Night Driving (9 page)

“You can dress while I’m in the shower.” He eased off the bed. His fingers curled around the strap of his knapsack and he came toward her.

Her pulse raced. Her heart thundered.

Get out of his way, you silly twit.

She stepped aside, held her breath as he passed within touching distance.

Just before he stepped into the bathroom, he reached behind her, and gently tweaked her braid. “Love the hair,” he said and shut the door.

Lightning-quick, in case he popped unexpectedly from the shower and caught her naked, she changed into a pair of white shorts and a red-and-white-striped V-neck T-shirt with three-quarter sleeves and exchanged her flip-flops for sneakers. She wore white “no show” socks with jaunty red pom-poms at the heels. She glanced at the clock. It was barely past nine. They had hours to kill before the car would be ready.

The shower came on.

Unbidden, instant images of Boone’s naked body underneath the spray of water shot into her mind. She traced two fingers over her bottom lip, remembered the kiss they’d shared the night before. The kiss of the year? C’mon, it was more like the kiss of the decade. Decade? Right. Be honest.

It was the kiss of a lifetime.

She’d had the kiss of her lifetime. No sense trying to repeat it. Any further kissing was bound to be a letdown, nothing to do but seal that pristine kiss in her memory and move on.

Sure, and she had the willpower for that. Ha! If she stayed in this room alone with him, she would kiss him again, and if he kissed her like he kissed last night she wouldn’t be able to stop. There was a reason she didn’t eat potato chips. She couldn’t stop with just one.

Boone was a potato chip.

She had to find something else to occupy their time. Determined, she bound downstairs to find Mrs. Hubbard watching
Good Morning America
on a tablet computer.

“Hi!” Tara greeted her breathlessly. “What do people do around here for fun?”

Mrs. Hubbard glanced up. “Usually guests come here from Lincoln or Omaha for a quiet romantic getaway.” She winked. “Most never leave their bedrooms except to come out for food.”

“Isn’t there anything to do around here?” she asked, desperate to fill the time until her car was ready. If she and Boone were caged up in the bedroom, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. Being in close quarters with him was just too intoxicating. Cheap wine didn’t go to her head as quickly as he did. Keeping her distance was the only way to play it safe and how did she keep her distance when she was stuck in a car or a room with the guy?

“There’s Pine Lake. It’s about three miles north of town.”

“Anything within walking distance?”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Hubbard stroked her chin. “On the weekends we have cooking and gardening classes, but this is Thursday.”

“Golf course? Exercise class?” Tara was grasping at straws, knowing he couldn’t do either of those things, but she and Boone both needed something to release the tension.

“Well...” The old woman paused.

“What, what?”

“There is the shooting range,” Mrs. Hubbard suggested. “It’s two blocks over.”

“Perfect!” Tara said. This was exactly what she needed to keep Boone occupied.

8

Thursday, July 2, 9:23 a.m.

W
AS
THERE
ANYTHING
sexier than a good-looking woman who knew how to handle herself? Until this minute, Boone had not realized exactly how erotic that scenario could be.

Tara stood at the firing line gripping the rented 9mm Smith & Wesson Sigma in both hands. A pair of protective safety glasses perched on her pert little nose. Her hair was still damp and pulled back in that fancy-looking braid that showed off her profile. White denim shorts hugged her shapely ass and he couldn’t stop his gaze from tracking down her long, lean legs. Oh, those legs.

Instantly, his body tightened.

Boone wasn’t even sure why he was here, except it beat sitting around Ross’s greasy garage and watching him ogle Tara. Or hanging out at the B&B, getting lathered up over Tara prancing out of the bathroom in a towel.

The air smelled of gunpowder and gun oil. Downrange was a life-sized paper target of a human male. Tara gazed coolly along the sight of her gun. Her biceps tensed, showing off nicely toned arms. With steady precision, she fired off three rounds. Boom. Boom. Boom. She absorbed the recoil of the gun without flinching. The echo rang around the concrete bunker as each shot struck the target in the torso.

Tara turned to grin at him.

“Not bad.” Boone shrugged, trying to pretend that he wasn’t duly impressed. Who knew she possessed such skills?

“Would it kill you to say ‘well done’?”

“Might.”

“You’d rather saw off your arm than pay someone a compliment, huh?”

“You did all right.” Why couldn’t he praise her?

“Okay? Oh, my, your generosity is making me dizzy.” She set her gun on the firing bench and stepped back as was protocol at a firing range, demonstrating that she clearly knew the rules. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic gesture. “I’m gonna swoon.”

To Boone’s alarm she tipped backward and for one split second he thought she really was fainting and then he realized she meant for him to catch her. Instinctively, he took a sideways step, arms wide.

She fell limply into his open embrace.

Boone stared down at her, his heart knocking crazily. How could she be so completely trusting? If he hadn’t caught her, she would have busted her butt on the cement floor. She’d gone down easy as mashed potatoes, as if she’d been utterly certain he’d be there for her.

