Page 13 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

Oh no. Slurred voice. High pitched. And her mother hadn’t called her Scar since…well, since she was ten, maybe. “Yeah, Mom, it’s me. We got back from our deployment and I wanted to see if you were…well, how are you?”

“Where did you go?”

“My deployment. Remember—eight months on a ship?” She, like the rest of Team Three, wasn’t allowed to tell where she’d been exactly, but, “I was in the Middle East.”

“The Middle East. Why would anyone go there?”

Huh. “Because I’m in the Navy. And that’s where… Mom, are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fabulous. Gary and I are going dancing tonight over at the Oakhill Supper Club.”

Scarlett stilled. Gary? “Mom…Gary—he…is he with you? Now?”

“No. He said…he’ll be back. Axel…find my shoes. We’re going for a drive. For ice cream!”

Scarlett’s throat tightened. “Mom, where is Gunnar?”

Silence. “Who?”

“Mom? Gunnar. My little brother?”

A funny laugh emerged through the phone, one that reached into Scarlett’s gut and twisted.

“Can I talk to Axel?” She pressed her hand to her chest.

The sound turned muffled, and Axel apparently regained the phone.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s not a good day, Scarlett. She’s…she’s been in a lot of pain since the car accident?—”

“The car accident?”

“Yeah. Totaled the wagon five months ago and twisted her back. The doc gave her some pain meds?—”

“And you let her take them? Have you lost your mind?” Scarlett slid onto a chair. “She’s an addict—and she was…she was doing so well…” She cupped her hand over her face. “Where’s Gunnar?”

“He’s fine. At school.”

Scarlett tried to picture it—Axel as the only semi-sober adult in the house—and went a little cold.

“Call back tomorrow. It might be a better day.” He hung up.

She sat there, struggling to breathe.

Oh. Help.

She covered her face with both hands now. No, she and Sammy-Jo Hathaway weren’t exactly close—hadn’t been since Scarlett left home at seventeen. But she still cared what happened to her.

Still sent checks home every month.

Which clearly Axel was cashing. And probably using for his own fix.

Scarlett stood up, not sure where to start sorting through her options, when the doorbell rang.

Her doorbell?

She had neighbors, sure, but hadn’t met even one of them.

It was Girl Scout Cookie season, however, so?—

Ford stood at her door.

She just blinked at him, not sure the heat hadn’t gone to her head.

He wore a plain black T-shirt, a pair of cargo shorts, and flip-flops.

Without his tactical gear on, he seemed less overwhelming, but not much, that shirt outlining his off-hour activities.

He hadn’t shaved today—but clearly had whisked off the beard he’d grown during deployment, his whiskers short and dark.

And he’d gotten a haircut. High and tight, dark and precise.

A pair of sunglasses sat upside down behind his neck and he looked at her with those pale green eyes, and oh my, even out of his uniform, in person, the man could reduce her to babbles and incoherent stammering.

This was why she did better over comms. She averted her eyes and spotted his motorcycle sitting on the driveway. She opened the screen door, still not looking quite at him.

“Hey, Ford. Uh?—”

“The guys sent me looking for you.”

This brought her gaze up to his, and yeah, bad idea. Because here he was in the flesh, his voice rumbling through her, making it worse. Her mouth dried, and she forced a clumsy smile.

“The…guys?”

One would think she’d never learned how to talk.

“Yes. The SEAL team you work with?” His mouth tweaked up one side. “Apparently, there are some virgin margaritas sweating in the sun for you.”

Sweet. And yet, she couldn’t move.

Ford glanced at her car. “I see you have a little tire issue there.”

She nodded.

“So…” He ran a hand behind his neck, as if not sure what to say. Glanced back at her. “I could…give you a ride?” He smiled, something sweet and friendly and?—

She burst into tears.

What the—? “I’m sorry!” She turned away, pressing her hands to her face. What was her problem ?

“Scarlett?”

The door bumped open behind her and she knew he was walking into her house now, but she just kept walking, not sure where she was going, so she ended up facing the wall next to her mounted flat-screen. Like she might be eight years old, hiding with her hand over her eyes.

Make it go away.

“Um.” He blew out a breath. “I really don’t know what I did, but…I’m sorry. And…can I…is there?—”

“No.” She sighed, leaned her forehead on the wall. “I’m sorry. I’m having a very bad day.”

She heard a jangle of keys falling on the counter.

“I understand bad days. Like when a militant terrorist lands on you and takes out your NVGs, then another shoots you in the chest, yeah, that’s a bad day. And it would have been worse if it weren’t for you, Red.”

Oh. She looked over at him, and he was sitting on a stool, sort of parked there, like he belonged.

“I volunteered to track you down because…well, I needed to say that to you.” Then he lifted the edge of his shirt, all the way up past his pectoral muscle to show her the still reddened but also greening-and-purple bruise.

“This could have been a giant hole in my head if it weren’t for you.

If I hadn’t turned around, gotten in a shot or two—probably rattled his aim.

” He dropped the shirt, gave her a half-hitched smile. “I felt a little like crying too.”

He winked.

And oh, there they went, straight out of her head—all the reasons she’d been telling herself not to fall for Ford. Only one remained—the Very Obvious Reason. They worked together. And he was a higher rank. And they were a team.

But he had that very sexy western drawl and those eyes that settled on her, turned her entire body to a temperature that rivaled Southern California.

And when he laughed, she could feel it to her bones.

“What’s the matter, Red?”

She sighed then, because they had this thing. He talked and she listened, and then she talked…and he listened, and maybe they were friends too.

And she needed a friend, if not someone to help her figure out what to do.

“I just called my mother. She’s…not well. She hardly knew who I was on the phone.”

He frowned.

“She’s an addict, and it sounds like she’s using again. And I wouldn’t be worried if it wasn’t for Gunnar and the fact that his dad is probably using too.” She looked away, out the window, and blinked hard. No more crying. “She was in AA and doing well when I left.”

“That’s horrible,” he said, coming over to her. “I’m so sorry.”

Then, the man completely dismantled her and pulled her into his arms. A polite, friendly, I’m-here-for-you hug, and she just, well, for a long moment, surrendered.

Because she didn’t have the strength to do anything else. And he smelled good.

Oh boy.

He held her against that amazing chest, his heart beating a steady, calming thrum.

She pushed away, offered a smile. “Thanks. I think…I’ll be okay.” She stepped back. Gave herself some room to think, away from all those muscles.

“We all have a week of post-deployment leave—take it and go home.”

She looked at him, lifted a shoulder. “My mother lives in Rockland, Idaho, nowhere near an airport. And my car…it’s trashed. And…” Oh, she hated to say this. “I don’t have the money. I send everything but my mortgage payment home to my mother while I’m deployed.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket. “Okay, so I’ll give you a ride.”

She just blinked at him. “A ride? To Idaho ?”

“Why not? I’m headed home this weekend. My brother’s getting married in a week, and I have leave so…but, I could drop you off. And pick you up on the way home.”

He said it like he might be going into town for groceries, was going to leave her off at the laundromat.

“You’ll just…drive me home? What—on your motorcycle?” She glanced out the front window. He had a Kawasaki Ninja—a rice rocket. Hot for driving around the city, but… “Fourteen hours on a bike…I dunno?—”

He laughed. “No, Red. I have a truck. We’ll take that.”

Oh. And not that she wasn’t exactly disappointed, but?—

“I will, however, give you a ride to the barbecue.” He picked up his keys. “C’mon. We all lived. It’s time to party. Fiesta is making nachos. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

He walked past her and opened the door, holding it, beckoning her, the sun turning his skin golden.

And she couldn’t stop herself from following him right out into the light.