Reece stepped into a pair of plaid sleep pants, jerking them one-handed over skin still damp from his shower. He opened a drawer and snatched out an old t-shirt, yanking it over his head and raking his fingers through his long wet hair to restore some semblance of order. His hair hadn’t been this long since before he joined the Navy. Much longer and he’d need to start wearing a man bun, especially when the Texas heat kicked in. It would make more sense to get a haircut.
He lifted the framed picture of his parents from the top of his chest of drawers. They were at the Elks Club when it was taken. Pops had his beefy hand around a beer, laughing at Mom while she waved a stalk of celery in the air, no doubt regaling him with one of her ornery jokes. Pop adored her sense of humor. Hell, he’d worshiped the ground she’d walked on.
His father had taught him by example how to love a woman completely, how to make her the most important thing in his life. And it showed in this picture. Reece stroked his index finger over the frame. A happy moment frozen behind glass. He’d have to call his pop tomorrow, make sure he was okay.
Someone knocked at his door. “Reece, are you still up? I have a dish of chocolate cookie ice cream for you.” Junebug. The longer he stayed here, the more she reminded him of Mom.
He opened the door and eyed the heaping bowl of frozen delight speared with two spoons. “Are we going Dutch?”
The silver-haired woman chuckled as she waltzed in, handed him the bowl, and scooped a spoonful for herself before she winked at him. “I don’t want much. Some people just feel strange eating alone in front of others.” She dragged the rocking chair closer to his bed and sat.
Just what was this woman up to? He settled on the side of the bed and took a few bites of ice cream, enjoying the cold and the crunch of broken Oreos. It was so good, he ate faster. Brain freeze!
“I see you have your prosthesis off. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you alone tonight.” She scooped another bite from her side of the bowl. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you at the dinner table by getting so wound up over how your arm works. My late Austin, God love his soul, used to say I was often childish in my enthusiasm. Not as a criticism, mind you. I think he enjoyed my exuberance and love of life.” She patted Reece’s knee. “Please forgive me if I made you feel ill at ease.”
God, she was a good-hearted woman, so much like his mother. His eyes misted and he blinked, embarrassed at how close to the surface his emotions were. “It’s okay,” he croaked. His gaze drifted to the photo he’d held earlier. He hadn’t cried at his mom’s bedside or her funeral. Now, two years later, he was a mess. Dammit.
Junebug lifted the bowl from his trembling hand and set it on his nightstand. “What is it, son? Talk to me.” She enfolded his hand in her cool, gnarled ones. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Won’t you tell me what hurts you so?”
He swallowed and looked away. Fuck! I’m going to lose it. He blinked several more times and swallowed again. “My mom died.” He stared at a place on the carpet between his bare feet. “Two years…” He cleared his throat and nodded. “Two years ago today.”
The bed shifted marginally after the petite older woman shuffled from the rocker to his side and enveloped him in her arms. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy.” She rocked him back and forth. “Losing a loved one leaves a painful hole that can never be filled. Time may dull the ache, but the hole, that damnable emptiness, is always there.” She kissed his forehead. “Hold on. I know just the thing we need. It’s in my linen closet.”
She bustled out of his room. He flopped across the bed, blamed himself for being a weak son of a bitch, for showing how much he still mourned for his mom. How long had it been since he’d been flattened by emotional pain? Lord, he’d been numb for so long. Thanks a helluva lot, Mom, for dragging me back to the land of the living. I was doing fine in my solitary world, you know, numb to pain. Seriously.
Junebug whizzed into his room again, holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and two glasses. “Now, we’re going to toast to your mom’s life and the wonderful son she raised.” She handed him a glass and poured two fingers. Settling back in the rocker, she dispensed a healthy amount for herself, clanking the bottle onto the floor.
Their upraised glasses clinked and Reece downed his whiskey, hissing at the burn that rolled down his throat and into his stomach, lighting a fire that slowly roared through his system.
Junebug tipped more into their glasses. “Now, tell me your fondest memory of your momma.”
“She filled our house with love and laughter.” The words rolled out before he could think about them.
The woman across from him sipped at her Jack. “Oh, I like her already.”
