Chapter Four

Fort Riley was smack dab in the middle of a wasteland. A major state university and an Army base should have warranted more in the way of shopping chains, regional stores, or even cute local shops. But the prairieland between Topeka and Salina was only dotted with farmland and the basic necessities.

How did people survive it?

Evie had seen a lot of the world, lived in a lot of the world, but she couldn’t remember chain stores being so under-represented at any of the other major bases. Sure, Fort Lewis in Washington had sorely lacked any sort of popular chain restaurant options; Fort Lee in Virginia had been in the center of it all, though just a few too many miles away; their time in Germany had been full of travel, so if anything was missing, she had never had time to notice. Living in St Andrews, she became accustomed to having everything she needed, just on the miniature. But the same could not be said of Junction City and Manhattan.

For awhile, she just drove aimlessly, looking for anything that caught her eye. Gun shops and faith-based furniture stores were not it.

But when she came to a little bookstore not far from where Evan took her the night before, she felt the first prickles of interest. It was just off the main footpaths of the university’s campus, perhaps only a block, if she remembered correctly.

She found a parking spot and strolled in its direction, her step light, her limp almost undetectable. Rolling bookcases were pulled out onto the sidewalk, reminding her of the Saturday morning sales in St Andrews, the booksellers hawking their wares in the middle of Market Street.

Evie pushed inside, the familiar scent of old books enveloping her. Ah, yes. She could get lost in here.

Most of the books were used, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t read anything since the accident. She was always a voracious reader, her tastes spanning across all genres. She was suddenly overcome with the desire to own as many of these books as she could carry. The remainder of the money her father had given her was suddenly burning a hole in her pocket, and she was drawn to the shelves like a crow to a discarded picnic lunch.

In no time, she cradled a stack against her chest, a mystery, a young adult novel, a fantasy novel several of her friends had been raving about a few years ago. She found a particularly steamy romance that had her intrigued, but nearly nude bodies were splashed across the cover. She tucked it between the mystery and the fantasy, hoping no one would see she wasn’t above purchasing smut. She was just about to head to the counter when a name caught her eye.

Sylvia Bascomb-Murray.

Dr. Bascomb-Murray was her mentor. Evie spent months as her graduate assistant. She made the historian’s copies, highlighted her notes. She organized bibliographies and pulled books from the library. And Dr. Bascomb-Murray was the one to give Evie the long weekend that destroyed her life.

Evie swallowed and reached for the book. “Women of Culloden: Taking Up The Tartan,” she whispered.

It was published a few months before she took the research assistantship, and this particular copy looked like it had been read through a few times. She had meant to read it, but she was too busy helping with the follow-up research to find the time.

She ran the pad of her thumb over the slick cover of the paperback, brushing over images of the Carlisle tartan and crest: lavender and blue with threads of white, tree and crown, and motto “Eternal.”

The book hit each of her interests: feminism, war, Scotland. Her obsessions. Not the Carlisles, per se, but the Scottish resistance. It’s why she applied to work with Sylvia Bascomb-Murray. Why she had applied to St Andrews. She became fascinated by the subject as an undergraduate after taking a course on Britain before the 1830s. Was there anymore more romantic than taking on the most powerful Army in the world? And a full generation before the American Revolution? Their determination was so strong to self-govern they clashed against the English muskets with swords and knives and pitchforks.

The book brought back the memory and excitement of having an idea or hypothesis no one else had ever published. It reminded her of the smell of the library and the white gloves used in the rare books section. A tingle ran up her spine as she imagined the paintings of Highlanders and the feel of the magic in the mountains and lochs of Scotland.

Maybe she should go back.

Her pulse accelerated, and the tickle of anticipation dripped into her stomach until a knot formed. She wasn’t ready for that, yet. Maybe she should just read the book.

She added it to her pile and turned, barreling right into someone.

The books fell to the floor, one of them landing squarely on her foot. She sucked in her breath, and then knelt to pick up her requisitions, but quickly drew her hand back when her fingers brushed against another’s.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and then lifted her face to see him—because, of course, she had run into him—looking quizzically at her.

She was instantly drawn to him, as if some invisible thread connecting them pulled taut. As if she was destined to be there at exactly that moment. Time stood still with the beating of her heart, and when they caught up, she felt shy, tongue-tied. She’d never felt shy and tongue-tied, before. At least not like this.

He stared at her with pewter gray eyes and something akin to shock. His eyes were wide and his lips parted before they turned up in a ghost of a smile. Did he feel it too, that tug? No, she was being ridiculous.

“My apologies,” he murmured, books outstretched.

She could only gape at his mouth. Soft, almost feminine, pouty. It seemed misplaced on his rectangular face and firmly set square chin.

When she didn’t respond he canted his head to the side. “Do I know you?”

