Authors: Julie Miller
Another swipe still couldn’t erase the erotic memory. And since Nixa didn’t seem to be in any rush to leave her quiet dining alcove beneath the awning, Tess made another attempt at idle conversation.
“Business certainly has been slow tonight.” Though not so slow that she could close up and go check out some of the waking nightlife herself. Every now and then a couple or group of friends would pass by, and most stopped for a snack or drink. “It’s early in the week though, so I wouldn’t worry. Crowds tend to start small and build up to Friday and Saturday, anyway.
Unless something dangerous blows in, I imagine the streets will fill up the way they have in the past.”
“I hope so.” Nixa nibbled through her hotdog with the ladylike reserve of a dowager empress, so Tess was a little taken aback when the older woman stuck her fingers in her mouth and noisily licked the smeared condiments from each tip. “Mmmm.”
“Good stuff, huh?” Tess had to laugh.
“Divine.” Nixa dabbed her lips with a paper napkin and giggled as though her gusto for fatty meat products was as naughty a secret as Tess’s own favorite concession stand indulgence. “I look forward to one of these foot-longs every year. It’s one of the few times I really blow the diet my doctor has had me on for ages.”
“Sometimes, a gal’s just got to live a little.”
“I used to think that way.” Nixa’s euphoric smile was already beginning to fade. “I’m sure I’ll be paying for this in the morning.”
“But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
Please let her say yes.
If Tess wound up the grande dame of Ashton, Virginia, forty or fifty years down the road, she didn’t want to be so set in her tame, predictable ways that she couldn’t even splurge on one hotdog.
Tess breathed a sigh of relief when Nixa nodded.
“I did. It’s nice to know there are some traditions we can depend on year after year.” Nixa reached through the serving window and patted Tess’s hand. “Just like the town depends on you, dear.”
How could a compliment sound so sad? Had Nixa ever yearned for something more than what she had? Were there adventures in her life to look back on? Affairs? Summer loves?
The wind suddenly picked up, whipping a cool, damp blast of air off the bay. Nixa made a grab, but her napkin and paper cup blew off the shelf. “Oh, my.”
But before she could turn and scoot after her trash, a man appeared. He stomped the cup to anchor it while he bent down to collect the napkin. Then he straightened to a good six feet of well-proportioned height.
“Here you go, ma’am.” The thirtyish man in pressed jeans and a silky cotton shirt gave the items a gallant toss into the trash.
Nixa smiled coyly, blushing at the attention. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Tess might be blushing, too, if the raven-haired hunk had turned that sexy, megawatt smile on her. He lacked the scars and laugh lines that gave Travis’s face such interesting character, but dress those broad shoulders and chiseled features in a uniform and he could be the poster boy for whatever branch of the military he obviously served in. Yum-mee.
“Well…” Was Nixa preening? She smoothed her flawless silver hair from her forehead to her neck, and patted the trim bun at her nape. “Welcome to Ashton. It’s so nice to meet a gentleman with manners.”
“I find I catch more bees with honey than with vinegar, ma’am.”
“Too true. Too true.” The prim, predictable Miss Newhaven was flirting with the young stud! Tess didn’t know whether to cheer the old girl on or bemoan the fact the guy hadn’t even noticed her yet. After another few exchanges about the coming storm and festival events, Nixa turned to acknowledge her. Her normally wan
cheeks had flushed a healthy pink. “Goodnight, dear. I’d better be going. I’m not fond of driving after dark.”
“Goodnight, Miss Newhaven.”
“Enjoy your evening, ma’am.”
“Enjoy yours.”
After Nixa’s departure, Stud Man pulled out his wallet and walked up to the window. From this angle, she could see that the man’s eyes were a clear icy blue—beautiful in color, but mysteriously hard to read. They sure grew ’em handsome wherever this guy came from.
“What can I get you?” Tess asked.
He looked through the screen to the displays inside. “What’s good?”
“Everything. Depends on what you’re hungry for.” Maybe it was this guy who brought out the flirt in women of all ages. Suddenly, every innocent word they exchanged seemed laden with a double meaning.
“What do
you
recommend?”
