Page 74 of Summer Heat
What mattered was the endless, empty frost-glazed hills.
Dearling was a small, tightly-knit community nestled deep in Texas Hill Country. The people here worked hard labor, drank hard liquor, and trained all year for the annual pie eating contest. They had welcomed Ethan with curious smiles and begrudged respect—for his uncle, he assumed, who was a bonafide military hero. And maybe some for Ethan’s own history, even though he’d just done a couple tours before getting out. It gave him something in common with the husbands and fathers and brothers around here, a connection he’d never felt on the bustling UT campus or the teeming sixth street clubs in Austin.
Though for all that he liked Dearling, it didn’t seem to matter much either. What mattered was the force of the ax and the burn in his shoulders. They distracted him—at least for a while.
He reached for the next log and centered it on the stump. This was between him and the earth, a little mutual destruction to pass the afternoon. By nightfall he’d be sore as hell and hopefully tired enough not to see her in his dreams.
A foreign sound traveled through the thin winter air. Tires crunching on gravel. He frowned. Who the hell would come out here?
Maybe some local Good Samaritan had come to make sure he was prepared for the coming frost. He’d reassure them, though. Uncle Griff’s cabin had come fully stocked with a lifetime supply of beef jerky. Besides, Ethan was used to it. Most people imagined Afghanistan as a hot, dry desert, but the nights could be brutally cold. And the high elevations near Bagram got snow year round.
Oreo was going wild from inside the cabin. The pit bull whined through the door, clearly eager to serve and protect. Either that or to check for snacks. But he’d been locked inside so he wouldn’t lose an eye from a stray shard of wood.
Ethan turned the corner of the cabin, expecting one of the dusty trucks he always saw when he stopped into town. Dearling, Texas, was quaint and country and the perfect escape for him.
Instead he saw a familiar blue sedan with a dented fender that had been like that when Lia bought the car.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered to himself. First he saw her in his sleep and now he had visions of her car while he was awake?
How far did a man have to run to get a little peace?
But Oreo wouldn’t be barking his head off for a vision. This was real. She was real. Jesus. His pulse quickened. He squinted, but the glare on the window made it impossible to see. A hollow space opened up in his chest, knowing she’d followed him out here. Knowing she’d probably called his cell and gone to his empty apartment long before this. He hadn’t seen or felt much of anything in the month since he’d dragged his ass to Dearling, but that was already changing.
The door opened and a boot landed on gravel. Pointed toe, slender ankles.
He wondered idly how terrifying he looked right now. Women tended to shrink away from him when he stood at full height. And when he glowered. Lia had teased him about the glowering, and he’d responded that this was the way his face looked. That had only been partially true. That was the way his face looked when he had to watch the woman he loved kiss and hug and fuck his best friend.
Lia stood and wobbled slightly, finding her footing on slippery rocks and the sloping drive. She spotted him and did a little wave, more reserved than he’d ever seen her. She reminded him of the young Lia, the lanky preteen with hopeful eyes.
“Merry Christmas,” she said quietly.
Remorse tasted bitter in his mouth. There was a time she would have thrown her arms around his neck. She would have made him wear a Santa hat, and he’d have pretended to hate it. “Merry Christmas.”
“Nice digs,” she said, lying her pretty little mouth off. His uncle was career army, which meant he travelled more than he didn’t. That gave Ethan a place to crash when he needed it. Far as he could tell, that was the only function the barebones cabin could serve. He didn’t mind, especially since he could be alone. Just him and Oreo.
Up until two minutes ago, anyway.
“You get lost on the way to Lake Travis?” he asked pointedly. As in, what the hell are you doing here? It wasn’t nice, but he was done being nice. Done pretending he could be friends with her.
There was a big fucking difference between friends and lovers.
She cocked her head. “I’m going to have to invite myself in, aren’t I? Yes, I think I am. Honestly, Ethan.”
Then she was pulling a large paper bag from the car and strolling toward the cabin. He managed to remember his manners and took the bag as she passed. Denim hugged her ass exactly the way he wanted to, up close and personal. He couldn’t stop staring.
So much for manners.
She pushed the door open and Oreo leaped onto her chest, knocking her directly into Ethan. The press of her body was so much warmer and sweeter than any time he had imagined it.
Jesus.
He set her aside and batted Oreo on the side. “Get off of her, you big lug.”
She wasn’t mad, though. She was laughing, and her smile made his heart beat faster. This was exactly what he didn’t need. Her, him, and a raging erection the cold had done nothing to stop. He slammed the door before all the heat escaped.
No use. The generator had choked and coughed its way through last night. Apparently it had a hangover today because nothing in the way of warm air had emerged from the vents this morning.
“Sorry about the cold,” he said, gruff enough to sound insincere. But he meant it—she deserved better than this. At the very least, she deserved a functioning central air system and decent insulation. All he had to offer was a moth-eaten knit throw.
