21 Marine Salute: 21 Always a Marine Tales (44 page)

“You need a ride?”

“No, sir. I think I’ll walk.” Ten miles wouldn’t take that long and he could use the stretch. He’d taken buses all the way from Dallas after turning down Captain Dexter’s job offer and longed for the familiar sights of the mountains and valleys of home. He appreciated what the man built with Mike’s Place. Helping veterans and their families was honorable work, but A.J. needed to be away from all of it—to be back where he belonged.

“Don’t be a stranger, boy. You know where I am if you need me.”

“Yes, sir.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and found the book-reading woman staring at him when he turned. He met her sweet brown eyes with a friendly grin and touched a hand to his head, as if he wore a hat. “Ma’am.”

Her startled smile punched awareness through him. It turned her solemn, thoughtful expression into something fresh and sunny. A man could appreciate a smile like that.

But he put thoughts of the new girl out of his mind as he left the café and crossed the street. He knew the route to his ranch like the back of his hand and was eager to see it again.

***

Sheri took a fast drink of her cold coffee to cover the hiccups that shot through her when the rugged stranger stared right at her.
Holy hell in a hand basket
.

Her gaze tracked him as he left the café and crossed the street. The jeans he wore hadn’t been spray painted on his ass, but they definitely gave her a great visual of hard muscle and male confidence. He walked like he owned the town, but without any hint of pretentious air. That was a man who belonged in Freewill. She didn’t know who he was. She thought after six months she’d met most of the locals, but she would have remembered
him
.

“A.J. Turner.” Bea poured fresh coffee into her cup, heating it up.

Sheri spent nearly every morning at the café reading before she walked one block down to open the library. Trading her job as a corporate executive at a Fortune 500 company to be a small-town librarian didn’t suggest upward trajectory, but the town of Freewill healed that broken empty place inside left by her ex-husband’s series of affairs.

“The war hero?” She blinked and glanced back at the window, but he’d already disappeared.

“One and the same. Boy hasn’t been home since he left and didn’t tell anyone he was coming back either.” Bea clucked her tongue and wrote out the check. The café preferred the old pen and paper method, and since Sheri ate fruit and drank coffee every morning, the price was always the same.

“What branch did he serve in again?” Curious, she glanced at the waitress. Bea had been born, married, gave birth to her children, and buried her husband in Freewill. The town fixture wasn’t going anywhere. She also took Sheri under her wing from the day she arrived, treating her like an old friend—or a daughter.

“Marines, honey. That young man is definitely one of Freewill’s proudest.” She winked and went back to work.

A Marine
. A tremor raced over her and her stomach seemed to bottom out.

The message waiting in her email that morning from Madame Eve made so much more sense. Biting her lip, she strained to look down the street. She wished she’d paid closer attention to him when he walked in, but she only got one good glimpse at his face when he turned and caught her staring.

Her cheeks heated at the memory. He’d caught her attention the moment he entered the café. She hadn’t missed the corded muscle in his arms, tense and well defined even as he drank a cup of coffee. The man was gorgeous and wore his masculinity like a second skin.

But his smile
.

Her heart squeezed. The polite smile creasing his rugged face transformed him from handsome to a full-blown heartthrob. Her body hummed in reaction.
To a smile.

Wow. He just got home, Sheri. Dial down the hormones
. Not even a mental lecture could dilute the man’s effect. She closed her book and counted out a few bills to pay the check. Waving to Bea and Bud, she headed out. An hour until the library opened, but she wanted to use the computer to answer Madame Eve’s email.

Ms. Vaughn,

After careful consideration and research, your request for a 1Night Stand has been approved and a match to your specific requirements identified. Please respond via email if you are still interested
.

That was it. No signature, no ‘be well,’ no phone number to call and ask the woman questions. She’d applied to the dating service with an exceptionally specific list of requirements.

Exceptionally
.

In fact, so specific Sheri thought no one could fulfill them. Her keys trembled in her hand as she unlocked the door and let herself into the quiet, one floor building. Her office and the front desk sat right next to the door. The stacks were quiet and dark with about twenty-five rows curving around the corner desk. She booted up the computer and set her purse, keys, and book next to it.

“C’mon,” she urged it. The machine connected with the speed of a 300-baud modem. The slower pace didn’t usually aggravate her. Logging in, she opened a webpage and typed in her email info. Three minutes later, she read the note from Madame Eve again.

It still asked her if she was interested. Clicking the mail above it, she reviewed her application.

I am looking for a unique man, one who is both hero and hometown. He must be honorable, courageous, and forthright in his activities. He must be single. It’s okay if he is divorced, but not if the divorce was his fault. No adulterers need apply. He should have served his country as a Marine, but be a cowboy at heart. This is the man I want to spend a one-night stand with
.

It took a whole bottle of wine to write that list and she hadn’t sent it until she’d read it sober the next morning. She wanted a paperback hero, a man from a romance novel, and she wanted to find him in the small town of Freewill. Certain the service would never be able to deliver on that fantasy, she’d submitted it.

And then she forgot it, because she never expected anything to happen. The whimsical application came from a moment of weakness and profound loneliness. She wanted a man who would kiss her like he meant it, hold her like she mattered, and make love to her like she was the only woman for him.

