Serving Trouble Page 4

  “I’ll be right down.” She opened her duffel bag and riffled through it, searching for a pair of pants and a clean shirt. She couldn’t sit down to breakfast with the chief of police smelling like she’d rolled in booze last night.

  She walked into the farmhouse kitchen wearing sweatpants and an old tank top. Her father stood by the stove, his gaze focused on a frying pan. With the build of a professional linebacker, her dad looked like a cartoon character wearing an apron and holding the spatula in one hand.

  “Morning, Dad.” She moved around the familiar space, pouring juice and setting the four-­top wooden table. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

  “It’s your home.” Her father turned from the stove with two plates of scrambled eggs layered with cheese and herbs. “I would have been here yesterday, but Lewis, he’s my new deputy, his wife just had a baby.”

  “I managed just fine,” she said as he set a plate in front of her. She missed her father’s cooking. After the morning sickness and the initial oh-­shit-­I’m-­having-­a-­baby panic faded, she’d dreamed about coming home and eating at this table. But she’d dreaded the conversation that would follow when he saw her belly. He’d grounded her through half of high school only for her to show up pregnant once she went to college?

  Dad, I think you were right about me. I think this whole town was right. I’m always going to be the girl who needs saving, the one who’s not strong enough to take care of herself.

  No, she couldn’t say those words. So she’d tried to manage on her own. And still failed. She hadn’t been strong enough. Not even close.

  “I saw your note,” he said as he claimed the seat across from her. “You’re working at Big Buck’s?”

  “Noah gave me a job.”

  “He’s a good kid. And he’s doing a fine job with that bar.” He stabbed his fork into the eggs. “It’s a big relief for his father having him home. Buck fell a few months ago helping his neighbor set a hunting stand up in a tree. He broke his leg and now he’s having a hard time getting around, from what I hear. Good thing his son had come home by then.”

  She nodded and focused on eating. Was her father waiting for Dominic to come back? It didn’t seem likely now that he’d gone through Ranger School. He might have left for basic training at the same time as Noah—­and Ryan, the third in their trio—­but she suspected her brother was the only one who wanted to be there.

  She glanced up from her half-­empty dish. The sound of their forks on the plates filled the otherwise empty kitchen.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” her father said suddenly. “But if you came back because . . . If there is something wrong, I’d like to know. I want to help.”

  Where do I begin?

  “I just needed a job and a fresh start,” she said.

  She couldn’t tell the man who’d spent years questioning her choices about the baby. He’d been right every time. But choosing the wrong guy and losing a baby? This wasn’t a mark on her record. It was an F for “failure.” It had broken her heart in ways she hadn’t imagined possible. She’d held herself accountable. She couldn’t bear to add his judgment too. Not yet.

  “WAITING FOR THE cases of beer to count themselves?” Josie asked as she pushed through the door leading to Big Buck’s back room and headed for Noah. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the night the Summers brothers launched the hunt for the mysterious Caroline.

  Four days had passed since her trial shift and Josie hadn’t learned anything more about the missing marine. But she knew Noah had made it his mission to find her. He was either serving drinks, searching the Willamette Valley for Caroline, or trying to do the inventory when he was too tired to count.

  He glanced at her and then turned his attention back to the cases neatly stacked by the back wall. “This new citrus summer ale doesn’t sell. I still have . . . so damn much.”

  “Five cases.” She reached out and took the clipboard and pen from his hands. She hadn’t slept much either between working through the weekend at the bar and getting up in the morning for awkward breakfasts with her father. But she’d rested long enough to count boxes. Unlike her boss. She scrolled down the list, found the summer ale, and wrote the number.

  “Cases of this stuff and everyone wants Fern’s Hoppy Heaven IPA,” he muttered.

  “So get that instead.” She scanned the rows of beer boxes before adding a few zeros to the inventory list. “And we also need light beer.”

  “Only a few bars in Portland have the Hoppy Heaven on draft,” he said. “A bunch of the students drive up to the brewery once a week to buy a four-­pack. An hour’s drive to buy four cans of beer and they have to wait in line when they get there.” He shook his head. “I need to convince the brewery to let us sell it here.”

  “I could help you,” she said, scribbling another zero on the inventory sheet. “I could take over the ordering.”

  “Four shifts in and you’re trying for a promotion?” Noah said.

  “Only if it pays more.” She moved to the kegs and bent over one to read the label. She scribbled another number on the list and waited for him to say something. Maybe a sharp “Not going to happen” or “It doesn’t pay a penny more.”

  Silence.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” she continued. “The tips have been great. It probably helps that I haven’t spilled a single drink since that first night.” She glanced up to see if he’d fallen asleep standing up staring at the beer.

  Nope, still awake. And not looking at the beer. Not unless he expected to find a bottle buried between her breasts.

  “I’m not hiding a can of that super special IPA down my shirt,” she teased as she stood up. “But you can stare at my cleavage all you want. Nothing is going to happen.”

  Noah looked up from her chest and raised an eyebrow. “Never writing back to me, did that help you forget about the night you rode the bull?”