And he had been.

She gazed up at him, winked wickedly. “Nice catch.”

He made a noise of irritation and set her on her feet.

“See how that works? You do something good, I compliment you.”

Boone just growled.

“You don’t fool me, Boone Toliver. Not one little bit. I know why you growl. You’re scared to death someone’s going to figure out what a softy you really are inside.” She reached over and patted his flat belly.

Boone froze against the onslaught of sensation her touch stirred. Ah, man. He’d fought hard against it, but somehow she’d burrowed under his skin and had gotten to him.

She grinned and damn his hide, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. Staying irritated with her was on par with kicking a puppy.

He thought he’d known his neighbor. He’d dismissed her as a beautiful, silly, overly friendly airhead. Boone saw that he’d done Tara a grave disservice. Sure, she was a gregarious chatterbox who could talk for hours about fashion and hairstyles, but she was so much more than that. She was warm and witty and insightful, and she sure knew how to handle a gun.

“Your turn,” she said and handed him the weapon. “You deserve to let off some steam and I can’t think of a better way to do that than blasting holes through a target and pretending it’s everything that’s bugging you.”

Except that you’re what’s bugging me. The way you make me feel is dangerous as hell.

He was overstating. No. She was not dangerous. Not at all. Because after they reached Miami, he’d never see her again.

Why did that thought sadden him? He’d be happy to get her out of his hair once and for all. She was a pest. A cheery pest, granted, but a pest nonetheless. He wouldn’t miss her. Not one bit.

“I wanna see what you’ve got. Show me you can do better.” Her eyelids lowered seductively.

Her flirtatious tone issued a challenge not entirely related to shooting guns, and he knew it. There was nothing shy or retiring about Tara. He admired her openness at the same time he longed to run away from it. She made him feel transparent. As if she could see straight through all his defenses and there was no place for him to hide.

“Bring it on,” he said.

She changed out the target, and Boone moved up to the firing line, careful with his stance, favoring his injured leg. He raised the gun. Bam. Bam. Bam. Three kill shots. Right through the heart.

“Wow,” Tara exclaimed. “That was awesome.”

He lowered the gun, shrugged.

“You’re a crack marksman.”

“I’m a soldier.”

“Were.”

“Huh?”

“You were a soldier.”

“Yeah. Go ahead. Rub it in.”

“I don’t mean to make you feel badly about yourself. It’s just that sometimes we all need a kick in the pants to help us get going again. Living in denial isn’t a healthy place to hang out.”

“And you got your degree in psychology from where?”

She stared at him for a second, a flicker of hurt moving across her face.

Damn it. He was such a jerk. He turned back to the target. Put two rounds clean through the target’s forehead.

“That’ll show ’em,” she murmured under her breath.

Okay, so it might be a little obvious to take his frustrations out on the target, but it felt good. Already, the tension was draining from his shoulders. She’d been right to suggest this outlet.

“Want another turn?” he asked.

They shot a few more rounds, then returned the rental gun and left the shooting range. Tara walked slowly up the sidewalk beside him in concession to his limp. He hated that she had to adjust to his poky pace.

“Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he asked.

“My dad and brothers are avid hunters. My father insisted we all learn how to shoot and he was rabid about gun safety.”

“Have you ever been hunting?”

“Just skeet and targets. I’m too soft-hearted to kill animals.”

Yeah, and here I am, a soldier.
But not anymore. His career was gone. He’d loved the army. Loved the structured life. Without it, he felt adrift, purposeless. That was the root of his discontent. The loss of his identity.

But hanging out with Tara was starting to teach him there were other ways of being. She took each day as it came with good humor and a sense of adventure. She made him want to change. To let go of some of the restraint that had held him together for so long and just breathe.

Boone was so busy thinking about it that he didn’t notice the fissure in the sidewalk. The toe of his shoe caught on the cracked cement. He stumbled, lurched.

Tara put out a hand, caught his elbow, and stabilized him. He regained his balance. Shame burned his face. Her chest was pressed against his arm as she held him steady.

Her nipples hardened beneath her shirt. Or was it just his wishful imagination?

“You okay?” Her breath warmed his ear.

Goose bumps spread down his neck in spite of the late-morning sun. He clenched his teeth.
Knock it off, Toliver. Just stop reacting to her.
Easy to say, much harder to will his body not to have a normal male response to a sexy woman.

Gently, he shook her off. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I am.”

“You look...” She paused, narrowed her eyes.

Boone kept walking.

Tara hurried to catch up. “You can run but you can’t hide.”

“Watch me,” he called over his shoulder.

“I’m not letting you off the hook.”

He had to slow down because his knee was throbbing.

“What are you so scared of Boone?”

You.
No one had ever turned him upside down the way Tara did. “Not one damn thing.”

“It’s okay to be afraid.”

No it wasn’t. Not for him. Didn’t she get that? He was the strong one. The protector. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt. If he wasn’t a soldier, then who the hell was he?

