Goddess Rising (14 page)

“I’ll tell you everything I remember about her after you answer my question first,” he offered, hoping to keep her there at least a little bit longer before she called him a pig and stalked off. “Who’s the guy?” he asked, nodding toward the pool table. “He an ex or something?”

Samantha sighed and crossed her hands again, clearly debating whether to tell him or not.

“Remember our deal,” he prompted, leaning toward her again.

“You keep reminding me,” she drawled, meeting his eyes. Sam sipped her drink, fiddled with her straw a second. “He’s just an asshole, that’s all. We don’t like each other.”

“See—that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wes teased. “What else aren’t you telling me?”

Sam looked aggrieved. “And he’s one of the best cadets in the Corps right now.”

“No shit?” Wes raised his brows, glancing at the guy again. He was met with a dark look, like the guy knew they were talking about him. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more to it than that?” Wes asked.

“He’s going for the Army Rangers—he’s practically a shoe-in.” Wes heard the annoyance in her voice, caught the edge to it.

He tilted his head. “So what’s that got to do with you?”

Samantha fiddled with her glass again. “Let’s just say he’s no fan of mine.” She touched her cheek distractedly, and Wes followed the movement, noting the faded remnants of the bruise she hadn’t bothered to cover up tonight.

“He the one who did that to your face?” Wes asked, hands tightening on the bar.

Samantha didn’t say anything, but Wes didn’t need her to. He straightened slowly, anger gathering inside him like a living thing. He felt a watershed defensiveness come over him, though he knew she didn’t need his protection.
Hell
, this girl probably needed less help than any he’d ever met, but that didn’t stop him from pushing away from the bar to head to the pool tables.

Samantha’s hand snapped over his wrist like a ruler.

Surprised, Wes jerked to a halt, glancing down at her.

“I didn’t tell you so you’d cause a scene and make things worse for me, Wes,” she hissed. “I’ll handle it.”

“How?” Wes taunted. “Seems to me this guy thought roughing you up was okay. Who knows what else this asshole’s capable of?”

Wes
fucking hated
guys who went around exerting themselves over people they perceived as weaker than themselves. He remembered every bad thing his father ever did to his mother, and he wasn’t about to stand for it happening to a girl he knew, never mind liked.

“I said, I’ll
handle
it,” Samantha reiterated, letting him go. “It was just a warning, anyway. He thought he’d scare me off.”

“Has this guy
met
you?” Wes replied, incredulous. “If anything, that little stunt’ll probably just make you dig in more.” And Wes didn’t doubt it. Sam might be young and half that guy’s weight, but she didn’t look like she’d take any shit lying down.

“He’s just threatened,” Samantha told him with the roll of her shoulders. “I’m younger, I’m a girl, and I’m already coming up from behind. I don’t think he’s got a problem with me specifically as much as the fact that I stand for a future he doesn’t like.”

“You mean a future in which a girl is kicking his ass in front of his friends?”

“Well, that too.” A ghost of a smile traced her lips. “I meant a future in which women are admitted into the special forces.”

So Sam wasn’t just a girl playing with the boys. She was a girl intent on making her way in a man’s world.
No wonder she had steel in her eyes.
Wes figured she’d have to if she was going to make it into that kind of territory.

“Can I ask you another question?” he said after a moment.

“Why not?” she replied. “I’ve probably already told you more than I ought to because of this stupid little ‘let’s be honest with each other’ game.”

“You’re just trying to distract me from going over there and kicking that guy’s ass with his own pool stick, aren’t you?” Wes sipped his beer while Samantha’s little smile told him he was right. “Most folks I know in the Corp join for the scholarship money. You drive a vintage car worth more than a couple year’s tuition, your daddy’s clearly loaded, and you seem smart enough to be in the Ivy Leagues—”

“You asking why I’m hanging out here with you instead?” Sam interrupted, amused.

“Nah, I know why you’re hanging out with me. You may not want to admit it, but you like me, Samantha Wyatt,” Wes told her with a jaunty smile. “I’m asking why you’re in the ROTC, pushing so hard to join the military, when it seems to me a girl like you can write her ticket just about anywhere she wants,” he observed. “Why does this mean so much to you?” Wes looked at the fading bruise on her cheek. “And why let an asshole like that rough you up just to prove a point? He probably won’t be the last guy to try to stand in your way.”

“I’m not so different from everyone else, Wes,” Sam answered with a shrug. “How many other people come to college with the intent of starting fresh?”

Wes wondered how a girl with money and class thought she needed a change as drastic as running with the biggest boys club around. It didn’t get more drastic and traditional than the military. That was some kind of makeover.

“What exactly do you need to start fresh from?”

“You know anything about oil?” she replied, confusing the hell out of him.

“Nope.” Wes shook his head. “Why?”

“How about cattle?” she asked instead.

“Other than I like eating them medium rare?”

Samantha smiled a little.

“Are you going to ask me if I like the color blue next?” Wes asked, unsure of where the conversation was heading. “What the heck does any of this have to do with where you come from?”

“Nothing unless you follow petroleum,” she replied. “Or the cost of steer.”

Then it dawned on him. Big money. Texas-sized money. Nothing bigger in Texas than black gold and heavy cattle in 1997. “You’re kind of a big deal, aren’t you?” he realized, though he could immediately tell by her expression she wasn’t comfortable with it.

She shrugged, shifting on the bar stool. “This isn’t some poor-little-rich-girl story.”

“Didn’t say it was,” Wes replied.

“I just don’t want to be a foregone conclusion for the sole reason of having a wealthy father,” Sam went on, clearly defensive.

Wes decided to ask the question he’d been wondering since they’d talked over barbeque. “So why do I get the impression your dad’s not one-hundred-percent supportive of you?”

