Serving Trouble (13 page)

Pulling off his towel, he hung it over the pictures. He turned around and there was Dominic's face again. The three friends in their uniforms, arms slung across each other's shoulders. He kicked the table and the frame fell forward, crashing into the wooden surface.

What the hell happened out there, Dom?

He thumped his fist against the wall over the nightstand. But fuck—­hitting the wall hurt. Leaning his head forward, he closed his eyes and let the tears flow. He'd fought to hold them back since he'd run to Josie's side in the parking lot. But now he felt like he was going to explode if he held them in any longer.

“Don't you fucking die, buddy,” he murmured, his face still buried against his arm.
“Please.”

“Noah?”

He lifted his head, but didn't turn to look at her. He didn't want to give her proof that she'd walked in on him naked, crying, and hoping like hell her brother would live.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly.

“I heard the banging.” Her voice grew closer with each word. He felt her hand on his back, gently resting on his shoulder blade. “I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

He glanced over his shoulder.
Fuck it. Let her see the tears.
She'd come here red-­eyed and weeping. She hadn't tried to hide her pain.

“I'm not, Josie. I'm so damn far from OK.” He turned around, letting her see all of him, broken down and battered by the news that his friend might die and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Me neither.” She reached her hands up and cupped his cheeks, wiping away his tears with her thumbs.

He reached for her, pulling her close, needing to feel her cheek against his chest, her body against his. And yeah, he was still naked. He should probably ask her to wait outside while he found some damn shorts, and then take her back to the kitchen for more pie.

“Noah?” she whispered.

He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of her head. “I'm scared,” he murmured.

“That he'll die?” she asked, her voice trembling.

That he'll die. That if he makes it, he won't even recognize himself.

He felt her tears start to flow as if he'd turned on a faucet. Shit, he was a jerk for making her cry again.

“Josie.” He lifted his head, placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her back. Her eyes swam with helplessness and fear. And he wanted to make it all go away. He wanted to erase her pain and strip away his own. He hated the fear, demanding his attention.

But what the hell could he do?

His gaze fell to her parted, trembling lips. He could escape. The fear, the pain, the tears . . .

He lowered his lips to hers. Running his tongue over her lower lip, he waited for her to push free.

But her arms wound around his neck. Her fully clothed body pressed up against him. And he kissed her harder, deeper, losing himself in the feel of her mouth. She tasted like sugar and bourbon. She was intoxicating.

And right now?

She was saving him.

 

Chapter Eighteen

J
OSIE UNDERST
O
O
D
G
R
I
E
F
.
She could navigate the fog that descended when the Bad News Bears arrived and delivered their doom-­and-­gloom message.

Your brother has been injured.

Your brother needs surgery.

She had heard those words and the haze had swallowed her. There was no way out. She knew that. The bears stood guard, keeping her locked in fear and anguish.

Until Noah kissed her.

One kiss from a man who was fighting the same fears didn't change a thing. But oh God, it felt so good. The touch of his lips, the feel of his hands pulling at her shirt as if he needed to touch the skin beneath . . .

Her body responded, demanding more, needing to feel more. She ran her hands over the smooth skin of his broad back, down to his waist and around to his chiseled abs. Her tongue touched his as she traced her fingers over his six-­pack.

So much strength.

Gliding her hands upward, she pressed her palms flat against his chest, dimly aware of his fingers toying with the button on her pants. He tugged at her zipper, but didn't bother pushing her pants down over her hips. He simply slipped his hands inside and drew her to him, keeping a firm hold on her ass.

Groaning, she broke away from his kiss and tipped her head back. His mouth trailed kisses over her jaw, down her throat, as if he needed to taste every inch of her.

More. I need more.

She wanted to keep the fog of grief locked outside his bedroom. She didn't want to think. She just wanted to feel. She needed him right now because she couldn't step into that place where the world felt like it was falling apart, spiraling out of control. Not yet.

“It's not fair,” she murmured, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

His lips hovered over the swell of her breasts peeking out over the top of her shirt. “Not much is.”

Oh no, don't go there.

“You're naked and I'm not,” she said, drawing him back to this place where physical desire dominated.

