Page 3

“Hey, Doc,” the bartender called out a greeting. He set a plate of tacos in front of Caleb and reached for a soda glass.
Caleb almost replied, then caught himself. The bartender hadn’t been speaking to him. He’d been nodding at the woman.
“Doc” had been Caleb’s nickname as the senior medic when he was an E-7 Special Forces Medical Sergeant in his ODA with the 3rdSpecial Forces Group out of Fort Bragg. But that was years ago.
He’d seen enough blood and trauma to last a lifetime.
The woman set a white paper bag on the counter. “Hey, Billy, I brought your medicine.”
Her voice was a melody of hard consonants and drawn-out vowels—New York, if he had to guess. She greeted the old-timers, then launched into a hushed lecture about diet and exercise.
Billy the bartender nodded, looking like a man enduring a root canal, and promised to do as instructed.
Good luck.
Caleb smirked behind his taco.Hell,if she were his doctor, he’d hang on to her every word. Her voice—low, husky—vibrated through his chest, easing some of the pressure there.
He bit into his meal. Crispy fried bread, hot and greasy, crunched between his teeth, mixed with seasoned beef, beans, lettuce, tomatoesand cheese. His stomach growled in appreciation. He cleaned his plate while watching the show.
The doctor finished her speech.
Billy handed her a club soda with lime before taking Caleb’s empty dish to the kitchen.
Full sensual lips stained a dusky pink covered the rim of the glass.
Lust punched Caleb, as unexpected as it was disturbing. He reined it in and tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t spook her.
“Your patient?”
She studied him for a moment. Eyes the color of sapphires and filled with shadows.
“Yes.”
Graceful movements. Unmarked golden skin.
But his father had never left visible bruises, either.
He extended his hand. “Caleb.”
To put her at ease, he smiled, the gesture foreign to his facial muscles.
Her eyes grew large. Her hands stayed on her drink.
He let his fall to his thigh. Apparently, he needed more practice at appearing non-threatening.
Then she surprised him, stepping closer.
He caught a hint of desert flowers after rain.
Sweet. Lush.
Another surprise. He’d expected a cloying perfume to match her expensive-looking clothes.
“Are you from Gallup?” Her voice was wary. One wrong answer and she’d vanish.
“No. I’m here to bury my mother. I live in Northern Virginia, just outside of DC.”
At least that was where his mail went and where he slept between jobs.