He nodded. “You two are a lot alike.” He smiled and emptied his glass in one long gulp. Watched Junebug do the same without so much as a shudder. She evidently spent a lot of time in her linen closet with good ol’ Jack. “Mom loved her Bloody Marys and it appears you love your whiskey.”
Junebug splashed more into both their tumblers and snickered. “That I do. This Jack Daniel’s is the best when I’ve got a migraine coming on or when my nerves are shot.” She glanced at him and smiled slightly. “Or when I want to console a friend. Tell me more about her, Reece. You know, you have a soothing voice when you choose to use it. Yet you keep your silence. Why is that?”
Time floated by as they sipped their whiskey, ate melted ice cream, and shared memories. How long had it been since he’d been so relaxed? A buzz unwound his tight nerves and unleashed his tongue. When Junebug held the empty bottle to her mouth and pounded the bottom to inhale the last drop, he nearly fell off his bed laughing. She was a trip—and he was damn near shit-faced.
Once she stood, she weaved a little and he rose, wrapping his hand around her arm to steady her. “Do you need help finding your bedroom?”
“Pshaw. I know every inch, every crack, and every hidey-hole of this house.” She placed the lifeless bottle of whiskey into the empty bowl alongside the ice cream spoons. “Don’t treat me as if I’m drunk, young man.” She waved him away. “I’ll be just fine.” She swiveled and walked into his closet. She was cursing when she backed out. “This damn house always did have too many doors. And come tomorrow morning, no more silent treatment, son. Talk, dammit!”
“Yes, Junebug.” He smiled and held the door to the hallway open for her.
A minute later, Junebug yelled, “Who moved my damn kitchen? Fudge and buttermilk, I can’t find it! And it was brand new, too.”
Heavy boot steps sounded. “Mom? What has you screeching like a banshee? Did you drink that whole damn bottle of whiskey?”
“No, Zane, I did not empty this ‘fam ding’ by meself. Reece drank and drank. All I got was one piddlin’ lil’ swaller. Now, tell me what you did with my ‘ditchen!”
Their voices lowered and Reece closed his door. He stumbled into his bathroom and drank two glasses of water to ease the hangover sure to slap his ass come morning.
Shortly after sunrise, Junebug served breakfast wearing sunglasses. She pointed to them and whispered, “Migraine.”
ZQ’s and JJ’s heads swiveled in Reece’s direction to smirk at his wearing sunglasses. He pointed to his just as the older lady had to hers. “Migraine, motherfuckers.”
Smart-ass ZQ dragged his chair across the tile floor, making an unholy screeching racket. Both Junebug and Reece covered their ears. ZQ stomped to the coffeepot. “Smells like a hangover to me. Hell, I’m getting half a buzz on just being in the same room with the two of you.”
Both “migraine” sufferers gave him the finger.
After breakfast and a short walk outside, Reece sat in the rocker in his room, holding his hands over his ears so they wouldn’t slide off his hungover head before Gina got there. He’d left the door open so she wouldn’t have to pound on it. The less racket the better. He gulped the coffee he’d brought back to his room.
Gina peeked her head in the doorway. “How’s your headache?” Thank God she kept her voice low.
“I’ll live.”
She set one bag and a box on the floor before stepping behind him. “Maybe a gentle massage would help the headache. It worked for Junebug.” Her blond hair entered his peripheral vision as she lowered her head. “I won’t even talk,” she whispered in his ear, the satiny skin of her cheek rubbing against his, and his drunk-ass cock hardened.
Soft palms gently skimmed his forehead and face. He inhaled her peach fragrance and tension slowly drained from his body. Her fingers forked through his hair, rotating on points that made him sigh with relaxation. He had no clue how she was doing it, but she was banishing one banger of a headache. He owed her.
“Is that better?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“Good. Before we begin warm-up exercises, I have something new to show you. Something I’m not sure if I should be excited about or not.” She retrieved the box on the floor and sat on his bed cradling the long cardboard container on her lap. “As you know, your present prosthesis is operated by a computer chip and a lithium battery. The battery needs recharging every night. Virginia Tech has developed a new type of battery using a polymer ion gel…ah…from what I’ve read, it’s got the texture of clear licorice. Lighter, stronger than lithium.”
“So, what’s that got to do with me?”