“Probably because he’s not,” she admitted, pushing a hand through her hair. “If I am going into the military at all, he’d be a hell of a lot happier if it was a straight shot into the Navy like him and my granddaddy before him.”

Wes shrugged. “So what’s wrong with the Navy?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it,” Sam replied quickly, glancing away. “Just thinking about some different options is all.”

“Options that don’t involve anyone else’s history,” Wes guessed. “Because you’re your own woman and you want everyone to damn well know it.”

Sam met his eyes again. “You may be right.”

“Well, now you’re making a whole lot more sense to me,” Wes told her. “Most of us don’t want to make the same choices as our parents. Or grow up to be like them.” He wiped the counter. “Sounds to me like you’re more like us regular college folk than I gave you credit for.”

“Told you I wasn’t so different,” Sam answered. “Now that’s enough about me. Seems it’s your turn to sit in the hot seat.” She glanced over her shoulder at the bar flies. “You can’t seem to recall that poor girl’s name, and yet you want to be open with me about what I’m sure is some pretty bad behavior. So what’s your story, Wesley Elliott?”

*

September—Tuesday Late Night

Dixie’s Bar, College Station, Texas

S A M A N T H A

“You sure don’t
pull any punches, do you?” Wes replied with some amusement.

“Did you expect me to?”

“Guess not,” he admitted, glancing at the brunette behind her. Wes took a little breath, like he was working up the gumption to just come out and say it. “Truth is, I don’t remember her name, and she was a pretty forgettable experience. Not particularly interesting or I’d probably remember her more than I remembered the tequila hangover.”

“But with a rack like that, she doesn’t need to be interesting, does she?” Sam commented, sipping her drink. “Are all your girls like her?”

“Easy come, easy go,” Wes replied with a shrug. “I’m a guy. If she’s going to make herself available, I’m not exactly going to say no.”

Wes busied himself refilling her soda, and Sam could tell he was waiting for her to say something harsher or pass some sort of judgment. But she liked him. And she appreciated his candor, even though he was digging his own grave on the possibility of anything happening with her. She’d thought long and hard about what Miranda had said, but she’d let her curiosity get the best of her.

When she finished her homework early, Sam figured she’d take Wes up on his offer to get to know him a bit. She might have even convinced herself it would compound his bad reputation and remind her why she shouldn’t like him so much.

Too bad it wasn’t working
, she thought, wry.

“So why do you need the distraction?” she asked, surprising him.

“Who says I do?” Wes asked, leaning back against the bar.

Sam couldn’t help but briefly admire the long, lean line of his physique under his jeans and shirt. Wes was hot as hell, and she wasn’t blind.

“You’re a smart, talented, decent guy. You’ve got a hell of a lot of potential from what I can tell,” Sam replied candidly. “Yet you say ‘easy come, easy go’ like it’s your personal motto—I guess I’m more interested in why?”

“You calling me a slacker?” he answered with a good-natured grin.

“Well…” Sam cocked her head. “
Are
you?”

Wes gave it a moment before answering. “Life’s hard enough as it is. Figure why not try to enjoy it and make the most of what I can, when I can,” he remarked with a little shrug.

“Or you use it as an excuse,” she surmised, not quite buying it.

“For what?”

“To not try any harder. Because you don’t want to risk the disappointment if you don’t succeed,” Sam guessed. “I’m sure there’s no good reason to turn down the easy road—whether it’s a girl,” she said, gesturing back at the brunette, “or something else.”

“Well, I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, you are.” she smiled briefly. “Which means there may be hope for you yet.”

“Hope for what?” Wes asked, leaning toward her.

Damn. His eyes were a mesmerizing amber, like looking into the eyes of a lion.

Sam downed what was left of her soda, tamping down on her attraction. “I’d better get out now while the getting’s good.” She pulled out her wallet.

“Your club soda’s on me,” Wes told her, eyes light. “I may not be Daddy Warbucks, but I think I can swing that.”

“Fair enough.” Sam tossed a bill into his tip jar before she slid off the stool. “See you around, Wesley Elliott.”

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered.

“No need.” Sam shook her head, noticing Alejandro and his crew had left the pool table. “Better not leave pretty girls unattended,” she told him with a crooked smile.

Wes shot her a look. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“Not until you live up to something better,” she said with a wink, turning to leave.

“Will I see you around?” Wes called out as she made it to the door.

“Let’s play it by ear,” Sam answered over her shoulder. “G’night, Wesley Elliott.”

The night was balmy as she stepped outside. Sam felt wired and a little tipsy from their exchange. She liked Wes more than she ought to. Spending time with Wes was like running her palm over an open flame, dipping it closer and closer, teasing herself with the heady and exciting proximity of the heat and the danger of him. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself from thinking about him, wondering if he really only embodied the reputation he’d rightfully earned.

Sam was just about to get into her car when she felt a presence behind her in the low-lit parking lot. She put her hand in her bag, fingers wrapping around the handle of her baton. She saw a man’s reflection behind her in the window of the Mustang before she spun, yanking out the baton and extending it with the flick of her wrist.

“Back up,” she uttered, hackles raised and her adrenaline pumping.
Fight or flight?

Alejandro stood just a few feet away, staring her down with glittering black eyes under his ball cap, his calm menacing all on its own.

“If I wanted to get you, that little stick wouldn’t stop me,” he taunted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pack of smokes.

Sam didn’t lower the baton as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, his gaze insolent. She glanced around him, trying to ascertain if they were alone in the parking lot. She chastised herself briefly for not having taken Wes up on his offer to walk her to her car.

“No, you’d wait to do it during a training exercise when no one was watching,” she replied, voice taut with nerves. “What do you want, Alejo? Here to threaten me some more?”