Read The Officer Says "I Do" Online
Authors: Jeanette Murray
The Officer Says "I Do" (25 page)
But, no surprise, Skye’s parents were unconventional and didn’t seem to feel any sort of discomfort. They acted like it was a weekly occurrence, having their only daughter’s husband show up to claim her, making unintentionally public vows of affection and love.
And then there was Veronica, the quiet, tiny girl who was almost silent. No, not girl. Woman. She had to be at least in her mid-twenties. But with her hair in two long braids, and her naturally subservient manner, he couldn’t help but think of her as much younger than her real age. Like a pre-teen getting to eat at the adult table. He could tell she wanted to speak, and often. Her hand clenched around her fork repeatedly. But she held back. Skye introduced her simply as her cousin, nothing more. But Tim couldn’t help thinking there was far more to the story than that. It just wasn’t his place to pry.
Amber placed the last of the vegetables on the table. Next to the other vegetables. And the bread. And more veggies. Ah, the feast of vegans. So he’d have a burger tomorrow on the way home. Surprisingly, the vegetables were delicious.
“What’s the seasoning on these potatoes?” he asked between helpings.
Skye’s mother smiled. “Family secret. But we sell the mixed seasoning in packets to customers.”
It was an odd combination. They lived in a very old-fashioned manner, without a television or computers in the home. No sign of even a radio that he had noticed. And most everything they owned seemed to be made in the commune, from clothing to furniture and everything between. It was almost completely self-reliant, this little community. And nobody was in want. But their business sense was as savvy as any entrepreneur straight out of Harvard. They operated their store with the same family-friendly, local charm as every other place in the commune. But they also had a booming Internet business, as Skye showed him earlier that evening, shipping organic spices and herbs and other food-related items around the country.
“Did your mother tell you about our next trip coming up?” Skye’s father asked. To Tim, he added, “We often travel around the country, speaking at smaller conferences about the benefits of homegrown organics and integrating natural foods into the American diet. It’s a great way to promote the business.”
Skye shook her head. “No. You hadn’t said anything.” But she didn’t look surprised. “When do you leave?”
“Sunday. The Clarks will be watching the store while we’re gone.”
“Will you be going with them, Veronica?” he asked.
Before the cousin had a chance to answer Tim, Amber said, “We were hoping you might take her with you. Let her experience more of the world while we’re gone. We can swing by California and pick her up on the way back.”
Skye looked thoughtfully at Veronica before glancing at Tim. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
He knew that was her way of saying she wanted to. If she didn’t, she would have said so. This was his out. And he wasn’t going to take it. “It’s fine with me.”
Her brilliant smile told him it was the right choice. “Veronica, do you want to come back with us for a bit?”
Tim doubted she was even paying attention, she was focusing so hard on her water glass. But then she nodded. And surprised him by giving more than a one-word answer.
“Yes. I’d like to go. I need to see more. More… everything.” Raising her head, almost defiant in the gesture, she looked him straight in the eye. “As long as you don’t mind the burden.”
“Not a burden. You’re my wife’s cousin. Family’s never a burden.”
She nodded once, and her eyes were shining. Gratitude? It was just a trip to California. How little had this woman been given the opportunity to experience if a simple road trip and a week or two of Cali sunshine had her near tears? Well, it made his wife happy. And that was enough for Tim.
***
Veronica watched as Skye and her husband loaded the small car with suitcases. When Tim came to take the one small bag she’d packed, he looked around.
“Got anymore?”
She shook her head and forced herself not to take a step back. Men, even in a platonic sense, were not something she was used to dealing with on a daily basis. But Tim was kind, and her cousin’s husband. She trusted Skye, and therefore she trusted Tim.
He smiled and shrugged. “Makes packing the car easier.” Then he jogged down the front steps and started working on rearranging the trunk again.
She bit her lip, wanting desperately to call back her bag. Tell him not to pack it. That she changed her mind. That she would stay in her safe little bubble where nobody could hurt her.
No. That’s what
they
would
want
you
to
say. Make your own choice.