Her gaze was focused on the box then rose to his. “Reece, to be honest, I don’t know how ZQ managed to get you into the experimental program. He must have influence somewhere.” She bit her lower lip and stared off. “I just can’t figure it out.”
He didn’t like changes sprung on him. There’d been enough damn surprises in his life and most of them had been bad. “I’ll ask you again, Blondie, what the hell does any of this have to do with me?” God, so many sentences spoken so early in the damn morning. He wanted his silence back.
“ZQ had your prosthetic measurements from BAMC sent to an outfit that uses the batteries Virginia Tech developed. The batteries hold a longer charge life, handle higher temperatures, and have less potential for bursting into flames like those Hoverboards. Simply put, they conduct ions quickly and safely while retaining thermal stability.”
“Simply put, huh?”
She chuckled. “Yeah. I’m trying to grasp the technology, the same as you. If it takes off, I’ll be using it on my other amputee patients. From what I’ve researched and read on the literature enclosed with your new arm, everything should be the same for you except you’ll only charge the battery once a week instead of every day. So that’s a good thing, right?”
She wasn’t a hundred percent on board with this shit. He could tell. Something was worrying the hamster on the treadmill in her active mind. “What don’t you like about it?”
Her white-tipped fingernail tapped the box and she shifted on his bed. “Reece, this is a prototype. How did ZQ manage to get you one of these and why?” She lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “Granted he was once a commander for a top-notch SEAL team, but he’s retired now. One, how would he know about this new technology? Two, why does he want you to have it when the one you wear works fine? Three, how did he get approval so easily and quickly?”
She talked to him as if they were equals—not patient and therapist. He liked this change in dynamics. “You bring up some valid questions. I have to be honest and say pretty much the same ones are going through my mind.”
Gina leaned toward him. “So you find it odd, too? This…this technology is barely out of the R & D stage. How?” She raised open hands and let them fall. “Batteries using polymer ion gel were originally developed as a cheaper, lighter battery for hybrid and electric cars. Slowly scientists began to think of other potential uses, like robots…”
“And computerized prosthetic limbs,” he finished for her. The technology part was beginning to make sense. As for ZQ’s involvement, who the hell knew? “Open the box; we’ll give it a try.”
She favored him with an earnest smile that warmed something in his heart. “Okay. I was really afraid you’d fight me on this.”
“As easy as I am to get along with? Surely you jest.”
“Don’t call me Shirley.”
They both laughed and stopped suddenly. He’d never heard her laugh so easily before. Damn, the sweetness all but oozed from her pores when she was like this.
Her brown eyes regarded him. “I love your laugh, Reece Browning. Thank you for being so easy to deal with today. I know I tend to get on your nerves.” She opened the box. “Let’s put this puppy on and see if you can sense anything different about it. If you don’t like this new appliance, we’ll simply go back to the old one. Save this one as a spare. The important thing is that you’re comfortable with your arm.”
Gina pointed out the battery compartment. It was in a new place and better concealed, which he liked. Together, they opened it and examined the ion…bion…freeon…whatever the hell battery was in the damn thing. It was certainly smaller and lighter. She removed the charger from the box and they fiddled with that for a while, getting used to how it all worked. He could have figured it out himself easily enough, but enjoyed the sudden easy rapport between them. Oh, and her fragrance weaving its spell around him. How could a living, breathing man ignore that?
Making the change was easy. Gina put him through his typical warm-up routine and then they worked on his prehensile movements he’d started the day or so before. They both agreed that beyond the battery change there was no difference in the arm.
So, why had his old commander exerted influence to get him one? If he asked him, would he even answer? ZQ could be tight-lipped as hell.
He walked her out to her SUV. She must have seemed a little nervous about it because her talking sped up. He smiled at the ground they covered. Just to rile her a bit, he placed his hand on the small of her back, kept quiet, and let her ramble.
For the next three days, they worked hard on the use of his arm. He had to admit he’d been a bit of a sore ass for refusing to wear the prosthesis. The weight of it did make him feel more balanced when he walked. It was becoming more beneficial in his work around the ranch. He’d asked Gina about putting his body weight on it. He was used to mounting his horse in one smooth motion once he’d grabbed hold of the saddle horn. Would his prosthesis handle that stress? She suggested doing push-ups to toughen the end of his stump.
