Falling for Her Soldier (2 page)

Ellie laughed and tucked the front of her too-long T-shirt into the front of her jeans. “Apparently not.”

“Keep me in the loop this time. Oh, and if you ever
do
decide to sell the studio,” Jane said, pulling open the glass door, “if you don’t come to me first, I’m taking back your BFF card. Give Sammy a big hug for me.”

“I will.”

Ellie climbed in her car, ready to head to the Warrior Station for lunch with her brother. Instead, she pulled out her phone and flipped to the folder of saved messages.

The field hasn’t changed a bit since high school
, she read.
I can’t tell you how many hours I spent on that thing. Huh. Makes me sound like an old man. Thank you for sending the picture, Ellie. I’ve had a hell of a hard day, and you have no idea how seeing this little piece of home makes me smile
. Ellie was smiling, too, as she read, and twirling a strand of hair.
If I was there right now, I wouldn’t run down the field for a touchdown. I would stand under the home goalpost, because that’s the spot where Coach said he believed in me and told me why
. Ellie loved this part of the story.

I was a sophomore
, she read on,
still trying to find my way. The things he said changed my whole outlook, made me a better player, a better teammate. After that, before every single home game, I’d go to that spot and give the post a high five. Yeah, it sounds really lame, but I couldn’t let myself forget that moment. Funny, I’ve never told anyone that before. I wish I could show you that spot, Ellie. I wish I could stand with you under that goalpost and tell you exactly how I felt, how I feel now.

Ellie closed the message, getting the same flutter in her tummy as the first time she’d read it. Only a few messages later, and it was over. She still didn’t understand why he’d never written again. Maybe he
was
undercover with the mafia and couldn’t communicate for fear of being made. True, the e-mails started out as simple messages about Sam’s whereabouts, but they’d turned into more. She’d looked forward to his e-mails; she’d liked them.

She’d liked
him
.

The thought of meeting had never left the back of her mind. She’d wanted to tell him in person how thankful she was for his correspondence at a time when she’d never been so scared. But she also wondered…was there something more between them? Or had she totally misread the situation? Until they stood face to face, she would never know.

And she had to know.

She tossed her phone on the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking lot. For about the hundredth time, she wondered if she should bring up the subject with her brother. She didn’t want to freak Sam out about it—that she might be semi–in love with a guy from his unit—but at the same time, there was no one on the planet she wanted to meet in person more than Charlie Johansson.

Chapter Two

Charlie drove past ten empty spaces, not ready to commit to a parking spot. After seven years of painstaking restoration, he wasn’t about to let the door of his baby get dinged. The lot was full. Bumper stickers reading “Army Strong” and “Have You Hugged a Soldier Today?” seemed to be plastered on every other car.

He finally found the spot, and it was a pretty choice one: second row, first slot, so the whole passenger side of the Impala would be out of harm’s way. Nice. He was about to pull in when he noticed a van circling nearby. He could tell by the racks on the back and side that it was equipped for a wheelchair. He glanced to the front row of the lot—all the wheelchair-friendly spots were taken. A place like the Warrior Station really should have at least twice as many accessible spaces.

As the van was about to drive by, Charlie rolled down his window and waved to the driver that he could take the spot. The guy behind the wheel waved in return, backed up, and waited for Charlie to pull out. After circling the lot again, Charlie settled on a space in the back. He didn’t mind walking.

The Warrior Station had never really been his hangout of choice, maybe because when he was working he was with soldiers all day. When he was on leave, he’d rather spend time with his family, work on his car, or be in the company of a beautiful woman to keep his mind off work.

But during his last tour of duty, lots of guys in the unit spoke highly of the WS, so Charlie figured he should check it out. Plus, Sam liked to hang out here. Unlike Charlie, his buddy found solace at the Warrior Station, so it must not be all bad.

Speaking of not bad…

Charlie heard the laugh before he saw the face. She was alone, leaning on the bumper of a white car, chatting on the phone. Tall and slender, she was wearing tight jeans and what looked like a man’s V-neck undershirt—which was stunning enough, but to top it off, she had a curtain of gorgeous red hair. As he drew near, he felt the natural urge to stop and talk, get her number, take her out tonight as one of his tried and true work distractions.

When he got closer, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. The moment their eyes locked, Charlie’s throat went uncharacteristically dry.

“How
you
doin’?” he said. What the hell? Since when did he channel Joey Tribbiani?

“Um, hi,” the redhead replied.

Even her voice was sexy, if not a bit unimpressed.

Before Charlie had time to think of something as equally non-charming to say, she tucked some of that fiery hair behind one ear and went back to her phone conversation.

Oh, well. He smiled to himself and continued across the parking lot, never breaking stride. Charlie’s philosophy was: There is always another woman. As he got closer to the entrance, he noticed Exhibit A exiting the WS. Their eyes met and recognition flashed behind hers.