  “No,” she said firmly. “I didn’t want to forget. Maybe take back what I said. But now . . . I can’t take another ride with you.”

  “You’re sure about that?” he asked mildly. But she saw the tension rippling through his muscles. This man was close to falling asleep on his feet. But Noah still looked as if he would toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight to his barn.

  Do it!

  She felt the desire rising up and leaving her wanting what she couldn’t have—­him.

  “I’m sure,” she said softly.

  Because no matter how much I want to touch you, I’m terrified one kiss, one wild night, will damage what’s left of my heart.

  But she wasn’t going to spell out her feelings and fears for him. As much as she hated living with fear, she wasn’t going to present a challenge or give him a chance to prove that sometimes desire trumped everything else. Because, oh God, if her longing for Noah and his supersized muscles won . . .

  “Nothing will happen,” she continued. “Because I have a history of only falling for total jerks.”

  “I can be a jerk,” he said, his tone daring her to prove him wrong as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. His muscles flexed and his Semper Fi tattoo stared back at her as if the marines motto translated into “Bad Boy Material.”

  “I’m sure you can,” she said. But she knew better than to travel down that road. She moved to his side and patted his arm. He stared down at her hand as if she’d seared the blond hair. She withdrew her hand and added, “I just want you to know it won’t be a problem.”

  “The other night, while you were working your first shift, I wanted to lick the vodka off your breasts.” He spoke in a low tone and his gaze met hers. The look in his eyes screamed I dare you to pat me like a freaking puppy again.

  “You wouldn’t try now that I’m full-­time.” Her statement hovered close to question-­mark territory.

  “Get a bottle and try me,” he said. “I
’ll probably break my own damn rule about fooling around with the employees.”

  Her hand itched to reach for the nearest liquor bottle. But she was too much of a coward. Plus, she didn’t think he would do it. She knew jerks, the kind of men who hit, the ones who left, and the guys who didn’t give a damn. Becoming a marine, deploying to Afghanistan, fighting—­the experience had knocked the pedestal of perfection right out from under him. But that didn’t make him a jerk. Just a good man who’d gone to war and come home a little lost. A former soldier who’d rather give in to desire instead of face his own demons.

  She stared at the lines around his eyes. Right now, he looked every inch a good guy who’d rather use her breasts as a pillow instead of a shot glass.

  “Maybe later. You’re tired,” she said. “Let me finish the inventory while you rest.”

  He shook his head. “I’m fine. I’ve gone days with only an occasional combat nap.”

  “This isn’t a war zone,” she said softly. “Just because you’re searching for someone . . . it’s not the same.”

  He stared at her as if ready to argue. “No, it’s not,” he said finally. “Just one big Goddamn nightmare.”

  “Maybe Caroline left,” she said. And took the nightmare with her.

  “No.”

  She knew he was right. Problems didn’t just fade away. And the nightmares stayed whether you slept or not.

  “If you’re planning to comb through the woods again tonight,” she said, knowing he would, “you should rest. Take a combat nap. Maybe make this one a double while I finish up here.”

  “I could use a few minutes of shut-­eye,” he admitted. “I have a meeting with Fern’s Brewery in the morning. Think you can be accurate with the list?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve been counting since grade school,” she said, making a mental note to attend the meeting with him. He’d been joking about a promotion. But one day soon he might need an assistant manager to handle the ordering. And before she had dropped out of college, she’d been on her way to earning a degree in business management and marketing.

  “When is the meeting?” she asked.

  “Nine,” he said with a sigh. “But they’re located up near Portland. Long drive.”

  “I could drive,” she offered. “And you could sleep along the way.”

  “Jesus, you really are angling for a promotion, aren’t you,” he said.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “I’ll think about it.” Then he turned to the door. “I’m going to crash in my truck. Wake me before we open.”

  Chapter Five

  WAKE UP, SLEEPING BEAUTY.

  The memory of her soft voice floated through his dream. Hours earlier, before the sun sank behind the mountains for the night, Josie had knocked on his truck window. He’d been locked in a dreamscape filled with one boom after another—­an attack so vivid he could almost smell the burning canvas of the tent the insurgents had managed to hit with the rocket fire. Caroline had been by his side, shouldering an M16 while wiping away tears . . .

  Caroline.

  Noah opened his eyes and stared out into the bright morning sky. Right now, Josie wasn’t standing outside his truck ready to drag his ass into the bar when all he wanted to do was pull her in and lose himself in her soft curves. To hell with the fact she worked for him. To hell with Dominic and the shit storm he’d rain down on Noah for laying a finger on his sister. To hell with the last five years.

  He ran a hand over his face. Sometimes he wished he’d never left the barn that night five years ago. If he could have stayed there with Josie, keeping everyone else on the other side . . . but damn, he couldn’t live the rest of his life believing he could save the world. Tonight marked night five and he couldn’t even find the one person he wanted to help.