He let out a low laugh as his tongue glided over her skin, licking just above the edge of her T-­shirt. “Not fair at all.”

She broke away from him and stripped off her clothes. Her movements were rushed and she nearly fell over trying to get out of her pants. But she wasn't looking to seduce him. She wanted to take him, fighting her way to a mutual pleasure that would block out everything else.

His brow knitted together as he watched her. “Are you sure—­”

“Shhh.” She placed her index finger over her lips. “I need you, Noah. I'm not calling, sending a letter, or a pigeon. I'm right here and I need—­”

His lips captured hers, his hands on her hips, drawing her close and then guiding her back. Her legs touched the bed and she lowered down, sitting on the edge. She took him with her.

I won't let go.

Noah dropped to one knee, his hands moving to her breasts. She leaned back and he followed, moving over her.

Wrapping her legs around his hips, she held him close. He didn't pull away, or try to second-­guess her. He just slid inside.

“More,” she whispered.

He stared down at her, his cheeks still damp from his tears. But he wasn't crying now; he was looking at her as if she was everything he needed. And he was pumping into her hard and fast. There was nothing gentle or careful about his movements. It was as if he needed to take as much as he could, as if he was depending on her . . .

I can't be strong enough for both of us.

She closed her eyes and let her hands roam. He had to meet her halfway, rescue her just a little . . .

His hips slammed into her. His right elbow pressed into the bed beside her shoulder and his upper body hovered over her. But his other hand wandered, gliding over her torso, reaching between them. His thumb brushed over the spot guaranteed to send her spiraling into pleasure. But then he stopped.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him.
I promise I won't turn into an idiot, calling out professions of love.

“Ready?” he demanded. “Because I can't hold back.”

“Yes,” she gasped.

He thrust into her again, his thumb offering one more teasing touch as plain old missionary pushed her over the edge. She took the sweet relief, holding tight to the pleasure. She did not love this man. She refused to hand over her heart.

But she loved everything about this orgasm.

“Noah. Oh, Noah.” She chanted his name as if it would prolong the escape.

But one more thrust and he groaned, his face contorting as he came. His lips curled back and he looked as if was growling, a pure animalistic reaction to taking her, claiming her, and oh God—­

“We didn't . . .” she said, her hand pushing at his chest, trying to get him off her. It was too late. She knew it was too late. “Oh God, Noah.”

“Hmm,” he murmured, obeying her frantic scrambling to get him off her. He withdrew from her body and collapsed on his back, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed. They'd been in such a rush to feel something other than pain, to push away the tears, that they'd fallen sideways across the full-­sized bed. And they'd forgotten the most important thing.

“We didn't use a condom,” she said.

He rolled onto his side and propped his head against his hand, his elbow pressing into the rumpled bedding. “Shit, I'm sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. Concern showed in his blue eyes. “I wasn't thinking straight, sweetheart. I can promise you I'm clean. I wasn't a saint these past five years, but I didn't screw around like some of the other guys.”

She shook her head, not wanting to picture him screwing anyone else. Not right now while she was lying naked beside him, after he'd come inside her.

“I stopped taking the pill,” she said, her voice hollow. How could she have let this happen? “I figured I wasn't great at remembering it anyway, seeing as I got pregnant. I meant to get an IUD. But I looked up the cost . . .”

“It's going to be OK.” Noah drew her into his arms and she went, resting her head against his chest. He felt so strong, the muscles in his arms taut as they lay on the bed. “The chances are slim—­”

“I can't lose another baby,” she whispered.

“You won't.” His hold tightened as if he could physically force the possibility away. “You could always take a morning-­after pill before you leave for Germany.”

“I could.” But despite the bubbling fear, she couldn't bring herself to go to a doctor and ask to wipe away the possibility of a child. She couldn't lose another baby, not to a pill or an early delivery.

Of course, she wasn't in a position to have a child. But still, after fighting so hard for her baby to live, she couldn't erase another before he even had a chance . . .

“But,” she began.

“You don't have to take anything, Josie. Whatever happens, we'll get through it. And you don't need to send a pigeon this time. I'm not going anywhere. And I'll be here when you get back from Germany.”