“Hi, Mr. Big Game Hunter,” she said.

“Hey there,” Charlie replied, automatically flashing a smile.

Her name was Anna. Or Annie? What he did recall was the butterfly tattoo on her lower back and the sunflower on her hip. He’d met her a few days ago at the WS, his first night back after being deployed, and they’d left together.

Anna/Annie ran a hand across the inside of his elbow. “Why haven’t you called?”

“I meant to,” he said. “You know how it goes.”

“Well…” She squeezed his elbow. “Don’t take so long next time. See ya.” She licked a corner of her mouth, turned slowly, and walked away.

Out of habit, Charlie watched her leave, then opened the glass double door. Coming out of the warm autumn sun, he entered the cold A/C of the Warrior Station rec center. It was more like a compound, thirty thousand square feet, at least. To the right was a large open space with four pool tables. All of them in use. Just behind that was a row of old-school arcade games. Guys in uniforms or civilian clothes shouted and laughed. Charlie felt camaraderie in the air.

To the left were chest-high cubicles set up with personal computers and PlayStations. Most of those were in use, as well. There was a wide doorway off to the side. From when he’d been here before, Charlie knew down one of the halls was a media room with couches, lounge chairs, and one giant-ass flat screen. Down the other hall were the meeting rooms.

That was where Sam would be.

“Oh, um, good morning, Staff Sergeant.”

Charlie turned to see one of the men from his unit.

“We’re not on post, Jeff,” Charlie said in a low voice. “Call me Hunter; everyone does.” Charlie inwardly cringed at his own nickname. He couldn’t remember which of the guys in boot camp had christened him “Big Game Hunter,” but it had stuck. For all intents and purposes, among military personnel, it was his name. He was used to it, answered to it, but he never really cared for it, didn’t like the implication.

“Thank you, Staff Ser—I mean, Hunter.”

The kid was nineteen, so Charlie cut him some slack. “Have you seen Sam Bell?” he asked, pointing in the general direction of the hallways.

“Earlier,” the kid answered. “Not for a while, though. He must be with the…”

Charlie nodded, not needing him to finish. Sam would still be in a private counseling session or one of the group meetings. His buddy’s shoulder, arm, and face were healing just fine; it was his spirit that was still having issues.

“Thanks, Jeff. Take it easy.”

Not wanting to bust in on Sam if he was talking with a counselor, Charlie wandered past a group of guys playing Foosball. A couple of them greeted him by name—“Hunter,” of course. One of them, the one with the loudest hoots, was missing a leg. They nodded at each other as he passed.

Charlie had enlisted halfway through college. That was more than a decade ago. During his time in uniform, he’d seen some things, he’d
done
some things, but never once had he questioned his position or doubted his ability.

Never, that is, until his close call three months ago. The old adage of your life flashing before your eyes hadn’t happened exactly. It was more like everything he
hadn’t
done smacked him upside the head like an Ali left hook.

He loved his car. He loved his family. He loved the way the sky smelled just before it rained. But three months ago, when he’d scaled down that mountain in the blistering heat, Charlie had realized he needed a change, he needed to be better, he needed more.

Just what that “more” was, he didn’t know.

“Hunter, hey.”

Charlie blinked and broke stride. “Hey, Sam.” He lightly punched his friend’s arm. It was hard not to look at the scar on Sam’s face, but he couldn’t
not
look at it, either. Couldn’t
not
remember the night it happened.

Come on, man, pull it together. This is one of your best friends. Practically everyone you know from work has a battle wound of some kind. It’s a badge of honor.

“You look good, man,” Charlie said, punching him again. “How ya doing?”

“Fine,” Sam said. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I was meeting with my group.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and slid his hands in his pockets. “Good, good.”

Charlie felt lucky he’d never been hooked on psychotherapy after a tour, but he wouldn’t begrudge his friend. It had obviously helped, and besides, Sam had had it much worse than any of them during their last mission. As per Army regulations, Charlie had gone through the basic debriefing and counseling. He was fine. And despite what the MD prescribed, he did
not
need to talk it out. He was dealing with it on his own.

“Have you eaten?” Charlie asked, gesturing toward the corner behind the pool tables. “Is that a deli over there?”

Is there anything this place doesn’t have? No wonder Sam never wants to leave.

“It’s not bad,” Sam said. “I was just about to grab a table.” Sam greeted practically every person they passed, but then he slowed his pace. “Hunter,” he said in a lower voice, “I need to thank you.”

“For what?”

He ran a hand over his shaved head. “You know…for—”

“Dammit, man.” Charlie cut him off. “You can’t thank me every time you see me. I’ve been home a week and it’s getting old.”

“My doctor said—”

“Screw the doctors. It happened and it’s over. If you bring it up again, I swear I’ll bury you up to your head in sand when we get back to Afghanistan.” Charlie meant it as a joke, but Sam only stared back. “Listen, I know what you mean, but you’re all right now, you’re home, and that’s what matters.” He put a hand on his buddy’s shoulder. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

Charlie growled and made a fist.