“Depends on what you’re in the mood for. Something spicy? Something sweet?”
“I like that combination.”
Then again, maybe she was learning a trick or two about how she presented herself to men from her encounters with Travis. “Okay, then a hotdog or nachos? And how about something chocolate?”
“Hotdog. No pickles,” he said and Tess slid around the display shelves to begin filling his order. “And I’ll take the chocolate peanut butter cups and an iced tea.”
“You’re in town for the festival, I assume?”
“I’ve been here a few times over the years. Actually, I’m looking for an old friend. Maybe you know him. He’s sort of a local hero type.”
Tess wrapped the ends of the foil around the hotdog. “I might. What’s his name?”
“Travis McCormick.”
Travis. I want you. Holding the warm dog in her hands instantly took her back to last night again. She barely suppressed a crazy urge to giggle at the thought. Her hands trembled and every pore in her body suddenly sprang open to release the heat surging inside her. Man, she had to get away from this food, this shack, so she could quit thinking about sex with Travis. How badly she wanted it, how desperately she wanted to improve her skills so that, drunk or sober, he would know it was her each and every time they came together. She wanted to shake this driving need to know that, no matter what form it took, their lovemaking would be a memory worth keeping.
But with no escape from her present drudgery in sight, she quickly set the food on the counter and sought out a colder task to cool her libido. She took her time filling a cup with ice and adding cold liquid before trusting herself to speak calmly and coherently again. “I know Trav. I haven’t seen him tonight, though. Did you two serve together?”
“Back in the day. Since I was in town, I thought I’d buy him a drink.”
“Are you from Special Ops, too?”
“No, I’m with the promotions and personnel department. I make sure we have the right people where they need to be.”
“Oh?” Oh. Maybe she’d been worrying about the wrong problem. Did this man bear the news Trav had been waiting for? More importantly, was it what Trav wanted
to hear? Or would this man’s announcement destroy the career and ego of her very best friend? “And you want to talk to Travis? Is it important? I could call him.”
“You know him well enough to get him away from whatever he’s doing?”
She wouldn’t have offered, otherwise. “Yes.”
For a few silent moments, he held her gaze and considered her offer. But then he shrugged off her curiosity. “Nah, it’s not that big a deal. I just thought if he was around, I’d buy him a drink. I can call him myself if I need to.”
Oh, no. This man wanted to meet Travis in person. That couldn’t be good. Man-to-man, face-to-face—that’s how these military types delivered bad news. Her father had been like that: call a man ASAP with good news, but wait until you could look him in the eye to deliver bad news.
“Well, if you give me your name, when I see him, I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
Officer Studmuffin bit off the end of his hotdog and chewed slowly, savoring his meal as much as Nixa had. Those ice-blue eyes held her gaze, giving Tess plenty of time to wonder and worry what this might be about. Her toes were dancing inside her tennis shoes by the time he swallowed. “You said
when
, not
if
,” he pointed out. “So you expect him later?”
“I hope—”
“Tess!”
The blue ice blinked and looked away as PFC Thibideux and Corporal Jaynes waved to her from across the street. They hurried over, smiling and chatting.
“Remember us?”
“How could I forget?” She grinned at their boyish efforts to spruce themselves up before they reached the stand. Crew cuts and clean-shaven faces required very little maintenance. “Need a snack before the dance starts?”
“We thought we’d come and flirt with you first.”
“Yeah, get our engines warmed up.”
She laughed at their shameless efforts to charm. But the black-haired hunk seemed less impressed. Had he intentionally slid back in front of the service window just as Thibideux reached the counter? It wasn’t very comforting to think that this man’s purpose in Ashton was serious enough that he would brush another man aside to be first in line. “Tess. I always liked that name. It’s as pretty as you are. Tell Travis I was looking for him.”
“I will.”
Travis’s old friend wasn’t all doom and gloom. One ice-blue eye closed in a suggestive wink. “You were right about the sweet and spicy. Very nice.”
“Thanks.”
As storm clouds crept across the moon and darkened the town in a breezy night, a dozen more customers wandered into line behind Jaynes and Thibideux. Suddenly Tess was busy—and the handsome flirt was gone before she realized he’d never given her his name.
