Hers for the Holidays. Samantha Hunter

left the room and walked downstairs to get a beer and some dinner. Crossing the restaurant to find a seat at the bar, he took note of the other patrons conversing and enjoying an end-of-the-day brew.

      Lydia was a city girl—polished and street-wise. If anyone had asked, he would have assumed the closest she’d ever been to a cow would have been pouring milk for her cereal in the morning. That was about as close as Ely had ever been to one, himself. Guns, he knew. Strategy, war, protection.

      Cows, not so much.

      Looking at the rough, hardworking men who sat at the bar, Ely took in the Christmas tree that stood in the corner, cheerfully decorated, giving a little sparkle to the soft light off the well-worn but comfortable tavern. He caught the eye of the bartender, who walked over.

      “I’ll have a beer, a burger and some fries, if you’re still serving,” he said, with a glance at the clock.

      “We are. Serve til nine,” the guy said. “Some of the best local beef you’ll ever taste. Visit a good one so far?”

      “Yeah, it’s a beautiful place.”

      “Business in town?”

      “Not really. Just passing through to see a friend, then heading back home,” Ely said casually.

      “Who’s your friend?”

      “Lydia Hamilton. You know her?”

      The bartender shook his head. “Nope. I knew Faye Hamilton, everyone did, but never met Lydia. She must be the daughter?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Heard she took off years ago, before I bought this place, and I’ve had it for a while. You back from the war?”

      “How could you tell?”

      “I served, my father served in World War II, and my son is in Iraq. Marine?”

      Ely nodded.

      “Ooh-rah,” the older man said with a smile, and Ely shook the hand he offered. “My name’s Tom. You?”

      “Ely.”

      They talked for a while about their service, and Ely was glad for the diversion away from the topic of Lydia.

      Ideally, she would never know he was here; he had a feeling she wouldn’t take kindly to the knowledge. He didn’t intend to tell Tessa anything other than that Lydia was fine. Lydia had a right to her privacy, and he didn’t want to mess up Tessa’s friendship with Lydia. If Lydia wanted to tell Tessa about her past, that was up to her.

      He didn’t like lying to them, but it wasn’t really lying; it was keeping Lydia’s confidence. Ely had a lot of things he couldn’t tell anyone after his military years.

      Tessa was a new bride, and she saw romance and happily-ever-after in everything these days. He figured she’d seen that with him and Lydia as well, and he didn’t want to encourage her. She’d pressed them both for details about what had happened that night, but she was bound for disappointment on that score. What had happened between Lydia and Ely hadn’t had anything to do with romance.

      It had been raw, basic lust. And Lydia wasn’t the romantic type.

      I don’t do relationships, she’d told him that night as she had undressed him. But I do a lot of other things.

      Being with Lydia had been...liberating.

      Unfortunately, they’d parted on somewhat awkward terms, and he had gone out of his way to avoid contact with her so that no one—namely Tessa—got any ideas. Also because he was messed up—he’d jumped from one woman’s bed to another, and had been pretty well turned around. Not his most shining hour.

      They should have cleared the air sooner, agreed to be friends, at least, since there was no doubt they would see each other from time to time. Jonas was very fond of her, too, and Ely knew Lydia would be included in whatever family functions came along. He figured time would let it fade, and they’d be friends.

      Ely’s attention snapped to as he realized he had completely zoned out on what the bartender was saying. He covered by nodding to the weather report playing on the TV above the bar.

      “Looks like a big storm coming in.”

      “We get a lot of those. Hope you’re not in a hurry to get out. Will be a few days before roads are clear and planes are on time again, most likely.”

      “I’m in no hurry,” he fibbed with a smile. He’d hoped to be there no more than one more day, but the weather appeared to have something to say about that.

      His dinner arrived and Ely dug into his burger—which really was excellent—and then froze midbite.

      Lydia.

      She stood inside the door, scanning for a place to sit. Ely turned away, hoping she didn’t see him. There’d be no way to explain his presence here other than the truth, and that wasn’t an option. When he looked back, she was finding her way to one of the faded orange vinyl booths that lined the far wall. She looked small and cold in a leather jacket that wouldn’t protect her well enough against this kind of weather. City girl, indeed.

      She sure stood out among the locals. A few men followed her progress as she walked; the way her beautiful little backside was encased in tight jeans drew more than one appreciative gaze, the sexy piercing and her half-moon tat at the corner of her lip. It made Ely remember far too much.

      He remembered biting her there, and that she’d liked it.

      She’d nipped him back, and he’d liked that, too.

      Lydia didn’t mind a little rough play and could hold her own on that score. He was suddenly, unexpectedly hard, and shifted in his seat, cursing under his breath. Obviously seeing her up close packed more of a punch than when he was following her around in the truck all day.

      Damn, she was hot. He guessed they would need a lot more time to let the effects of that one night fade.

      Her black hair was a little longer, flaxen, slightly curled at the edges as it danced around her pale skin, accentuating dark eyes and full lips. He knew that her skin, under the coat and sweater, was covered in ink...something he’d never found sexy on a woman before, but when he’d been with her, he hadn’t been able to get enough of looking at the sexy designs that covered most of her body. Running his hands over them, tracing them, tasting them.

      Ely had one tattoo, the symbol penned on his shoulder that he shared with the guys in his squad. Other than that, there had never been anything meaningful enough to him that he would want to inscribe it permanently on his body.

      He finished his food, but barely tasted anything as he peeked at her in between bites. Taking her coffee from the server with a smile, Lydia pulled a book from her bag, sitting there, alone, reading. Her apartment had been filled with books.

      Ely suspected there was far more behind the ink than anyone knew. Maybe that’s why she covered herself in it, as well as the piercings that accented various points on her body—lip, ear, belly button, and one even lower that had totally surprised and turned him on.

      But maybe, in some way, it was her armor. A way of hiding her secrets? Who she was, why she was here, and what was in her past that she was so intent on hiding. He knew, since he had his own. It had been necessary to survive in the war, and even when he’d come home. He ordered another beer, intending to call it a night and go back to his room before she spotted him. If he was going to be stuck here for a few days, he’d have to lay low.

      Then a guy sauntered up to the booth and slid in on the opposite side from Lydia. She didn’t put her book down, but the cowboy didn’t take the hint. He smiled, leaning back and picked up a sugar packet from the bin on the table, playing with it between his fingers, appearing casual. Ely knew his look; the guy was obviously hoping to score that evening. Lydia peered over top of her reading and said something that made the guy’s smile widen.

      Ely’s back stiffened, his body tightening as if for a fight.