Blushing, she shook herself out of her silent reverie, and took the books from him, their fingers brushing. Again, a spark of awareness raced through her and she realized the smutty romance novel was on top, the half-naked hero and heroine glistening in sweat at they clung to one another.

Heat flooded her face as her eyes grew wide. “I-me, too. I mean. Um. No. Thank you.”

She stood, but a twinge of pain pulled at her thigh, and she reached out a hand, grasping his forearm, to keep from falling. His hand wrapped around her elbow, steadying her, and she stammered her thanks, again, even more embarrassed than she had been for not only running into him, but staring at his mouth. Her gaze caught his and she couldn’t look away.

“Are you okay?” He looked concerned, his eyebrows pulling together.

She readjusted the books in her arms and gave a weird little head-shake-shrug. “Just a, just a bad leg.,” She tried to smile and roll her eyes, but probably just looked like she had some sort of tick.

“Here, I can get those.” He held out one hand. In the other, he cradled the Bascomb-Murray research.

“No, really, I’m fine. But thank you.” She cleared her throat and cut her gaze away only for him to draw it right back. Why did he have to be so tall? He had nearly a full foot on her, and she was five-and-a-half feet in her bare feet. And why did he have to smell so good? Like toasted wood and spices.

He smiled again, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and warmth reflecting in his eyes. It wrapped around her insides until her pulse fluttered, and her skin tingled.

She was staring. Again. Shit.

Evie focused on the book he carried and held her hand out for it. Confusion briefly crossed his features, and he followed her gaze. “Oh, this is yours.” He offered it over, cover facing up. “It’s not bad. Interesting hypotheses.”

She added it to the pile, quickly covering the romance, and pressed it into her chest. Hopefully, he didn’t notice.

“You’ve read it?”

He shrugged, a non-answer.

“I was her graduate assistant,” she said.

“Really?” His eyebrows shot up.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. It was after this, though. I just never got the time to read it. I mean, I know what she was working on, but it was already in publication when I came along, and so what I helped with was… different.”

His head canted to the side. “You’re an historian, then?”

She shook her head. “I was going to be, but…”

She didn’t want to tell this stranger her problems. There was clearly such a thing as oversharing, and she’d already crossed that line. She wished she could sink right through the floor and disappear.

Yet, he held out his hand. “Alec.”

She leaned back to take the burden of the books into one arm and held out the other. He grasped it, his long fingers curling over her, his palm warm.

“I’m Evelyn. Well, Evie.”

“You don’t often hear that pronunciation,” he mused as she let her hand fall. It was true; Eve-lin was not nearly as popular as Ev-ellen.

“Oh, yes. I know. Weird parents and all that.” She rolled her eyes and grimaced around a blush.

He grinned. “I couldn’t buy you a coffee, could I?”

Her shocked expression had him immediately backtracking. “Sometime. Whenever,” he added.

“S-sure.” She forced herself to breathe.

The left corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smirk. “Are you free now?” he asked shyly.

She tried to wrack her brain for anything she could be doing, but all she could think of was the curve of his lips, the dimple in his cheek, his broad shoulders, and the way his t-shirt pulled across his chest. She just nodded dumbly.

“Let me just…” She motioned to the cash register manned by a spectacled college student.

“Of course.”

She scurried to the counter, glad her back was to Alec so he couldn’t see the besotted grin spreading across her face. Most of the leftover cash went to the books. The clerk carefully lifted them into a paper bag with the store’s logo rubber stamped on its side before passing her the change. She shoved the wad of paper and coins into the pocket of her cropped jeans and moved to the side for Alec. He paid for a small, black book using a credit card, slashing his signature across the bottom of the receipt with a wiggle of his fingers.

He turned down a bag, instead tucking his copy of the receipt between the pages. He joined her by the door, pushing it open so she could walk through ahead of him.

“There’s a coffee shop down the street on the next block.” He pointed with his book. “Are you okay to get there?”

Ah. He had seen the limp. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just an old battle wound.”

He frowned. “Were you…”

She quirked an eyebrow as they started down the street next to each other. “In the service? No. In fact, hell no,” she grinned up at him. “Car accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he murmured.

“What about you?” she asked quickly, wanting nothing more than to change the subject.

“No major accidents recently.”

She grinned. “I meant are you in the service?”

She really didn’t need to ask, she could already tell. His hair was short and well groomed. His face clean shaven, even on a Saturday. The metal dog tag chain hovered just above the collar of his red t-shirt. It was in the way he stood and the way he walked. She suspected it was in the way he talked, but their conversation had been somewhat limited, so far.

“How did you know?”

Evie grinned at his sarcasm. “Well, it was either that or well-paid student, and those are like giraffe-spotted unicorns. Or were-pigs.”

Were-pigs, he mouthed, followed by a soundless chuckle. “Are you working at the university, then?” he asked.