Sam laughed and shook off Charlie’s hand. “I mean, screw you, Hunter.”

“There ya go.”

They stood behind the deli counter. There were no menus, just daily specials written on a chalkboard hanging in front of the grill. They placed their orders and found an empty table near the wall.

“I’m going to the range to hit balls later,” Charlie said. “Then play a round. You should come. We’ll get a foursome.”

“I should, only…they’re showing a fight on Pay Per View later.” Sam nodded toward the middle of the room. “Then Texas Hold ’Em tonight.”

“You’re hanging out all day?”

Sam smoothed down the collar of his shirt. “I like it here.”

Charlie nodded and dropped the subject, trusting that his buddy knew best, though he really missed hanging out like they used to.

A moment later, their order number was called. Before Charlie could move, Sam leaped up and disappeared. While he was gone, Charlie leaned back and lazily scanned the room, bobbing from face to face, his eyes moving to the front door across the long room when it swung open.

Today must be his lucky day, because in stepped the knockout redhead from the parking lot. Charlie sat up straight. In a room full of boisterous soldiers, the woman stood out like a beautiful sore thumb. She, too, was scanning the crowd like she was meeting someone. Now was his chance to erase that terrible first impression from her mind; for a woman like that, he would gladly stoop to apologizing.

But only if she isn’t already with someone
, he reminded himself.

Very few women were unavailable in his book. His hands-off list was short: his sister Tess’s friends and his own friends’ sisters.

Even while sizing up the redhead and calculating how soon he could be running his hands through that hair, Charlie reminded himself that his womanizing tendencies had to stop; that was one of the things he’d mulled over and over while stranded on that mountain. He’d taken stock of his past conduct and didn’t like what he saw.

It wasn’t as if he were ready to settle down or anything insane like that, but he did know it was time to change his attitude and behavior toward the women he dated. That change, however, was slow in coming. He’d relapsed with Anna/Annie the other night. But he was really ready now. Maybe he’d even stop going by “Hunter.” It was such a dumbass name.

Still standing by the door, the woman passed her eyes right over him. Charlie was about to stand up and make his way toward her when she headed in the opposite direction. She was obviously at the WS to meet someone else, and Charlie had to respect that, even if he didn’t like it.

Note to self,
he thought
. The redhead isn’t interested.

So instead of leaping to his feet and cutting her off, he sighed and sat back. This whole turning-over-a-new-leaf mindset kind of blew.

Just then, Sam returned with their tray of food. “So, what did you do last night?” he asked, passing Charlie a plate with a wrapped burger and a pile of fries.

“Date,” Charlie answered.

Sam grinned. “Yeah?”

Charlie shrugged and took a fry.

“No details?”

Normally, Charlie would have shared. A bit. Contrary to what his sister, Tess, would say, he wasn’t a complete douchebag when it came to locker room banter. But today, he didn’t feel like it. Maybe it was that new “find a deeper meaning in life” flaring up. It was happening more often lately, and he knew exactly why. Since he’d been home, he’d wanted to talk to Sam about that very thing, but he didn’t know how to bring it up.

Charlie leveled his eyes to Sam’s. “No details. I’ve changed,” he said, hoping he sounded as earnest as he felt.

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed a laugh. “That’ll be the day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve been in your unit for two years, man, and the Hunter’s status with the ladies is known far and wide. Even Ellie knows.”

Charlie lowered the ketchup bottle and stared at Sam. “Your sister?”

Ellie Bell. The very subject he’d wanted to broach with Sam. They knew each other. Only…not really. Not in the flesh. Just two months of e-mails. But what a two months they’d been.

When Sam had gotten hurt, Charlie knew the Army would be slow to release information to the family. So he’d hacked Sam’s Yahoo account and contacted his sister. During their last tour, Sam had told Charlie about Ellie, how their mother had died a few years ago and the siblings were all they had left. He didn’t remember hearing about a father.

“Why the hell did you tell your sister
Hunter
stories?” Charlie asked.

“Not much else to do when you’re on bed rest,” Sam said. “I talked about everyone stationed at the Indianapolis post, but there were just a lot more stories about you. And I have to say”—he took a bite of burger—“she was not impressed by the Big Game Hunter.”

Charlie felt the weight of an elephant on his chest. Regret. “I really wish you hadn’t done that, Sammy.”

He was looking forward to meeting her someday…someday after he’d tactfully explained to Sam about the e-mails, explained that he’d been getting to know his sister and—despite his own rule—wanted to keep getting to know her.

In one of her earlier messages, there was that one story she’d told about being pulled over while wearing her bathrobe and only one fuzzy slipper, yet how she was still able to talk her way out of a ticket. He’d laughed about it for days, trying to recount it to some of the guys but never getting the details right.