Her Military Man. Laura Altom Marie

the sometimes tough art of doing what she had to. Period. Yes, talking to Garret was awkward, but it had to be done. Which was why she was now sucking it up and trying to make the best of what he had apparently decided to make an untenable situation.

      “Too long.”

      Maintaining a polite front, she said, “It was, um, lovely talking with you the other afternoon. Assuming that was you who called my show?”

      “You know damned well it was me, and how ’bout we skip the small talk and get straight to business.” He straightened with catlike ease that belied his apparent injury. “Why are you here?”

      “Nice to see you, too,” she said, glancing away from him to the far-off garden where his mother staked tomatoes. A bee hummed nearby, close enough for Constance to hear, but not give her an excuse to run.

      He just stared.

      “All right,” she said with a sigh. “If that’s how you want it. Truth is, this is the last place I want to be, but that big mouth of yours has me over a barrel.”

      Wishing he’d had the foresight to grab his sunglasses before heading out to the porch, Garret winced. As much as he despised the cheating wench, he still wanted her with a biting clarity he hadn’t felt since…

      Well, since the last time he’d seen her ten years ago.

      “And…” he said, coaxing her to continue with his hands, wanting more than ever to be a million miles from this town, but most especially, this woman.

      “And—” she notched her proud chin higher “—as much as it pains me to say it, I need you.” Head bowed, she slipped off her jumbo glasses, allowing him a sight he doubted she wanted him to see. Her big blue eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, as if she’d spent the night crying. Why?

      “The only way I can keep my job is if you agree to guest star on my show. Apparently—” she cleared her throat “—the fine folks of Mule Shoe prefer you over me.”

      Judging by her defeated posture, she believed what she’d just said.

      What? He hadn’t for a second thought her tears had been about him, had he?

      “Seems to me,” he said, telling himself he didn’t care if her show was tanking, “what folks like isn’t so much me, but conflict. Something they don’t get a lot of when it comes to your show’s usual fare.”

      “So you’re an expert?” she said, bristling.

      “Mom’s your biggest fan. In the time I’ve sat around here healing, I’ve heard enough of your show to realize you’re a more effective sleep aid than a case of NyQuil.”

      Scowling, shaking her head, she said, “Apparently, the years we’ve been apart haven’t been kind. They’ve turned you into a jerk.”

      Bracing his hands on the rocker’s arms, Garret sprang to his feet, too late remembering he just happened to be short one leg, leaving him wobbling. Reaching for support in the form of soft curves.

      Must’ve been instinct that had her reaching out to help, because judging by her forked tongue, she didn’t hold him in high regard. Tsk-tsking, he shook his head. “You must not be too ferocious, otherwise, you’d have let me fall.”

      After swiftly releasing him, then delivering one last glare, she turned, marching across the porch and down the stairs.

      When she’d reached the brick sidewalk, he called, “After what you did—sleeping with my best friend, having his kid—it’ll be a cold day in hell before I help you, Connie.”

      Her sexy derriere still to him, she froze.

      “You and Nathan…”

      That made her spin back around, blue eyes flashing fire. “That part of my life’s ancient history.”

      Scratching his jaw, he chuckled.

      “Notice, I’m not laughing,” she said.

      As if he cared.

      “Garret, come on. Lose the chip on your shoulder. What happened with Nathan might as well be a million years ago. I need this job and, according to my boss, getting you in the studio is the only way I get to keep it.”

      Arms crossed while he leaned against a porch post, he said, “No.”

      “You’ve changed,” she said, scavenging through a bedraggled black leather purse, then drawing out keys. “I used to carry a soft spot for you, asking for your safekeeping every night in my prayers, but no more. After turning down my request without even considering it, for all I care, the devil can have you.”

      While she stormed across the driveway, this time apparently not caring if gravel gnawed her shoes, Garret laughed. Ironic how he’d just been lamenting that he never had any fun, when the best entertainment he’d had in years had just magically appeared.

      Tottering inside for that beer, taking a moment in the living room to let his eyes adjust from bright sun to gloom, Garret had to wonder himself what’d led him to flat-out turn her down.

      Truth? Lovely though Constance still was, he couldn’t stand the sight of her. In his whole life, no one had ever done him so wrong. He’d loved her. Believed with everything in him she’d loved him, too. He shouldn’t have even been listening to her stupid show, but with his mom blaring it every afternoon, Constance’s raspy bedroom voice was hard to ignore.

      Dammit, he thought, hobbling into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge. Cool air washed over him, cleansing the heat just looking at her had brought on. From the moment Constance had stepped those long, long legs up onto his mama’s porch, he’d been back to exorcising demons. Rehashing what might’ve been.

      Popping the top on a longneck Coors, relishing that first endless swig, Garret sadly came to grips with the fact that no matter how hard he’d tried, no woman had ever done it for him like her.

      There. He’d admitted it.

      And fire hadn’t fallen from the sky.

      The world wasn’t about to end.

      Only the very notion was nuts. In his line of work, gorgeous women came on to him every time he came up for air. But while a surprising number of his friends had snagged those women, then married them and the whole nine yards, Garret wanted no part of it. If he didn’t know better, he’d say whatever happened between him and Constance had been like slow-acting relationship poison. Oh, make no mistake, he loved women in all shapes and sizes, but as far as surrendering his heart and soul to one?

      After another swig of beer, he chuckled. He’d already tried that and it hadn’t worked out.

      “LONG TIME NO SEE.”

      From her place in the feed store’s lengthy Saturday-afternoon line, Constance jumped, turning to see what oddly familiar-sounding man had crooned the words in her right ear. “You,” she said, eyeing Garret.

      “Not happy to meet again?” he asked. Even favoring one leg, he’d managed to sling a fifty-pound feed bag over his shoulder. He wore khaki cargo pants and another camo-green T-shirt that clung to his chest the way she used to.

      She flashed him a half smile, wishing that two years earlier when Lindsay had asked for a live bunny for Easter, she’d said no. If she had, she wouldn’t now be stuck in line waiting to pay for bunny chow.

      “Missed me that much, have you?” His words were spoken low enough that only she could hear over the bustling crowd of at least fifteen talkative old geezers and two crying babies. A blaring Conway Twitty song and a baying hound out in the bed of Tom Neilson’s truck added to the chaos.

      Shoulders straight, she said, “I have nothing to say to you.”

      “Funny, seeing how there’s plenty I’d like to say to you.” He followed her when it came time to move up in line. “Town gossip says your boss is out of town and you need me to agree to your request before he gets