They came to a standstill at the street corner and waited for the lights to change and walk signal flash.

“What?” The idea seemed ridiculous. “Oh, no. I’m just sort of… in holding, I suppose.”

He gave her a questioning look.

For the first time in a year, she wanted to answer. Avoiding it became second nature, but perhaps opening up about it the night before had cured her reluctance. Or perhaps something about him made her want to open up. To tell him everything.

And then strip him naked and have her way with him.

“I’m staying with my parents. The accident left me… in need of a lot of help.” She sucked her lips between her teeth and bit down on them. “I was working on my PhD overseas, you know, with Dr. Bascomb-Murray who wrote the book? And had no one nearby who could really be at my beck and call while arms and legs and face were in casts.”

“Face? Really?”

She nodded. “Yup. My whole face was screwed up. What you see now is a masterpiece created by one surgeon Cho of Edinburg and contains little to no resemblance to my former genetic self.”

“Now that I find hard to believe.” He came to a stop outside a glass door and smiled down at her.

Her insides turned to liquid.

She pulled her gaze away and stepped inside, falling into line next to the case of pastries. The scent of hot coffee and warm sandwiches wafted through the air, filling the space their conversation had briefly occupied.

She focused on the menu board to distract from the uncomfortable silence and gnawed on her lower lip. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of at least three other young women glancing his way.

Evie fidgeted, dropping her gaze down to her canvas shoes. Wondered if their first thought was “why is he with her?” She was without make-up, her hair pulled back in a limp ponytail. Her shirt hung loose from her shoulders and did nothing for her unremarkable body.

Why did he ask her for coffee?

“Evelyn?”

Damn, his voice was like a caress.

“Hmm?”

“What would you like?”

She turned her attention back to the college student standing behind the counter.

“Oh, sorry! Lost in thought. Or something. Just a medium of your Hawaiian blend, please?”

Alec ordered the same, and they both received black cups with the shop’s logo on it in white. She turned to the little counter holding various milk products and sugars, doctoring the brew up until it was light and sweet, then joined him at the little table he found next to the window. His long legs curled under his chair, his forearms leaning against the edge of the table, one hand wrapped around the cup of coffee, the book resting under his wrist.

She scooted her chair closer and placed her bag and purse at her feet, squeezing her knees together nervously. “I have to admit, I’m kind of surprised you, you know…” she indicated the shop with her hands. “This.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean ‘asked you out?’”

She frowned. “Yes.”

He looked amused. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Well, you know, I look and pretty much feel like I haven’t seen the light of day in about six months—which, I might add, is exactly the truth—and I can barely form a coherent sentence. That and on the way over here, I admitted I live with my parents. Why you didn’t suddenly have a work emergency I will never know.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Your eclectic taste in books fascinates me,” he murmured, his chin dipped down and his gaze turned up to hers. “And I see nothing wrong with you living with your parents.”

“You don’t know them,” she grumbled. “So, my taste in reading material. Is it the fantasy or the mystery?”

“The history and the romance.”

“Oh, you saw that.” She wrinkled her nose and sank down in the chair.

“Why is it such a terrible thing?” He chuckled.

She waved her hand in the air, refusing to look at him. “You know… it’s just embarrassing.”

“I don’t see how. It shows you’re a dreamer. That you are optimistic and adventurous and open-minded.”

She narrowed her eyes and turned her gaze back to him. “You get all of that from a book jacket with two mostly-naked adults on it?”

He grinned. “Am I right?”

She shrugged. “Probably not. I am definitely not an optimist, I think I have had my fair share of adventure, and I have completely given up on dreams.”

“Ah, but you are open-minded.”

When she offered him nothing more than a wan smile, he sat back and took a sip of his coffee. “The accident?” he asked seriously.

“I’m not sure it’s really ‘first date’ material.” She then caught herself calling getting coffee a date. “I mean—”

The dimple winked.

“Fine, fine,” She sighed. “Short story. My fiancé and I were going on holiday—vacation,” she amended. “Calum was yielding at a roundabout when we were hit from behind by a driver who never applied his brakes. We slammed into a lorry.”

She tucked a flyaway behind her ear. It sounded so impersonal. Like her whole world hadn’t been destroyed. Like it just… was. “The car burst into flames. They were able to get me out but couldn’t get to Calum. I was in a coma for a couple of months. They didn’t expect me to ever wake up, but, what do you know, Halloween came along and there I was. It had a way of changing my plans. And my outlook on life.” She shrugged and pushed away her cup with an unsteady hand.

He gazed at her as if he knew exactly what she meant, exactly how it felt. Others always looked at her with pity, their brows wrinkled, eyes wide as they asked her how she was doing. Or the way her parents tried to conceal a mix of worry and relief. Did they think she would break if she saw it?

But not Alec.

She shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. “So, yeah. My favorite color is purple, I don’t like beets, I could eat a trough of popcorn in one sitting, and I think spring is a waste of a season.”

The heaviness hovering between them instantly lifted, and he chuckled. “Well, in that case, I have always been partial to blue, beets are delicious, I agree with your stance on popcorn, and give me spring over summer any year.”

She grinned, glad they weren’t going to pick apart her past. “I would have been persuaded to agree with you about summer, but have you ever spent one in Scotland? It will make you change your mind in a heartbeat.”

“Will it now?” he drawled as he lifted the cup back to his lips.

“It’s beautiful. I didn’t get to spend as much time seeing the countryside as I would have liked, but everything is so green and there is something about the sky that makes it feel like it goes on forever. Scotland doesn’t get hot like here, which is part of the appeal, but it gets warm enough. You can lie on the sands and wade into the sea and have picnics on the beach.”

“It sounds like you loved it.”

She nodded. “Yes. I never would have come back if it weren’t for… that.”

“Did you grow up here?”

“Ha! No, I grew up all over the place.”

“Army brat, then?”

“Absolutely,” she said proudly. “I was born in Virginia, but have lived in Washington, Georgia, Germany, Hawaii, Tennessee, New York, Georgia—again—and now here.”

“Georgia twice?”

“Yeah. I graduated high school there and then did my undergraduate degree in Atlanta.”

He relaxed, falling back against the chair. His face softened. “You’re the girl at the door.”

She blinked. “Excuse me, what?”

“Yesterday. I almost ran over a dog and I thought it was yours. I came up to the door with the dog. Your house had a college flag flying. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Her jaw dropped, but no words came out. She’d been so annoyed at having been dragged from bed; she hadn’t paid much attention to the captain on her parents’ back doorstep. “No. No, absolutely not. You’re thinking of someone else.” She shook her head vigorously.

His face split into a grin. “It was you.”

“You woke me up,” she grumbled.

His brows shot up. “It was lunch time.”

“I was taking a very important nap.”

He chuckled. .

She screwed her mouth to the side. “You know quite a bit about me now, but I know nothing about you. Other than you can’t properly read the address on a dog collar.””

He shook his head. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, what do you do, for starters?”

“I’m in the Army.”

She rolled her eyes. “So you—”

The vibrations of her phone cut her off. Evie pulled it out of her purse to hit ignore, but saw it was her mother and she had already missed two calls. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Do you mind if I get it?”

“Not at all.”

“Hello?” she answered as she pressed the screen up to her face.

“Where are you? I told you I needed the car back by—”

Oh, shit. Evie looked down at her watch and saw she was twenty minutes late getting back to her parents’, and she still had a thirty minute drive ahead of her.

“I’m on my way.” She hit the end-call button before Laena could pile on any more guilt. She stood up then, bent down to retrieve her purse and the bag from the bookstore. “I’m really sorry, I have to go.”

He stood, too, the legs of his chair scraping against the fake wood tiles. “Could I have your number?”

She nodded, hiding her pleasure by digging the key fob out of the bottom of her purse. “Of course.” She rattled it off and then fled the coffee shop, calling “thanks for the coffee!” over her shoulder.

His dimple appeared as he smiled, raising his hand in farewell.

Lip caught between her teeth and a blush creeping over her cheeks, Evie pushed outside. Could he have been any more perfect?

She released the door as she rushed away and fell down the only step. She yelped, her repaired leg twinging in pain, and tumbled onto the concrete. Her bag tumbled a foot away as she braced herself, her palms scraping across the rough surface.

It had been months since she last fell. How did she manage to end up on the ground twice in one hour?

“You okay?” someone asked from a few feet away.

“Yeah. Mostly just embarrassed.” She rubbed at her leg before looking up. “Oh. Hi.”

A familiar face from the night before stared down at her. “Iain, right?

His lips pinched together tightly, and he held out both arms to help her up.

“Thanks,” she said as she looped her fingers around her bag’s handle. “I’m sorry. I feel so stupid.”

“It happens. You’re okay, though?”

She nodded again. “Yeah. Yes. Thank you.”

“Evie?”

She turned as Alec pushed out of the coffee shop. “Are you all right?”

Blood rushed to her face. “You mean more than one person saw that?”

He chuckled, but then his attention moved to Iain and his face became stony.

“Oh, sorry. Um, Iain, this is my coffee date, Alec. Alec, this is Iain. We met last night at a bar… Wow, that sounds bad,” she said more to herself than either of them.

But they ignored her, instead staring each other down. Alec broke his gaze away first and nodded to her in acknowledgement.

“Um, well…” She brushed her burning palms down the thighs of her jeans. “I need to go. But, um, thank you for the coffee, Alec.” She smiled up at him. “And thanks for picking me off the ground, Iain.”

Brushing past a trio of crows pecking the sidewalk for crumbs, Evie left the pair behind.