This was why she came to America in the first place. Why she went against everything her parents believed in to experience life. Now here was a chance to take another step in the right direction. The
normal
direction.
He finally managed to squeeze her bag in and shut the trunk. And so, shut the door on any chance to change her mind.
This
is
good
for
you. You need this.
“Are you ready to go?” Skye walked up behind her from in the house and placed a soft hand on her shoulder. Veronica barely felt the touch at all. “If you want to stay, I’m sure that—”
“No. I need to go.”
Skye said nothing. But her hand squeezed slightly before it dropped away. A tiny show of support. Of encouragement. It was all she needed. Following Skye, she walked down to the car.
“Ready to roll?” Tim asked Skye.
“Let’s do this. I’m ready to head home.”
They both climbed in the car, and Veronica opened her back door. With one final glance at the house she’d stayed in the past few months—her baby step into the real world, she thought of it—she blinked against tears. Peter and Amber had been her saviors. And now she was hoping Skye would be half as understanding.
Her cousin looked back, a sweet smile tilting her lips. “You ready?”
With a deep breath, she nodded. “Ready.”
***
That night, after unpacking the car and settling Veronica into the guest room of the townhouse, Skye curled against Tim in their bed. The warmth of her body, the softness of her curves had him smiling.
She traced his lips with a fingertip. “Why so happy?”
“I don’t know what brought you to me—”
“I told you before. It was Fate,” she said smugly.
“I was thinking more like an ace-queen. Vegas, the blackjack table,” he explained when she gave him a confused look. Then she chuckled.
“That works.”
Sure did.
Read on for a sneak peek at
Jeanette Murray’s
Duty Calls
Available January 2013
From Sourcebooks Casablanca
Jeremy Phillips settled the protectors over his ears, adjusted his glasses more comfortably on the bridge of his nose and took a comfortable stance. Then, at the signal, picked up his Beretta, clicked off the safety and fired fifteen rounds. As the smell of black powder and CPL agent filled his nostrils, he checked his gun, set the safety, then slapped a hand over the switch to draw the paper target forward.
His best friend, and today’s shooting partner, Timothy O’Shay ducked his head around the divider and mouthed something.
“What?” Jeremy yelled back.
Tim cocked one eyebrow and tapped a finger to his ear, pointing out the obvious.
Oh. Shit. Right. Jeremy took the protectors off and set them on the ledge in front of him, next to his Beretta. “What?”
“I asked how long you were going to waste bullets when your head’s not in the game.”
Jeremy gave him a withering look. “I’m not wasting bullets.”
Tim’s answer was to glance between the two targets—his and Jeremy’s—now only a few feet away. Jeremy took a look also.
Tim’s dummy showed two tight clusters of bullet holes, so close together they’d ripped large chunks from the paper. Several in the head, the other in the chest. Not a stray hole at all.
His dummy, by comparison, looked like a constellation of wrongness. Half the bullets sprayed over the outline’s shoulders, the other half catching the figure in the arm or some other undesirable area.
“You’ll have to remind me how you shot expert at the last firearms qual,” Tim said casually as he stripped the target down and replaced it with a fresh one.
“Just having an off day.” When Tim said nothing, Jeremy glanced over his shoulder. His friend smirked and shook his head. “Bite me, O’Shay.”
“You know what Dwayne would say to that.” Tim straightened his shoulders in an effort to look taller. “If you were a female, I just might take you up on that one,” he said with an exaggerated drawl.
Though he tried to fight it, Jeremy cracked a smile. Their deployed friend, Dwayne Robertson, always did let his natural drawl thicken up to an almost obscene level when he was telling a joke. Tim nailed it perfectly. He clipped on his own fresh target and sent it back. “Yeah, yeah. When’s that big lug coming home, anyway?”
“He just left not that long ago. For all we know, he might get delayed past the original seven. Stuff’s shifting over there. Makes for interesting deployments.” As he thumbed the last few bullets into his clip, he pushed it in and locked it. “Seriously, what’s going on? You’ve shot for shit all day, and I know you could do better than this blindfolded. What’s up?”