She nodded, and the fear she'd pushed away for a few blissful—­and potentially disastrous—­minutes, returned. Her brother might be dying. She might never get to hear him laugh, or give her shit for, well, just about anything. And she might never get to see his expression when she told him she'd gotten naked with his best friend.

“It's going to be OK, Josie,” he said as if he could make everything—­Dominic, her potential pregnancy—­A-­OK through sheer willpower.

“Maybe.”

She closed her eyes.
You can do this. You can face anything.

She might be lying to herself. But she didn't have a choice. She needed to be strong because Noah couldn't rush in to play the hero this time. She'd found him reduced to tears, his emotions raw when she entered his room. He was in this with her.

With her head still resting against his chest, she wrapped her arm around him and held tight.

I'll be your anchor if you'll be mine, because if we send out a pigeon, I don't think anyone will rush to our rescue.

 

Chapter Nineteen

H
ER BROTHER,
THE
army ranger, had taken two rounds to the chest, penetrating the lungs and hitting a major artery. And a third bullet had shot straight through his hand. Now, machines surrounded him, their beeping oddly familiar.

Three bullet wounds require the same blinking, beeping machines as a premature baby.

Josie followed the lines on the screen tracking her brother's heartbeats. He'd survived two surgeries to repair the damage to his chest. She glanced at the long tube peeking out from under the hospital bedding. The tube ended in another machine, but it began in his left lung.

She looked up at him. A series of scratches covered one cheek. It looked as if he'd rubbed his face up against a rock. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Her brother had tubes coming out of his chest, his hand was bandaged to the point it was unrecognizable, but the marks on his face brought her to tears.

“I held it together on the plane,” she whispered. “I just sat there and hoped you would be OK. But then I realized that if you survive this, if you're fine, no permanent damage—­you'll go back. I know you will.”

Because Dominic had never been afraid. Or if he had been, he'd hidden it well. She'd only seen this desire to take on injustice, to fight for those who couldn't stand up for themselves. And his drive to be the best of the best. Her brother had his sights set on attending Ranger School from the beginning.

“Oh, Dominic,” she said, raising her voice, hoping he'd hear her. But he hadn't opened his eyes since she'd arrived at the hospital. The nurse said that was normal given the anesthesia.

Normal.

She'd laughed, the sound brittle and bordering on hysterical. The nurse had left her alone with Dominic, but made sure Josie knew she'd be nearby in case anyone needed her. And she had a feeling the staff thought the recently arrived sister would need them more than the injured soldier.

But they didn't understand. She'd spent the longest and most precious weeks of her life sitting beside a hospital bed. It had been much smaller—­technically an incubator—­but the machines were the same. Watching the blinking lights on the monitors, waiting, that had become her normal.

And here she was again.

So much had changed. This was Dominic, not Morgan. She wasn't alone. Her father was asleep in the hotel room the army had arranged for their stay. But still, sitting here, watching someone she loved, a member of her family who owned a part of her heart that would shatter into tiny pieces if he didn't make it through just like it had when Morgan stopped fighting, she wondered . . .

What am I waiting for?
Why am I pushing Noah away when I could be holding him close?

Her gaze remained fixed on her brother, but her mind wandered back to her hometown. To be fair, she had held him very close before they left. But reaching through grief, holding on to the person nearby to feel something,
anything
other than the fear wound tight to pain, that wasn't the same.

Watching Dominic's heartbeat on a computer monitor, she opened her eyes to the fact that she wanted Noah in her life. Yes, she was terrified that she couldn't handle the heartbreak if he decided to walk away, if he heard the words “I love you” and fled.

“The thing is,” she murmured to her brother, “I think I love him.”

She had run to Noah Tager's side when she'd needed someone. And this time, she hadn't been looking for him to step in and save the day. He couldn't do a damn thing for her brother. He wasn't a doctor. But he could bear witness to her pain and hold her close.

He'd changed over the past five years. She understood that, possibly better than anyone else in Forever. And she liked who he was now. He still possessed a body she wanted to explore, from his supersized muscles to his . . .

