Goddess Rising (26 page)

“Come with me to Chris’s game tonight,” Sam suggested. “We’re going out afterwards. Maybe we could make a thing of it.”

“I’d love to, but not tonight,
chica
,” Rita replied. “Alejo’s mom and sister are in town.”

“That asshole has a mother?” Sam joked as they picked sandwiches and salads from the cafeteria line.

Rita shot her a bemused look. “You betta believe it. My Auntie Lupe is as tough as they come. Day after her husband got shot, that woman went to work. Unbelievable. She’s like a South Side legend.”

Sam felt contrite immediately. She had no idea Alejandro’s father had been killed. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

Rita shot her a look of surprise. Then she shrugged. “Ain’t no thing when you grow up in the hood,” she said, nonchalant. But Sam knew her better. She’d seen the hurt in Rita’s eyes before they’d shuttered behind a mask of blithe indifference. “Anyway, they just got in today, so we’re taking them to dinner.”

She and Rita sat down at a table near the cadets, but far enough away that they could talk unencumbered. Sam spotted Wes interviewing a few of the guys while they ate, and from what she could tell, they were lapping the attention up. Each was vying for Wes’s attention as he jotted down some notes while he asked his questions. Sam turned away, picking up her sandwich.

“Is that why you grew up close to Alejo?” she asked instead. Alejandro sat a few tables away, surrounded by his posse, like one of the cool kids in school.

“It’s one of the reasons,” Rita admitted with a nod. “When Alejo’s papa died, we chipped in to help out at the restaurant, so we all grew up together—tighter than we probably would have otherwise. When Alejo got into college on ROTC, he encouraged me to follow him.” Rita paused, picking at her salad. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to go to school. It just seemed really unlikely, you know?”

“You’re smart as a whip, Rita,” Sam countered. “I have no doubt you would have made it anywhere you wanted to be.”

“Maybe, but growing up Chicano in Little Village, it just didn’t seem realistic—more like a pipe dream,” Rita replied, toying with her water bottle. “But when I saw him do it, I felt like anything was possible, you know?” She bit her lip, her typical
don’t-mess-with-me
demeanor shifted to reveal a side uncharacteristically vulnerable.

For all the time they spent together, Sam realized she’d only scratched the surface with Rita. They were a lot alike in that way—both private, both intensely focused on their individual goals. But where Sam was standoffish, Rita was so over the top, and at times, it was difficult to see past that bold brashness. She supposed it was Rita’s own particular brand of self-protection. Get out in front of people before they had a chance to get to you.

“I know you two don’t like each other, and he’s an asshole to you a lot of the time, but Alejo’s been a good cousin to me—like an older brother, really.”

Sam chewed on her sandwich, considering Rita. “So are you trying out for the Challenge because of Alejo?”

“No—this is for me,” Rita replied without hesitation. “To be honest, I never thought I’d make it into the top fifty when I joined up. Had it not been for you, I probably wouldn’t have pushed myself so hard, but now I see I’m good at this,” she confessed. “I could have a real career in the military, you know? Something I could be proud of.” Rita shrugged.

Sam reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand gently. “You’re killing it out there, girl. I’m seriously worried you’re going to knock me out of the running.”

Sam smiled as she finished her lunch, glancing back at Alejandro’s table, and Wes not far from it. No way was she backing down now. Alejandro could keep trying to knock her out of the running, and Wes could write any story he wanted. Sam was taking a page from Rita’s book on this one. This may have started in a bid for independence, a way to spite her father, but now she wanted this for her. Because she could see all the possibilities opening up in front of her—a world of options beyond the ranch and Wyatt Petroleum.

“Uh-oh, I know that look,” Rita murmured, her brow lifting in amusement.

Sam glanced back at her. “What look?”

“It’s the look you get when you’ve made up your mind.”

Sam smiled slowly. “You got that right.”

September—Saturday Night

Kyle Field, Texas A&M

S A M A N T H A

K
yle Field stadium
was jam-packed and riotous with thunderous applause by the time Sam managed to get there, just in time for the second half. The cadets had gotten back late after bussing from Fort Hood, and Sam had taken her time with a long, hot shower. She’d rubbed some ointment on her sore shoulder, the welt there already dark from the rifle’s recoil. She considered calling Uncle Grant and telling him about the win, but decided to save it for her regular Sunday night call back to the ranch, when she typically caught up with Ryland. Sam smiled as she imagined him whooping and cheering with excitement over the phone as he told everyone within earshot, bragging about his sister. The visual warmed her, and pride in her own accomplishment made the deep bruise forming on her shoulder all the more worth it.

Now, standing in the bright lights of Kyle Field, Sam felt another kind of pride as she looked up at the scoreboard—school pride. A&M was up against Ole Miss, easily the nation’s top-scoring offense for the year. Ole Miss was ahead, but barely. Emotions ran high and the air felt electric—Sam wondered briefly if this was what the inside of the Coliseum had felt like, all those years ago, the Romans cheering on their gladiators through battles and feats of strength and bravery. She watched breathlessly from the ground gates as A&M blocked Ole Miss’s field goal, setting up an impressive drive toward closing up the deficit, amidst the shouts and cheers from the ever-faithful Aggies. Revved up by the noise and the atmosphere, Sam was just about to push her way up the packed bleachers when a hand came out of nowhere and pulled her sideways.

“
What the
—”

“You made it! Come with me!” Wes shouted as he pulled her along, waving his press pass around his neck as he hustled her along the sidelines. The mayhem was incredible. It was amazing she could hear him over the din.

“Damn, you’re everywhere,” she muttered, staring at his back as he practically dragged her through the throng.
Off-campus, ROTC, football games, in her head
—Wes had become so omnipresent in her life in such a short period of time, it was uncanny.