Because Tim was holding a loaded weapon, now was absolutely not the time for the truth. So instead he lifted a shoulder and dismissed his friend’s concern. “If marriage is gonna turn you into some walking therapy session, I’m not so sure we can be friends anymore.”
Tim just laughed and flipped the switch to send his target flying back. “It’s not the prison sentence you make it out to be.”
“Right.”
“No, really. I guess it could be if you were unhappy. But when you’ve got the right partner, it works out. Pretty damn well, I think.” A self-satisfied smile crossed Tim’s face as he watched his target settle into place. But the preoccupied look in his eye behind his protective glasses said he wasn’t actually seeing the target at all. He was thinking about Skye, his wife.
Jeremy gave a grunt and rolled his shoulders. Tim might be blissful in love and all that, but it wasn’t for everyone. At least, not for him. Not right now. He had shit to do before he thought about settling down. And his mind wasn’t in the dating game. Not when he was too hung up on one irritating, annoying, always-in-the-way female who made his teeth grind and his blood fire.
In all the right ways… and wrong ones.
He waited for his own target to settle before readjusting the mufflers over his ears and reloading his weapon. Deep breath in, then back out. This time he wasn’t going to rush it. Wasn’t going to just punch holes through the paper for the satisfaction of the hit. Concise, precise, accurate.
He sighted the target, took a calm breath in. Waited until his heart beats slowed enough to time the trigger squeeze between them. And on a slow breath out, he fired one shot.
And his brain exploded in color and sound, light and movement. Voices. Action. Motivation and intrigue.
Before he even glanced at the target to check his shot, Jeremy clicked on the safety, set the gun down and started patting his pockets for a pen. Where the hell did he put it? Aggravated, he turned in a tight circle around his cubicle before spotting his pen on the ground by the bag he used for his ammo. He sifted through the bag but came up with no paper. Terrified he was about to lose the scene playing out in his mind, he pushed up the sleeve of his Henley and started to write across the underside of his arm, from biceps to elbow to wrist. Black ink smudged but he kept going, knowing he’d have an interesting time deciphering it later but not caring in the moment. He had to get the idea down or he’d lose it.
Writer’s block was a bitch in heat. And he wasn’t about to let the perfect solution to the corner he’d written himself into last week slip through his fingers because of a lack of paper.
Distantly, he realized he no longer heard the muffled pops of Tim’s gun. Quickly, before his friend could realize what he was doing, he jotted the last few words down across the inside of his wrist and pulled his shirt down.
“Hey, what stopped you?” When Tim glanced around the divide and saw Jeremy squatting on the floor, his brows rose in question. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Standing, stuffing the pen back in his pocket, he shrugged. “Decided you were right. My head’s not in the game. No point in wasting bullets.”
“I was planning to go a few more, if you don’t mind waiting.”
Jeremy smiled, feeling more relaxed now than he had in a week. “Sure, maybe I’ll go one more round.” He waited until Tim was settled, then lined up his own fourteen remaining shots. With a more relaxed breathing rhythm, looser stance, he fired until he came up empty. And when he recalled his paper target this time, he couldn’t hold back the satisfied smirk.
Fourteen head shots, one through the chest. The chest shot being his first before he’d started jotting notes. Not a single stray in the bunch. “Not bad,” he mumbled to himself.
Then everything in his brain stalled as he caught a whiff of something feminine, something that climbed over the scent of black powder and CLR and made its presence know. A scent he knew too damn well.
“Not bad at all.”
And with that light, airy voice from over his shoulder, his mood dipped dangerously low once more.
***
“Mad, hey.” Tim leaned over to give her a hug. Madison hugged back tightly.
“Thanks for letting me know you were out here.” She hefted her bag from over her shoulder, taking the stall on the other side of Jeremy. “Empty for a Saturday.”
“It’s early yet. Lazy people are still in bed.” Tim peeked around her arm. “What’d you bring?”
She held up her twenty-two, brand new and ready to be tested.
“Ah. See you broke out the Desert Eagle for this one,” he said solemnly, then laughed when she punched him in the arm. Her brother’s face twisted in comedic dismay. “Well, hell, Mad. That’s a girl gun.”