He stopped walking, turned to her on the quiet street of a small town he’d never been in before and would likely never be in again.

Tara stopped abruptly, mere inches from him. She titled her chin up and met his hard-edged stare without blinking. The way she looked at him made him feel...well, like the past was truly gone and all that mattered was the present. How did she do it? How did she live in the moment? He was envious of her skill and resented it at the same time.

“Boone,” she said, reading his mind. “You can set your own course in life. Be whoever or whatever you want to be.”

“I can’t be a soldier.”

“Not anymore, but you’ve already been there, done that. You’re beyond that. It’s time to move on.”

“How?”

“By understanding that it’s okay to be in transition. You don’t have to have all the answers all the time.”

“What if I can’t change?”

“You can. You are already changing. Two weeks ago would you have possibly imagined you’d be on a car trip with me?”

“No.”

“See there. You’re on the road to change.”

“Not willingly.”

“Reluctantly or not, you went along for the ride. You did it. You’re giving life a chance even if it feels like you’re still mired in the mud. You’ll get there.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because every day is a journey. We’re all a work in progress.”

“Are
you
afraid?” he asked.

“All the time,” she admitted. “But I don’t let it stand in my way.”

He didn’t believe it. She was one of the bravest people he knew. “What are you afraid of?”

“You,” she whispered. “This.”

The next thing he knew, she reached up, captured his face between her palms and kissed him on the lips, light and quick like a butterfly landing on a flower. Then she scurried, head down, into the mechanic shop, leaving Boone staring after her in amazement.

* * *

I
F
SOMEONE
HAD
asked Tara why she’d kissed Boone, she could have come up with only one answer that adequately explained her impulse.

He looked like he needed it.

The minute her lips had touched his, she’d felt his taut muscles soften. Heard his ragged intake of breath. Then, for the span of two heartbeats, he’d done nothing and she’d panicked. Right. He wasn’t interested in kissing her. She’d made a gigantic fool of herself.

Why, oh why, had she kissed him? She should have learned something from the previous night. Thankfully, she’d had the sense to pull the plug and run away. Yet she couldn’t help wondering. Would he have kissed her back if she hadn’t?

She sneaked a glance over at Boone as he paid the mechanic and she was surprised to see a pleasant expression on his face. Well, apparently she’d cheered him up at least. That was good.

Absentmindedly, she put a finger up to touch her lips and grinned slowly. Little by little, she was getting through to him.

He was a good guy who’d served his country. He deserved all the happiness in the world. He’d just lost his way and she was the one lucky enough to hold the light for him.

Remember that, Tara. Don’t get hung up on him. You can’t keep him. He’s not yours for the long haul.

That was okay. She could deal with it. If she could be an instrument in his healing, that was enough for her.

Or it would be if she just kept reminding herself of that.

“Heads up, Duvall.” Boone tossed her the keys.

She grabbed them with a one-handed catch.

He grinned. “Great reflexes.”

“Thanks.”

He turned to climb into the passenger seat and, as she went around to the driver’s side, she swore she heard him happily humming “Everyday Is a Winding Road.”

She was finally starting to get through to him. What more could a girl ask for?

* * *

T
HEY
DROVE
FOR
four and a half hours.

The car should have been packed with tension after she’d kissed him, but instead, it seemed as if the kiss had actually knocked a big chunk of mortar from the emotional wall surrounding Boone.

The time flew by as they discussed everything under the sun. They talked about the best meals they’d ever eaten. For Boone, it was lobster in Maine when he’d spent a summer with his sister, Jackie, working onboard Jack Birchard’s ship, the
Sea Anemone.
For Tara, it was her mother’s homemade pizza.

They mused about religious beliefs and discovered that while they were both spiritual, neither was dogmatic. They were equally like-minded on politics, both holding moderate views. They talked about their favorite movies and discovered they both loved the National Lampoon vacation movies.

Boone was good company when he relaxed and they were having so much fun that Tara was startled to see the sign proclaiming Welcome to Tennessee. Wow, they were making good progress.

“I’ve got ancestors from Tennessee,” she said.

“No kidding? Me, too. My mother’s parents were originally from Knoxville.”

“You’re kidding? This is getting downright spooky that we have so much in common and never knew it. My kin were from Nashville.”

“Anyone in your family musical?” he asked.

“Other than singing bad karaoke? Nope.”

A few miles later, they drove past a mile marker that said Nashville 33 Miles and a billboard advertising the Civil War reenactment of the Battle of Shiloh for the upcoming Fourth of July weekend caught her eye.

“Ah, man,” she muttered under her breath.

“What is it?” Boone asked.

“I can’t believe that tomorrow is the first day of the Shiloh battlefield reenactment.” She waved a hand at the billboard. “We’ll be so near and I can’t go.”

“You’re interested in battlefield reenactments?”

“My maternal great-great-great-grandfather was killed at Shiloh and I’ve always wanted to visit.”