“Y
EAH
, D
AD
. Longbow Island. You’ll be there a second night. Got it.” Travis jotted the information onto the notepad beside the ham radio equipment in his father’s study.
“The wind’s…”
“What’s that, Dad?”
The hum of static that made Hal McCormick sound
as if he were speaking from inside the bilge box on his boat popped like an electronic thunderclap. Probably another lightning strike in the atmosphere. Several seconds of silence followed.
“Dad?” An antsy feeling tickled the back of Travis’s neck and crept down his spine. “McCormick base to Helena Two. Repeat. McCormick base to Helena Two. Dad? You there?”
A crackle of static answered.
“Dad?”
Travis shoved his chair back from the radio console. The wires didn’t give him much leeway, but he needed room to pace. Answer me, Dad. He tapped at the earphone and muttered out loud. “Answer.”
He’d been in the field often enough with dangerous weather, damaged equipment or no equipment at all and managed to survive. He’d been through years of training to avoid panic at the first sign of distress, to take stock of a situation, evaluate options, and then take action only if need be.
If the weather turned bad, he could deal.
If the radio malfunctioned, he could fix it.
If he had to ensure his own survival and the safety of a fellow Marine and two civilians, he’d improvise.
But Travis’s years of experience hadn’t prepared him for standing by while his sixty-year-old father, who took a pill every morning to keep his heart from going haywire, coped with the very same challenges.
When Hal had missed their agreed-upon check-in time, Travis had worried a little. His dad was probably at the stern, hauling in a marlin or a shark who wouldn’t surrender. He’d still be home by sunset.
But when two hours had passed and he couldn’t raise his father on the radio or the cell phone, then four hours, Travis had stopped pacing on his sore knee and called the harbor master. Squall lines over the Atlantic had hit earlier than predicted. The Helena II was one of several boats that had checked in with a change in arrival time. Hal planned to wait out the storm and sail in tomorrow. Everyone was fine. The boat was fine. No need to worry.
Hell. The whole idea of sending his dad on this excursion was to ease up on his stress. But if Hal was battling the elements, battling equipment—and likely battling Eileen Ward’s fear of the water, which would only be intensified by the storm and rough seas—then his blood pressure must be going through the roof. What had Tess told him when he’d been so anxious to ease his father’s concerns about him?
Families worry. That’s what they do.
He supposed this was a good taste of what his father had been going through over a son who’d been blown to bits and knitted back together. Damn. “C’mon, Dad. Answer!”
Man, he wished Tess was here. She’d always been a calming, sensible influence on him. She’d been there for breakups and losses. She’d been with him through letters and prayers and e-mails in the middle of perilous war zones and tedious base assignments. She knew when to listen, when to hug, when to scold.
He could use a friend like that right about now.
But she was working. And he’d been a jealous butthead—or at least something had shut her down after that amazing make out session last night. He needed to apologize before calling in another favor. Hell, they needed
to talk so he could find out what was wrong and make it right.
In the meantime, Travis tried to recall the comfortable memory of talking to Tess underneath the pier afer his welcome-home reception. But all he could come up with was the heated memory of Tess’s ass snugged against his crotch during a makeshift game of stickball, or the image of her screaming in ecstasy around the melting sweetness of a chocolate bar.
“Damn it.” Travis punched his fist against his palm. It was getting to the point that he wanted to be with Tess—he wanted to be
in
Tess—just as much as he wanted to be reinstated to Special Ops. The line between friend and lover was blurring. At the end of two weeks, he knew he’d lose Tess in one role. But if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose her twice.
And then there’d be no hugs, no scolding, no gentle smiles to get him through tense nights like this one.
Travis picked up the microphone and raised his voice as though volume alone could clear the airwaves. “Dad, come in.”
A high-pitched sound screeched across his eardrums. “Ow! Damn.” He ripped the headphones off and held the tortuous sound at arm’s length until he could adjust the decibel level. His father was scrolling through the radio dial, finding a working frequency. He held the headphones to one ear and sat back down as static returned to the line. But there was still no voice. “C’mon, Dad. Make it work.”