Reece was pleased with the peaceful coexistence they’d developed. He talked slightly more and she didn’t talk as much. She treated him less like a patient and he treated her more like a woman. Things were going well. Very well.
If Reece Browning treated her any more like a woman, Gina was going to self-combust into a scorching pile of hormones. That brooding cowboy with a military bearing, long hair, and a sexy body was about to be her undoing. She tossed her rag into a bucket of cleaning solution after washing off the woodwork in her bedroom. Damn, she’d like to set a match to every pair of his tight jeans.
He’d taken to wearing a man bun, which looked silly on other guys, but on him only added to his sex appeal. What was up with that? How come he got all the looks she liked? Damn his sexy tight ass all to hell. She kicked the bucket of water across the hall to Piper’s room. What Gina wouldn’t give to sneak into his quarters some night and shave a two-inch-wide swath down the middle of Mr. Untalkative’s head. She wrung the water out of her rag and began scrubbing like the madwoman she was. Reece would never know how he’d gotten that bald streak in the middle of his no-talking head. He’d have to break his silence just to bitch about it. The bad part was that during the rare times that he did talk, the sound of his deep voice skimmed over her skin like a lover’s touch, making her skittish.
And did he have to keep walking her to her vehicle when his therapy session was over? No, he did not. He walked so close, he bumped his muscled body against hers on purpose. The jerk! She picked some stickers off the back of Piper’s door. The damn things didn’t stand a chance, the mood Reece had her in. Really, did he have to place his hand at the small of her back when he walked beside her? Really? Hell no! She scrubbed where the stickers once hung.
Yesterday, he’d extended his hand for her keys so he could unlock her back hatch to put away her duffel bags. And what had she—Ms. Independence—done? Handed them to him as if she were some incompetent female. She made an annoyed sound deep in her throat. One thing she did not need was a man’s help…and certainly not his.
He was slowly and surely driving her batshit crazy. It didn’t help matters any that she drove away from the ranch house every day with damp panties. He aroused her with his low voice and all his touching and male posturing. She threw the rag into the bucket again, water splashing. For damn sure, she did not care one iota for his effect on her.
What she needed to do was pull away. She’d been seeing him six times a week. Now after more than a month, she could cut that back to three or four weekly visits. He was wearing his prosthesis every day and making progress with the use of it. The muscle spasms in his back seemed to come less frequently. She attributed that to his increased activity.
Just the other day he’d been out riding that beautiful palomino of his when she got there for Junebug’s session. Gina could see him off in the distance, his black Stetson pulled low over his eyes, riding his horse as if they were one being. Damn, even on a horse he was pure sex poured into a pair of cowboy boots.
She tugged the bedclothes off Piper’s bed to launder them, swearing to herself she would not think one more thought about him today. Enough time had been wasted thinking about this guy. She was through dwelling on Reece Browning.
Done.
Kaput.
So over this guy.
Even if he did smell like sunshine and leather…and every so often spared her a slow sexy-as-hell grin that made tiny wrinkles fan out from the corners of his amazing hazel eyes.
She slammed the lid on the washer and banged her forehead on it. Damn her weakness for that infernal man!
“Mommy?” Piper stopped her when she stormed through the dining room intent on conquering the bedroom windows and curtains next. “Can Princess Olivia and I have a snack?” They were at the table amid art paper, stickers, Magic Markers, glue, safety scissors, and glitter spread about in a mess only six-year-olds could create. Both wore their princess crowns and oodles of costume jewelry Gina had found at various yard sales.
“Of course, Princess Piper. What will my two princesses be having today? There’s cupcakes, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches shaped like hearts, mini-pizzas, or veggies and dip.”
“Heart sandwiches and cupcakes,” both girls chimed together.
Gina kissed the top of both of their heads. “Your wish is my command. And will the princesses be having chocolate milk in the royal cups?” She opened the cupboard and removed two plastic purple mugs with a sparkly design on the front.
Both girls nodded and she set about making sandwiches and cutting them with a cookie cutter. The chore put a smile where a scowl had appeared earlier. She loved it when Olivia came over for a playdate. The two girls were very close and giggles always filled the house when they were together—a soothing, musical sound to Gina’s ears.