  Last night, after he’d followed Josie into the bar—­which she’d set up for the busy shift after she’d completed his inventory and done a helluva lot better job than he could have—­he’d endured hours of watching her move and smile at the customers. He’d closed up early and then, he’d gone to meet up with Josh Summers. Together, they’d searched another section of Oregon timber country for Caroline, who sure as shit acted like she didn’t want to be found. He’d driven home close to dawn, parked his truck beside the barn, and rested his eyes for a minute. That minute had extended until the memory of Josie woke him, sporting a whole world of wanting.

  He adjusted himself and opened the truck door. As he stepped down, he glanced at the barn. Shit, the light was on again. Had his father wandered out? Not likely. His old man had a hard time navigating the gravel separating the house from the barn with the walker the doctors had insisted he use after the fall. And they didn’t keep animals in there anymore. Too much work.

  The side door opened before he reached the structure and a familiar face peered out.

  “Caroline?” He stopped four feet from the barn and stared. “How the hell—­”

  “I had your address,” she said, her voice soft. Her mouth formed a thin line. Freckles dotted her nose, suggesting her fair skin had been exposed to the elements for a while. And her long dark hair, which he’d grown accustomed to being pulled back in a tight bun, now flowed loose around her shoulders. He didn’t know much about women’s hair, but he knew she needed a brush, and maybe a pair of scissors.

  She wore black pants, a baggy black T-­shirt, and combat boots. The clothes were three, maybe four sizes too large for her frame. Between Caroline’s height—­she stood roughly as tall as Josie—­and her delicate girl-­next-­door features, she’d always looked like she belonged in Disney World playing a fairy-­tale princess, not in the US Marine Corps.

  “So you walked here from where?” he asked, focusing his sleep-­deprived brain. He moved closer to her, but stayed out of arm’s reach. He wanted to offer her the illusion of safety. He couldn’t make promises, but he doubted there were threats hiding in the barn. He’d been home for months and the only things he’d found were some old furniture, the mechanical bull, and memories.

  “I was staying with my sister in Northern California. But he found me,” she said.

  “Dustin?” he asked.

  “Yes. He showed up and threatened to turn me in.” Her tone was devoid of drama as if she expected to open the door and find her rapist on her doorstep.

  “Did he hurt you?” he asked, not that it would change a damn thing. If he saw their former commanding officer again nothing would hold him back. He wouldn’t wait for justice. He’d beat the crap out of Dustin.

  She shook her head. “He didn’t touch me. But he said he was planning to call the police.”

  And when they found her they’d hand her over to the military. She’d probably face jail time for her unauthorized absence. It wouldn’t matter that she’d run because she couldn’t face serving alongside men who’d fought at her side one minute, placing their lives in her hands, and threatened her the next. And if she had returned, serving with those men would be pure hell because she’d accused one of them—­their leader—­of rape. She’d gotten their commanding officer kicked out of the marines because she’d had a witness willing to testify.

  Him.

  “So you ran,” he said.

  “I needed to find you,” she said. “Dustin’s pissed at me. But he blames you for losing his career. His wife left him and—­we should move inside.”

  Caroline scanned the house and the drive, showing a hint of fear for the first time. He knew his dad wouldn’t wake for a few hours. And he was familiar with the sounds—­cars speeding over the dirt road, the neighbor’s rooster, who operated on the assumption that it was always rise-­and-­shine time—­but she clearly viewed them as potential threats.

  “Sure,” he said and followed her into the old, mostly empty barn. The hay bales had disappeared years ago, but otherwise the space looked pretty much the same. Old boxes, some
tools, a rusted gate, and a collection of broken furniture that belonged in the dump.

  He left the door open behind them, allowing a beam of light to slip in and illuminate the mechanical bull in the corner surrounded by faded red, white, and blue cushions. His dad had thrown an old western saddle over the bull’s back. Now the damn thing looked like it wanted to go for a ride even though it probably hadn’t been turned on since he’d left for basic training.

  He followed Caroline into the light and over to the pads surrounding the bull. A backpack rested on the edge, packed and ready to go. It was the only sign she’d been staying in his barn.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked. “After you talked to Josh Summers, hell, I’ve been out looking for you every night.”

  “Yesterday afternoon,” she said. “I wasn’t sure I could trust Josh. He started talking about how they needed to start clearing the land. And he mentioned the police would be called in to remove anyone found on the premises. So I slipped away when he went to get his phone.”

  “He thought you were trying to save the trees,” he said. “But Josh is a good guy. He just thought it sounded a little nuts when you claimed someone was after you.”

  “Dustin wants revenge,” she said simply. “He thinks you stole a lot from him.”

  “He took a helluva lot more from you,” he said. “I remember, Caroline. Shit, I got up every night to walk you to the bathroom and make sure he wouldn’t find you alone in the dark again and take what he wanted even if you made it clear you weren’t interested. If Dustin shows up here, I’m going to start throwing punches before he says a word. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to hit him when he tossed out those degrading commands? Every damn time he ordered you to his bed in front of the guys, laughing it off a second later like it was one big joke?”

  “I know,” she said.

  “If he shows ups here—­”

  “Noah?” Josie’s voice came from the open doorway and he heard the sound of her shoes clicking on the barn’s cement floor. What the hell was she doing in heels in his freaking barn?