Let It Ride. Jillian Burns

people were staring, but that was the least of her worries. The last time Tammy had been this bad, it had taken a trip to the doctor’s office and a sedative to calm her down. Just getting her to the doctor had been a nightmare involving a 911 call.

      The knowledge that her mother would require a special facility soon broke Jordan’s heart.

      One day at a time. The saying had become her mantra. Sometimes it was the only thing that held the panic at bay and allowed her to keep going.

      “Look, Mama.” Jordan pointed at the convenience store beside them. “They have slurpies. Can I have one?” Asking for her mom’s permission was an inspired tactic. Soon, Tammy had bought her little girl her favorite childhood treat and was happily back at the bus stop with their clean clothes, which by some miracle were still sitting where Jordan had dropped them. Crisis averted.

      For today.

      

      A LOUD BANGING jerked Cole off the bed into a crouch, his right hand scrambling for his weapon. It took a moment for desert terrain to fade and the lush hotel room to come into focus. His breath came in short, heavy spurts. He wasn’t in hostile territory, covered in sand and blood, making his painful way back to base.

      Snapping his wrist up, he checked the time, wiped his temple on his shoulder, and stood. Eighteen hundred hours. Six o’clock. In the evening.

      The hotel door banged again. McCabe yelled, “Jackson, you in there?”

      Cole scrubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair, then moved to let his buddy in. “Geez, McCabe, what the hell’s with all the pounding?” Not waiting for an answer, he turned and headed for the john, leaving McCabe to make himself at home.

      When he returned, McCabe was slouched in a corner wing chair, boots propped on the writing desk.

      “You could have just called my cell,” Cole said, rummaging through his duffel.

      “I did.”

      Damn. Cole hadn’t heard his cell ring. He still hadn’t adjusted to not being a hundred percent. Like he wasn’t a whole man.

      Maybe it was true.

      “You look like crap, buddy. You been asleep all day?” McCabe asked.

      “I’m on vacation.” After seeing Jordan safely on the bus, he’d come back to his room, but he hadn’t slept much. He’d had the nightmare again and then he’d lain awake thinking about his last mission, going over in his head what he could have done differently. If he hadn’t been such a damn hotshot.

      Avoiding his thoughts, he’d headed for the Centrifuge downstairs—God love Vegas’s twenty-four-hour casinos—and nursed a couple of tequilas until soaps came on the television behind the bar. But he wasn’t about to admit any of this to McCabe.

      McCabe leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “I got us tickets to the Bullring at the Motor Speedway tonight,” McCabe said. “Thought we’d head over to the all-you-can-eat lobster at the Mandalay first. Grady and Hughes are waiting downstairs.”

      The thought of seafood made his stomach heave. “You guys go on.” He shot his buddy a cocky grin. “I’ve got a bet to win.” No way he could hold his head up around McCabe if he lost this wager. They’d been competitors since their first day of flight training.

      McCabe shot off the chair. “Are you kidding me? These are front-row seats to Legends Cars. They got Thunder Roadsters, man. That Keno girl won’t end her shift until 2:00 a.m. You got plenty of time.”

      He didn’t know which irritated him more. That McCabe called her ‘that Keno girl,’ or that he knew when her shift ended. “Her name’s Jordan.”

      “Who?”

      “The blonde from last night. Jordan Brenner.” He smiled remembering the way she’d introduced herself. “Mother of five.”

      “What? She’s got kids?”

      He looked at McCabe. “No, she—Never mind.”

      “You okay, buddy?”

      “I’m good. Thanks for the ticket, but I’m flying solo tonight.”

      Cole headed to the bathroom, lathered up some shaving cream, and smeared it over his jaw.

      “So, you’re going to sit around in the casino for eight hours and watch her work?”

      “Watching a woman like that beats watching souped-up roadsters race around a track hands-down.”

      “Fine. But it won’t make any difference with her.”

      Cole shot McCabe a parting hand gesture and then finished shaving, his thoughts centered on Jordan. His pulse revved up as he yanked the tags off a new shirt. Just thinking about her dusted all the morbid cobwebs from his mind.

      With the thrill of the challenge coursing through his veins, and the thought of getting that gorgeous body beneath his, he went down to the casino.

      

      “THIS IS all your fault, McCabe.” Hughes scowled at him, and then took a huge bite out of her hot dog.

      Captain Mitch McCabe scooted along the hard metal bleacher and picked up a nacho. The Speedway was crowded tonight, the roadsters were amazing, and the hot dogs and beers were only a dollar. What was not to love? “What’d I do now?” He had to raise his voice over the roar of the stock cars revving up at the starting line.

      “Making that bet with Jackson. Is nothing sacred? The man’s been in the hospital for two months, for Pete’s sake.”

      “Why is it always for Pete’s sake? What’s Pete got that I don’t?”

      Hughes glared at him and punched his arm.

      “Ow!” He rubbed his arm. Good ol’ Hughes never had qualms about telling a person exactly how she felt. That’s what he liked about her. He gestured to Grady on his other side, sipping a bottle of water. “He was in on it, too. Why is it my fault?” Mitch blamed himself for a lot of things, but not the bet last night.

      “You’re the one who challenged him to go after that poor girl. How do you think she would feel if she knew he was just trying to win a bet?”

      “First of all—” Mitch swallowed a chip dripping with gooey cheese “—poor girl? The woman can take care of herself. She sure as hell shut me down.”

      “And that’s why you really did this, isn’t it?” Hughes just wouldn’t let it go. “You’re infuriated that some woman actually turned you down.”

      “Second—” he planned on ignoring that remark “—Jackson needed a challenge. Trust me, this is just the thing to take his mind off his situation.”

      Grady grunted. “Permanently grounded.” He shook his head. “But the Air Force has reassigned pilots before.”

      “If they don’t discharge him,” Hughes said.

      “Did Jackson mention a reassignment request?” Mitch kind of hoped Jackson might get assigned here at Nellis.

      Grady shook his head. “Not to me. And it could take weeks for his commanding officer to get the paperwork in order one way or the other. He’s just gonna have to wait it out. You know how it is. Hurry up and wait.”

      When Mitch had first heard Jackson had been shot down and was MIA, guilt and worry had kept his insides churning. Then they’d heard Jackson had wandered into the Iraqi base camp after two days in the desert, looking more dead than alive. And he hadn’t looked much better when Mitch had visited him in Maryland at the hospital at Andrews AFB.

      The memory burned like acid in his stomach. He should have been there, with his buddy, in Iraq, watching his back. And he would have been if he hadn’t made an ass of himself over Luanne.

      Mitch’s hand hurt and he looked down. He opened his