she was already swishing away from him, headed across the parking lot toward the truck-stop diner, her oversized purse slung over her shoulder.
He swore under his breath, picked up his knapsack and limped after her as fast as he could. “Tara,” he hollered. “We don’t have time for this.”
Stepping lightly, she turned and, still walking toward the diner, grinned at him. “You’ll feel better after a hearty breakfast.”
“I’ll feel better when we’re on the road.”
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Watch where you’re walking.”
“I’m—” Her retort was cut off by an eighteen-wheeler bread truck as it whizzed away from massive gas pumps at the back of the diner. The truck came barreling straight for Tara.
Adrenaline shot through Boone. His natural instinct was to run toward her, throw himself between her and the truck, but given the shape his knee was in, he simply could not move that fast. “Stop!” he commanded and then took half a dozen deities’ names in vain.
Tara froze, her face gone deathly pale.
The driver of the eighteen-wheeler blasted his horn, coming within inches of Tara as he rocketed from the parking lot.
Boone’s stomach had vaulted into his throat.
She jumped then, leaping into a hedge of bushes surrounding the diner. Boone moved as fast as he could, heart hammering. He’d intended to give her a good long lecture, but when he reached her, she was trembling all over.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
She nodded mutely. Her legs wobbled beneath her.
He reached out and took her into his arms.
“You were right,” she said. “We should have gotten on the road. If we’d been on the road ahead of that stupid truck, I wouldn’t have been acting like a dummy.”
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe,” he reassured her, but she was a leaf in his arms, shaking uncontrollably.
“That was almost the end of me. Why don’t I ever think?”
“You were just caught up in the moment, enjoying the morning. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“It could have been my last breath.” She leaned heavily against him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been walking backward,” he conceded. “But that guy shouldn’t have come cannonballing around the building knowing that people come walking through the parking lot from the motel to the diner.”
“You’re letting me off the hook?” She seemed surprised.
“I think you’re shaken up enough without me making any more comments. Let’s get some breakfast,” he murmured in her ear, surprised by the tender feeling of relief that had evaporated all his anger. She was okay. That’s all that mattered.
“No, we should get on the road.”
“You’re in no shape to drive. You need to sit down a bit. Get some color back into those cheeks.”
“Okay,” she agreed in a weak voice.
Boone let his hand drop to her waist, pressed his palm to the small of her back and escorted her toward the door. He had the strangest urge to grin.
They found a booth near the front door. Tara plunked down. It took Boone a minute to get seated across from her. He dropped his knapsack to the floor and stretched his right leg out across it.
Tara exhaled audibly.
He reached across the table to touch her hand. “You sure you’re okay?”
Her smile was wan. She pushed a lock of hair from her eyes. “I’m getting there.”
The waitress came over. Boone ordered oatmeal and toast. Tara ordered the Slam Bang special. He eyed her speculatively. Where did she plan on putting all that food?
“What?” she asked as she handed the waitress her menu.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I have a high metabolism. I can eat like a horse and not gain weight.”
“Good for you.”
She took a sip of the orange juice the server brought her but didn’t meet his gaze. The steam from Boone’s coffee curled up between them. She fiddled with the wrapper from her straw, rolling the paper around her index finger, then unfurling it again.
“So,” she said. “How do you plan to get back home after you ruin your sister’s wedding?”
Boone blinked at her. For all his planning out the route and time scheduled, it had never once crossed his mind how he was going to get back to Montana. He’d been so single-minded about reaching Key West in time to stop Jackie from making a big mistake that he’d forgotten the return trip home.
“I’ll figure something out,” he said.
“Wow, something the great planner hasn’t thought out? I’m shocked.”
“Yeah, well, I was preoccupied.”
“Sticking your nose in your sister’s business.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No?” She planted her elbows on the table, rested her chin into her upturned palms. “What’s it like?”
“This is the first time Jackie has ever been in love. She doesn’t understand that she can’t trust those feelings.”
“Why not?”
“They’re not based on anything solid.” He studied her mouth. “It’s just lust. Not the real thing. You should know that.”
“What does that mean?”
“Guys fall all over you.”
“So?” She narrowed her eyes. “You think I’ve been in love gobs of times?”
“Haven’t you?”
“Just because I’m lively and like people doesn’t mean I go falling in love willy-nilly.”
That was precisely what he’d thought of her. Her house was always filled with people. She dated a lot. It was a natural assumption.
“How many times have you been in love?” he asked, not knowing why he was pursuing this topic. It was none of his damned business.
She studied him for a long moment, her winsome blue eyes drilling into his until he started feeling downright antsy. “How many times have you been in love?”
Boone drummed his fingers on the Formica tabletop. “I asked you first.”
She dropped her hands into her lap, notched up her chin. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.”
“Not even with Chet?”
“Oh, heck no. He was good in bed and lots of fun and I was ready for an adventure. I was going through a cowboy phase, which was why I moved up here with him.”
Jealousy shot through Boone, crisp and concise. The last thing he wanted to think about was Tara in bed with that cowboy. He wondered if she’d ever gone through a soldier phase, and then mentally kicked himself for wondering it.
“So you weren’t crushed when he left?”
“Only because I had to pay the rent all on my own.”
Boone shook his head.
“What?” A smile played at her lips.
“I envy you.”
“For what?”
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Lori Wilde
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: How do you spell disaster? For former army captain Boone Toliver, it′s his sister′s wedding to a man she hardly knows, and he′ll die before he lets that happen. Boone has five days to get from Montana to Florida with an injured leg.And his only option is hitching a ride with his free-spirited neighbor, hairstylist Tara Duvall–whose body makes his mouth water and his libido burn.With each passing mile, the magnetic pull between them grows stronger, and Boone′s trademark control is slipping away. But when his sex drive takes the wheel, will he be able to stop the wedding in time?