The Re-Enlisted Groom. Amy Fetzer J.

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СКАЧАТЬ she plopped onto the sofa. Bracing her boots on the scarred table, she folded her arms over her middle and stared at nothing. She was not afraid of him. Just of him touching her. Her mind went blank when he did. And she couldn’t afford a single incoherent thought, for her daughter’s sake. Mimi depended on her mom keeping it together.

      For the ride over here, for the time it took to feed and water the horses and mules on loan here, she’d done nothing but brood and stomp around, having herself a real nice pity party. She was glad Mimi was at her grandma’s for the next couple of days or she would be deflecting questions instead of old feelings. Mimi had a talent for seeing to the center of a problem and pestering till she had the entire truth. Or telling Maxie what she believed to be the truth, whether her mother wanted to hear it or not. It was one of the things Maxie liked best about her daughter, her candidness.

      “I like him,” Jackson said.

      Only her gaze shifted. “You would.”

      “Apparently you did, too, at one time.”

      She looked away. Yes, she’d loved him, or thought she had. Her timing was lousy when she’d wised up and realized it was mostly lust. Good lust, but not enough to base a lifetime on. Yet it was the immature way she’d left him that still haunted her.

      Jackson’s words came back to her. Kyle had her running scared. She wouldn’t, not this time. She’d vanished on her wedding day, only to discover three weeks later that she’d jilted the father of her child. By then he was in Saudi with a broken heart and didn’t need to hear from her; he needed to think about staying alive. She had refused to run to him just because she was pregnant, yet knew he had a right to know about Mimi. As soon as his unit had returned, she’d called, left a message and got a terse reply via his big brother: “Don’t call back, he doesn’t want to see you again.”

      She’d written him anyway, the hardest letter she’d ever had to pen. And it came back to her, unopened. The message was painfully clear.

      But now he was here, and her daughter’s happiness was in jeopardy. Mimi was her first and only concern. She’d suffered the “almost my dad” attachment once too often, and Maxie would endure anything, even Kyle’s cruel remarks and glares, before she would allow her daughter to be hurt by her mistakes again. Suddenly she lurched off the couch and grabbed her jacket, donning it as she headed to the door.

      “Maxine?”

      “You need him to move the chopper, right?”

      “Yeah,” Jackson said, eyeing her warily.

      Maxie looked at him. “Then tell him to do it. I’ll be out at my place, waiting.”

      “Are you saying he’s stuck with you?”

      “I don’t have much choice, do I? I agreed in writing to let the rescue service use my land for their choppers. Besides—” she shrugged “—it’s a big place. A big house.” She could go an entire day without running into him if she tried hard enough. And she would.

      Maxie threw the door open and smacked into Kyle’s chest. It was like hitting a brick wall, and he caught her shoulders, steadying her, yet keeping her close. Her gaze jerked to his, her hands flattened on his chest. For a long moment neither moved—Maxie lost in the familiar feel of his body molding to hers and the memories that came with it, Kyle wanting to touch more than her shoulders.

      Someone cleared his throat. Kyle’s lips curved ever so slightly. But it was the self-satisfied twist to them that sent Maxie backpedaling...right into Jackson. From behind, Jackson settled his hands on her shoulders, and Kyle’s features tightened.

      Even if Temple were in peak physical shape, he was a good dozen years older than Maxine, Kyle thought, then was angry with himself for the need to justify another man touching her.

      “Fire up that bird, flyboy,” Jackson said. “Time to move it.”

      Kyle lowered his gaze to Maxie’s and he found only resignation in her expression.

      “It appears you’re staying at my place.”

      So she could stick pins in a festering wound? “I’ll pass.”

      The old rebellion he remembered in her rose to the surface.

      “I think we can be adults about this.”

      His eyes darkened and he scoffed. “That’s a first,”

      She smirked, folding her arms. “Being your usual witty self, I see.”

      Kyle knew she was referring to the ugly remarks he’d made this morning. He regretted that his emotions got the best of him and was determined not to let it happen again. He just wished she still didn’t turn him on like a light switch.

      Jackson squeezed her shoulders, silencing another dig, and Maxie patted Jackson’s fingers, then glanced back at him. “See ya.”

      Kyle’s eyes narrowed as she pushed past, walking briskly to the doors. He watched her go, then brought his gaze back to Jackson. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. If Maxie could appear casual about the arrangements, then so could he.

      “Not a room available anywhere, flyboy, so what will it be? Maxine’s—” Jackson’s lips curved “—or the back seat of your chopper?”

      Still Kyle fought the inevitable. “I could sleep here.” He’d seen four cots in a small room at the back of the station. And it was a tremendous waste of fuel to head home each night and get here when, and if, they needed him.

      Jackson shook his head. “For the team on call, sorry.”

      Kyle rubbed the back of his neck and muttered a curse. “Not much of a selection left, then, huh?”

      Jackson fought a grin and ever the diplomat, gestured inside the office. “Let’s get you some gear.”

      Kyle followed. Jackson Temple was his boss for the next week or two, and although they’d only met earlier this morning, before seeing Maxie, Kyle liked him.

      Kyle stood back as Jackson went to the cabinet and threw open the doors, withdrawing coils of nylon rope, extra rigs for mountain climbing, medical kits, a hand radio, a booklet of rules and regulations, authorization passes and stickers and the standard flame orange jacket the crew wore, fur lined and heavy. He stacked the gear on the sofa. “Check the radio—we’ve had a couple of duds lately.”

      Kyle did, then started arranging the equipment in a spare duffel bag while Jackson wrote “Hayden” on a plastic tag and slipped it into the clear window above the chest pocket of the orange jacket.

      “Thanks for showing up, Hayden,” he said, offering the jacket. Kyle looked up, accepting it, frowning. Jackson shrugged, then moved to the coffeemaker and poured a cup. “We’re badly shorthanded, with the flu going around. I appreciate your loan of the chopper.” He handed the steaming mug to Kyle. “I know this cuts into your paying business.”

      “Just so you know, no one flies her but me.”

      Jackson grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Possessive, huh?”

      Kyle sipped. “Yeah, me and the bank are that way about things that aren’t СКАЧАТЬ