Command Control. Sara Jane Stone

right,” he said.

      She led the way around the barn and up the three wooden steps he’d rebuilt when he’d first arrived back home. Waving toward the pair of green rocking chairs, she said, “Wait here and I’ll grab our drinks. Beer, water or orange juice?”

      “I’ll take a beer.”

      Sadie disappeared through the front door and he settled into a rocker. Eventually, he’d get around to asking her what kind of writer she was. He hoped like hell her answer wouldn’t be “reporter.”

      The door swung open and Sadie appeared carrying two bottles, a pair of forks and a pie dish. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And the only thing I have is half a leftover apple pie from The Quilted Quail.”

      “I like pie. Here, let me get that.” Logan took the dish from her hands.

      “Thanks.” Sadie claimed the empty rocker, and handed him a beer and a fork. “Dig in.”

      They passed the dish back and forth in silence, sipping their drinks, and watching the sun sink lower behind the green mountains and casting long shadows over the cow pastures. It wouldn’t be dark for several hours, but they were well into late afternoon. Aside from the occasional moo from the field, everything was quiet.

      “I’m sorry again about letting Titan out,” she said. “As you can probably tell, I don’t have much experience with farm animals.”

      “Now you know to steer clear. Messing with a bull.” He shook his head. “It’s risky.”

      She laughed. And hearing that sound—it was worth spending an hour chasing a horny beast.

      “You don’t get anywhere without taking risks and looking for new adventures,” she said.

      Logan nodded slowly, digesting this bit of wisdom. “This is where you’re looking to go? A rural Vermont cow farm?”

      “If you’d asked me that a couple of days ago, I would have said absolutely not, I’m just here for my sister. But right now, I’m thinking I like it here. Risks and all.” She turned to him. “What about you? Is this where you want to be?”

      “I’m enjoying the company right now.” He lifted his beer bottle to his lips, not meeting her intense gaze. The way she looked at him—it felt as if she could see straight through him.

      “But?”

      “Most days I’d rather be with my team than playing farmer,” he admitted.

      “Then why are you here?”

      He shook his head. “Let’s just say I screwed up. Big-time. That’s why I’m home. I’ve been ordered to remain on R & R.”

      She raised an eyebrow. “You’d rather be at war?”

      “It’s what I do,” he said. “Being in Mount Pleasant is driving me crazy.”

      “Ah, the raffle.”

      “That’s part of it.” There were also the memories, some good and some that reminded him of all the mistakes he’d made in his life.

      “Are you going to do it?”

      He watched as she licked her fork clean, her lips running over the utensil until she’d consumed every last drop. He’d never been attracted to the way a woman ate pie before. But everything about this woman’s mouth turned him on. “Probably. Aunt Lou will insist.”

      “And you always listen to your aunt?”

      He shrugged. “Most of the time.”

      “That’s sweet.” She smiled, piling another large bite onto her fork.

      “My mom passed away when I was a kid and my dad, well, he was never in the picture. My aunt and uncle raised me. My uncle died of a heart attack three years ago. Lou is... She’s all I have left.” He heard the grief in his voice and knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

      Logan brought his beer to his lips and drained it, careful not to look over at Sadie. He wanted something from her, but not pity. Still, he felt her gaze on him, studying his profile. He had a feeling she wanted to ask him a question.

      “Whatever it is, go ahead and spit it out.”

      She turned her fork over in her hands. “You said you screwed up. What happened?”

      Logan looked off into the surrounding Green Mountains. Lined with evergreens, these peaks were a world away from the ragged war-ravaged cliffs in Afghanistan. He was about to feed her his automatic “that’s classified” response, but first he had to know why she was digging. “Aunt Lou said you’re a writer. Are you a reporter?”

      He studied her face, waiting for her answer. But he knew before she opened her mouth that his paranoia had pushed him way off base. Her brow furrowed with surprise. Then laughter transformed her face, making her eyes sparkle.

      “Nope,” she said. “Not even close. I write fiction.”

      “All right, then,” he said. “The answer to your question is classified. I can’t talk about my missions.”

      “Fair enough,” she said. “I’m going in for another. You want one?”

      “I’m thinking about it,” he said.

      She cocked her head to one side and looked at him, her gaze burning a path down his body before she nodded and headed inside. He watched the screen door close behind her. If she could set him on fire by just looking at him, what would happen when he touched her? Did he want to find out?

      Yes. No hesitation. It was the first time in months he’d made a split-second decision, one that felt certain and solid. After all, his colonel had told him to do whatever it took to move forward. He had a feeling going after Sadie, kissing her, maybe more, would do more for him than sitting down with a shrink. Logan stood and followed her inside.

      * * *

      SADIE HEADED DOWN the short hall, her mind still turning over his words. She’d been on the verge of asking him whether he was married, but something in his voice had stopped her. The depth of his grief when he talked about his family seemed too raw and fresh for a childhood loss. It left her wondering about his secrets again. Everyone had them, but his seemed edged with sorrow. And a far cry from a married man looking to sneak around on his wife.

      She’d thought about offering the usual expression of sympathy, but she had a hunch this wasn’t a man who wanted pity. She’d rather see him laughing, and maybe after another drink or two, naked.

      She carried the empty bottles to the kitchen and found two more, setting them on the counter. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the fridge. A picture of Logan without his work jeans and T-shirt filled her mind. She’d seen the outline of those muscles when she’d sent them both tumbling into the water trough. But her imagination went a step further, picturing him in the shower, wet and glistening, begging for her to touch and taste.

      In her fantasy, he stood back against the wall, his hands flat on the tiles. It would take all of the man’s willpower to keep his hands off her, but he would if he wanted to feel her mouth on him. She’d make that clear. And like a good soldier, he’d follow her orders.

      The wooden floorboards creaked in the hall and Sadie opened her eyes. The erotic shower scene vanished, but it had left its mark. She was leaning against the fridge practically panting with desire, the downside to having an overactive imagination.

      Logan turned the corner. She saw him hesitate for a second and guessed he’d noted her come-and-get-me look. He crossed the kitchen and planted one hand on either side of her head. Holding his body away from hers, he looked down into her eyes before dropping his gaze to her parted lips.

      That look—it was part question, part warning. He wanted to kiss her. He planned on kissing her. And right here, right now, she wanted the real thing, no more almost-kisses in bookstores. But he didn’t move.

      “Kiss