“What?!” he shouted over his shoulder as he dragged her down the sidelines, eyes on the field.

Sam yanked his shoulder down so she could shout into his ear: “You’re freaking
everywhere
!” but Wes turned his head just enough that her mouth grazed his warm cheek, making her lips tingle. Wes smiled at her, his face so close, she could see the flecks in his amber eyes.

“Only where you are, darlin’,” he said in her ear before drawing back, making her feel hot and a little befuddled.

Wes saved her some embarrassment by turning and leading the way as he cut a swath through the crowd of reporters, photographers, and VIP fans lucky enough to get floor-level visuals of the players. They were so close to the player’s bench, Sam could almost reach out and pet them. She shifted her gaze, trying to spot Chris on the field.

“What’s Chris’s number?” she asked.

“He’s 76—over there,” Wes pointed.

Chris stood almost a head taller than most of the players on the field—an absolute behemoth in his helmet and pads.

“How’s he doing?”

“Good,” Wes nodded. “Ole Miss is tough, but we’re coming back hard.”

The Aggie’s quarterback snapped and the football landed into the waiting hands of the wide receiver. He shot down the field in a fast-weaving, remarkable fifty-yard run that got A&M in the end zone.

“Stay here,” Wes told her before jogging off with the other photographers, getting as close as possible to the action.

Samantha watched Wes maneuver the sidelines, working his camera and the large zoom lens all the sports photographers were using. He took fast action shots in succession as the players moved and huddled, repositioning on the line of scrimmage. She admired Wes’s focus and agility, the utter concentration as he worked, the big camera in his hands almost an extension of his arms. The lights in the stadium bounced off his hair, setting off the gold like a burnish. He looked like a wild, rogue angel—utterly entrancing; breathtakingly beautiful.

“Stop mooning over him,” Sam muttered to herself, forcing her attention back onto the field. But her traitorous eyes kept finding him between plays, and when Wes finally made his way back to her, she found herself straightening, the undercurrent between them making her feel wound up and alert.

Was it only a few hours ago that Sam had dreaded him watching her at the firing range? Was it only this afternoon that their eyes had locked when Sasser had announced her the winner of the rifle marksmanship trials?

“How does it feel?” he’d asked her at the rifle range.

“How does what feel?”

Wes’s eyes had glowed with admiration in the midafternoon sun. “To hand these doubting Thomases their asses?”

In that moment, Sam’d allowed herself to really like him again. Because Wes seemed to get how she felt—the vindication and the victory. She would never admit it to anyone if pressed, but she was glad he’d been there. Glad he could see her win at something that meant so much to her.

As if Wes had read her mind, he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders as they watched the team huddle on the field. “Your performance today was a thing of beauty,” he told her, squeezing her gently into his side.

“Only a Texan would say that about sharpshooting,” Sam joked, though she flushed with pride under the bright white stadium lights.

“I want to hang that target sheet up,” he admitted.

“As what?” she asked. “A reminder not to cross me?”

Wes grinned down at her. “Nah, I already knew that.” He squeezed her shoulder again. “I want to keep it so I can say I knew the first female Ranger.”

Her heart swelled and she shivered.

“You cold?” he asked.

“A little,” she lied. The fall air was starting to cool to a crisp finish, but if Sam was honest, she liked where she was, tucked under Wes’s arm like she belonged there.

Sam had to remind herself it was just an illusion—that Wes was a natural-born flirt and she was just one of the many girls he’d taken to chasing, but it felt good nonetheless. She was already riding high from her day, so she allowed herself to pretend for a moment that she wasn’t just another girl, and he wasn’t just a shameless player using her to get a good story.

The Aggies lost 41 to 42 that night. It was a close, exhilarating game with a near comeback that just missed the victory mark in the last, long seconds as the clock ran out.

As she and Wes stood side-by-side, waiting for Chris to come out to meet them, Sam watched the rest of the press filter out of the stadium after they finished interviews and took final photos and video footage.

“Where’s Miranda?” she asked him, looking for her bright red hair in the crowd.

“Guess the warden was feeling generous,” Wes answered casually. “She landed a couple interviews over at Polunsky with some guys on death row.”

“I hope she’s got some shatterproof glass between her and them,” Sam remarked. “Most of those guys probably haven’t seen a woman in years.”

“Much less a red-headed vixen,” Wes agreed amiably.

Sam peered at him. “Have you been seeing each other long?”

He lifted a brow. “We’re not together, and you know it, Sam. We’re just friendly.”

She recalled Miranda’s expression the day she’d warned her off of Wes in the quad over coffees. She had never explicitly said it, but Sam suspected there was more to their “friendship” than either was letting on.

“Friendly enough to bump uglies?” she asked, only half-teasing.

Wes chuckled, his teeth flashing. “You got a smart mouth.”

“Well, I’m a smart girl.”

“That you are.” Wes leaned against the wall, considering her. “Which begs the question: Why are you dating the wrong guy?”

“Because I’m also smart enough to know better,” she replied, shooting him a wry smile.

“Apparently not,” Wes drawled. “Or you wouldn’t be dating Chris when you know you’d rather be seeing me.”

Sam sucked in a tight breath. “You’re a cocky SOB. You know that?”

“That may be true, but we both know I’m right.” Wes stepped forward, crowding her. “You just haven’t acknowledged it yet.”

Sam pulled back an inch, eyes narrowing. “What I acknowledge is that you’re using me to get ahead with your career ambitions.”

“Hey, you’re the one who called me a slacker,” he reminded her.

“I’m sure you’ve been called worse.”

“Well, this is me rectifying that.” Wes crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall beside her. “You don’t get to have your cake and eat it too, darlin’.”