Her Military Man. Laura Altom Marie

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      Chapter Two

      “Is…is that why you’re in town?” Constance asked, ignoring the man’s ridiculous question while withdrawing her hand. She gestured toward his left leg, which, judging by the odd angle at which he held it, he seemed to favor.

      Never had she been so glad for the protective cover of sunglasses so he wouldn’t see her gaping at the man he’d become. Garret had always been a big boy, but now…

      Her mouth went dry, trying so very hard to forget their last few days—and nights—together.

      Now…Garret Underwood was all man.

      Even slouching as he was in one of his mom’s feminine wicker chairs, there was no hiding the sinewy strength lurking beneath the too-tight sleeves of his camo-green T-shirt. His chest and shoulders were broad, his chiseled facial features and molasses eyes stone cold. Even his dark, spiky, short hair looked foreboding, as though any warmth he might’ve once had toward her was long gone and never coming back.

      His only answer to her question about his leg was “Yep.”

      “How long have you been back?” she asked, forging ahead not because she wanted to, but because her boss had given her no choice. As a single mom, she had responsibilities that went far beyond what she wanted to do. In making sure Lindsay was always comfortable and happy, Constance had mastered the sometimes tough art of doing what she had to. Period. Yes, talking to Garret was awkward, but it had to be done. Which was why she was now sucking it up and trying to make the best of what he had apparently decided to make an untenable situation.

      “Too long.”

      Maintaining a polite front, she said, “It was, um, lovely talking with you the other afternoon. Assuming that was you who called my show?”

      “You know damned well it was me, and how ’bout we skip the small talk and get straight to business.” He straightened with catlike ease that belied his apparent injury. “Why are you here?”

      “Nice to see you, too,” she said, glancing away from him to the far-off garden where his mother staked tomatoes. A bee hummed nearby, close enough for Constance to hear, but not give her an excuse to run.

      He just stared.

      “All right,” she said with a sigh. “If that’s how you want it. Truth is, this is the last place I want to be, but that big mouth of yours has me over a barrel.”

      Wishing he’d had the foresight to grab his sunglasses before heading out to the porch, Garret winced. As much as he despised the cheating wench, he still wanted her with a biting clarity he hadn’t felt since…

      Well, since the last time he’d seen her ten years ago.

      “And…” he said, coaxing her to continue with his hands, wanting more than ever to be a million miles from this town, but most especially, this woman.

      “And—” she notched her proud chin higher “—as much as it pains me to say it, I need you.” Head bowed, she slipped off her jumbo glasses, allowing him a sight he doubted she wanted him to see. Her big blue eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, as if she’d spent the night crying. Why?

      “The only way I can keep my job is if you agree to guest star on my show. Apparently—” she cleared her throat “—the fine folks of Mule Shoe prefer you over me.”

      Judging by her defeated posture, she believed what she’d just said.

      What? He hadn’t for a second thought her tears had been about him, had he?

      “Seems to me,” he said, telling himself he didn’t care if her show was tanking, “what folks like isn’t so much me, but conflict. Something they don’t get a lot of when it comes to your show’s usual fare.”

      “So you’re an expert?” she said, bristling.

      “Mom’s your biggest fan. In the time I’ve sat around here healing, I’ve heard enough of your show to realize you’re a more effective sleep aid than a case of NyQuil.”

      Scowling, shaking her head, she said, “Apparently, the years we’ve been apart haven’t been kind. They’ve turned you into a jerk.”

      Bracing his hands on the rocker’s arms, Garret sprang to his feet, too late remembering he just happened to be short one leg, leaving him wobbling. Reaching for support in the form of soft curves.

      Must’ve been instinct that had her reaching out to help, because judging by her forked tongue, she didn’t hold him in high regard. Tsk-tsking, he shook his head. “You must not be too ferocious, otherwise, you’d have let me fall.”

      After swiftly releasing him, then delivering one last glare, she turned, marching across the porch and down the stairs.

      When she’d reached the brick sidewalk, he called, “After what you did—sleeping with my best friend, having his kid—it’ll be a cold day in hell before I help you, Connie.”

      Her sexy derriere still to him, she froze.

      “You and Nathan…”

      That made her spin back around, blue eyes flashing fire. “That part of my life’s ancient history.”

      Scratching his jaw, he chuckled.

      “Notice, I’m not laughing,” she said.

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