She glanced at her brother. The anesthesia still had a hold on him. But she didn't want him to wake up while she was thinking about Noah's abs. No, she needed to focus on his other qualities. The fact that Noah helped his friends when they asked. Sure, he didn't smile as much. But beneath his defensive scowl, she had a feeling he was still the same guy who'd driven his grandmother to the beach because she loved the feel of sand between her toes.

“I meant it when I told him I loved him that night. In the barn. Five years ago,” she whispered. “I love him. Maybe I always have . . .”

And suddenly the thought of not risking her heart on Noah seemed so much worse than the potential fallout.

“H
E'S GOING TO
make a full recovery.”

Noah heard those words, spoken over a crystal clear international connection, and he sank to his knees behind the bar. He'd been living in a fucking holding pattern for the past two weeks. Josie had called with updates, but never good news. He'd had to fight back tears after that first call, and he'd been working that time too.

“Dominic's here. I don't know much yet, but he was shot in the chest. He's in surgery.” Josie had paused for what felt like forever. “Again. But the nurse said most combat-­related deaths happen before they reach the hospital, so all least he's here, right?”

“Right,” he'd confirmed as the pit in his stomach had turning into a fucking crater. And God, he'd felt like he would lose it right there, one hand on the taps, his shoulder holding his phone pressed against his ear.

“You all right down there?” Josh called from the other side of the bar. It was Tuesday and they'd just opened Big Buck's, otherwise Noah would have had a full audience to witness his weak-­kneed tumble. “Not going to faint on me, are you? Because I left my smelling salts in the car.”

He drew his cell away from his ear and looked up at the redheaded Summers brother peering down at him. “Shouldn't you be out somewhere chopping down trees and pissing off environmentalists?”

Josh shook his head. “Day off.”

“Then sit down and drink your beer.” Noah pushed himself off the ground.

“Noah, are you there?” Josie said.

“Yeah, I'm here.”

“Dominic is going to be fine,” she said. “Well, he'll probably never fight the bad guys again. The doctors said he did a number on his hand. And the pulmonary artery doesn't exactly heal overnight . . . But he's awake, breathing, and today he might get to eat something.”

“I'm so fucking glad to hear that, Josie,” he said, glancing at Josh. He had questions for her, but none that he wanted to ask in front of an audience. “Hold on a sec,” he said to Josie. Then he covered the mic with one hand and spoke to Josh. “Mind going into the back to check on Caroline? She's been jumpy lately. I try to check on her every so often.”

“Is she armed?” Josh asked casually as he slid off his stool and picked up his pint glass.

“No, her gun is still in my safe,” he said.

Josh nodded. “Then it would be my pleasure.”

Noah waited until the door to the back room swung closed, and then he removed his hand from the mic. “I'm back, Josie,” he said, rounding the end of the bar and heading for the door. It wasn't anywhere near closing time yet. Hell, it wasn't even one in the afternoon. But he flipped the sign on the front door to closed.

“Everything all right there?” Josie asked.

“Yeah.”

Except my dishwasher thinks she's being hunted and keeps asking for her gun back. Oh, and I miss you. The way you serve drinks like you own the place, the way you kiss, the way you feel beneath me, and hell, the way you call me a jerk.

“We're fine here,” he continued. “How are you?”

“I'm glad that I flew over. Thank you for covering my bills. I'll pay you back. I promise.”

“Paid sick leave, family leave . . . it comes with the assistant manager gig,” he said.

Family leave.

She just might need that newly created benefit. He ran his hand over his face, closing his eyes. He'd spent the past two weeks coming to terms with the fact that part of him hoped she was pregnant. Shit, he'd put himself through fourteen straight days of pure hell, hoping that Josie would call him up and tell him they were having a baby. He wanted a reason to hold tight to her and not let go, an excuse to give Dominic now that his best friend was going to live—­thank God—­for wanting his little sister.

But shit, he was a jerk. How could he hope for something that would tear her apart? After what she'd suffered through the last time, it felt fucking selfish.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I think I'm pushing the limits of sick leave even for the assistant manager.”

“We'll talk about it when you get back,” he said.
Please say you're coming home soon.

“OK. But, Noah, I'm staying here until they send Dominic back to the States. My dad's leaving in a few days. He says he needs to get back to work. But I—­”

“Take as long as you need,” he said firmly.

“Thank you,” she said, and this time her voice was soft and gentle. “When this is all over and Dominic is settled into a rehab hospital, then I'm coming home to you.”

Noah opened his eyes and stared out into the empty bar. What the hell did that mean? Coming home to him or the bar, her job, and her debt?

“Hey, Noah?” Josh called, peering around the edge of the door to the back room. “Sorry, man, I didn't realize you were still on the phone.”

“I'll let you go,” Josie said.

“Bye. And, Josie, take care of yourself.”

He lowered the phone, ended the call, and slipped his cell into his pocket. Turning his attention to Josh, he said, “What's up?”

“Your dishwasher is having a panic attack back here,” Josh reported. “And it has nothing to do with the sparkling clean pint glasses.”

Shit.

What could have happened since they arrived at the bar? They hadn't heard from Dustin since he sent that picture. Noah was close to convinced their former commanding officer wasn't hiding in his woods. So much so that he'd stopped searching the property after he closed the bar. Not that he was getting any more sleep. Most nights he lay awake thinking about Josie.

But he knew Caroline felt as if the threat was still imminent—­from Dustin, from the police, who would arrest her if they found out she was AWOL. And while Noah was all for keeping her identity and the fact that she'd served alongside him in the marines out of the Forever gossip mill, he was starting to question if Dustin still posed a danger. Maybe their former commanding officer had given up. It wasn't much fun to torment someone who didn't respond. And the guy did have a family in California even if his wife had kicked him out.

“I'll talk to her,” he said.

Josh stepped through the door and looked around the empty room. “Want me to man the bar? I think I can handle a crowd this size.”

Noah raised an eyebrow as he lowered the wooden section dividing the back of the bar from the customer area. “We're closed. I already flipped the sign.”

“Good.” Josh's easy-­going manner vanished. “You might want to keep it closed. That guy who's after her?”

Noah nodded, hearing the edge in Josh's voice. It sounded like the logger was taking Dustin's pursuit personally.

“He dropped off another picture,” Josh continued. “A printout this time. He must have slipped it under the door while she was unloading the clean dishes out front. Caroline didn't see or hear anything. And she's on her guard every damn second.”

“Is the photo recent?” Noah demanded, his hand on the door, ready to push through and do whatever he needed to keep Caroline safe.

Maybe I can't do a damn thing for Josie or Dominic, but this I can handle.

“Yes,” Josh said. “But the thing is, I'm not sure it is Caroline in the shot.”

“What do you mean you're not sure?” he demanded.

“It looks a helluva lot like Josie.”

A shiver ran down his spine, something he hadn't felt since he'd shouldered his weapon and headed out to face the bad guys.

“The picture was taken from a distance,” Josh continued. “And they have the same long dark hair. Whoever took the shot could have made a mistake and thought it was Caroline.”

“Where was it taken?” Noah asked.
Please don't say Big Buck's parking lot.

“Caroline, Josie, whoever it is, she's standing outside your barn holding one of your kittens,” Josh said, his tone grim.

Ah hell.

And just like that, Noah knew—­his dishwasher had every right to be paranoid. Because this threat defined imminent danger. Dustin was out there. And he was close enough to see Noah's barn.

“We're keeping the bar closed,” Noah said as he pushed through the door. “And we're going to find him.”

T
HE S
UN WAS
slipping behind the clouds and Noah didn't have a clue where Dustin was hiding. He'd driven through Forever's quiet downtown with Josh and Caroline in his truck, scanning the streets. Josh had volunteered to pop into The Three Sisters Café and ask a few questions, and Noah had given him the go-­ahead. The Forever town gossips didn't keep tabs on ­people who lived an hour or so away and were less likely to respond to Josh's questions with their own interrogation.

But Elvira hadn't seen a lone man fitting Dustin's description. No one had.

And their former commanding officer wasn't roaming the university campus. Noah had driven back and forth through the campus twice hoping to find Dustin hiding in plain sight.

Now they were walking through the woods between his property and the neighbor's land.

“We're losing the light,” Noah said.

“We are,” Josh acknowledged, stopping beside a fir tree. He stared up at it.