Biting her lip, she scrolled back to the question. An image of A.J. Turner’s sexy grin filled her mind and her stomach flip-flopped. She glanced at the tiny stuffed buffalo sitting on top of the monitor as if it would give her the answer she needed.

With shaking fingers she typed one word.

Yes
.

And hit send before she could change her mind.

One week later
….

A.J. nailed the board with three swift hits of the hammer and moved on to the next nail. Overall, the Spotted Horse Ranch wasn’t even a fifth the size of the Gaines’ place, but it was home. His grandfather, and later his father, kept it up, growing it only as much as a body could handle. They didn’t bring in employees or contractors, preferring to do the work themselves.

He’d stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt an hour before. A tool belt rode low on his hips, the weight a comfortable thing. The work gloves hugged his hands, and the cowboy hat he favored rode low over his eyes, keeping the sun out. Rising before dawn, he was determined to finish the new paddock so he could bring the younglings in closer to start working them.

A whinny from the pasture pulled his gaze up. A truck rolled up his long drive. He sighed, his seven days of blissful silence, the beer with Brady notwithstanding, was about to be interrupted. The decade-old truck bounced slowly over the ruts in the drive. He needed to grade that drive before winter.

“A.J.!” Mitch Cramer, the ancient town postman waved from the open window of the vehicle. The wrinkles in the man’s face and baldpate were a testament to his longevity. “How you doing, boy?”

To him, like so many of the old timers, A.J. would always be just a boy. Hanging the hammer on his belt, he stripped off his work gloves and walked over to the truck. “I’m good, Mr. Cramer. Real good. How is Mrs. Cramer?”

Rosey Cramer had been teaching kindergarten at the local school for nearly forty-five years and, at last count, didn’t seem to have any plans to stop.

“Retiring.” Cramer grinned broadly. “We’ve got us some great-grandbabies down in Jackson Hole and she wants to spend more time with them.”

“Great-grand-babies?” That was news to him. He’d gone to high school with Veronica and Chet, the Cramer grandkids.

“Ayup. Ronnie had herself some triplets.” The man’s smile seemed to grow three feet. “Two girls and a boy. Lots of quilting, knitting, and spoiling to be done.”

“Congratulations.” He shook his hand again. “Please pass on my regards to Ronnie.”

“Will do. Oh, and before I forget….” He picked up a bundle of mail on the seat next to him. Tied together by a thick cord, the top letter showed an Allen, Texas, return address. “I wouldn’t be running this out here, but the letter here was marked urgent. You remember to come into town on Saturdays to get your mail. My Rosey still makes up brownies for the Saturday pick up.”

Accepting the stack, he nodded. “Yes, sir. I remember.”

Task done, Mr. Cramer gave him another wave and drove away. He didn’t linger to be social; he took his job as a postal worker seriously. Driving all the way out to the Spotted Horse was a favor, not one he’d likely repeat unless another ‘urgent’ delivery came in.

Mopping the sweat off his face with a bandana, A.J. headed up to the sprawling porch with its slanted roof. He grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler and took a long pull then cut the tie holding the letters together. Recognizing the Captain’s writing, he slit his letter open first. The rest could wait. A sheet of paper slipped out with a single line.

Turn on your damn phone. – L
.

A.J. sighed. He’d shut off his cell phone his first day back in town. He hadn’t missed having it. In fact, save for two trips into town to pick up supplies and a beer with Brady, he avoided talking to anyone. Not even the pretty librarian whose name he learned was Sheri. Ms. Potts at the grocery told him a lot about Freewill’s transplant when she caught him watching her over the produce. Guy Wilks from the gas station mentioned her. Her car needed an oil change and she’d been there, too. In fact, both times he’d gone to town, he’d seen her everywhere.

Maybe he’d swing by the library and check out a book on his next trip. He laid the letter on the porch table and secured it with a rock. The cell phone sat inside, dropped into a drawer in the entry hall and forgotten. He tracked dirt across the entry floor, but he could sweep that out later. The interior of the house needed more work than the exterior. But winter came early in Wyoming, and he could strip and refinish the floors when the snow fell too deep to do anything else.

Holding down the power button, he carried his cell back outside, and dropped to sit on the porch swing. A yawn stretched his jaw. The phone vibrated as text message after text message hit the screen.

Logan’s name popped up. So did James’s. Then Luke’s scrolled three or four times. He’d missed over a dozen calls and nearly that many voice mails. Grimacing at the screen, he fought the temptation to turn the damn thing off again. But the Captain wouldn’t send a letter if he didn’t need something.

All the voicemails were from Luke. Tossing back another swig of water, he checked the text messages first. Luke’s were straightforward. Answer his phone or call him back. Pick one. They were shorter and more terse toward the end, but essentially the same message. An unfamiliar number sent him two text messages as well.

Your 1Night Stand has been arranged. Please review email for details
.

His what?

He dialed Luke’s number from memory and drained the bottle of water while the phone rang on the other end.

“Dexter.”

“Captain. What’s up?”

“You turned on your phone. Good. Madame Eve has been trying to get a hold of you.” He heard a woman laugh and murmur something and an equally muffled response from the Captain. Probably talking to his fiancée.

“Who?”

“Madame Eve—Evangeline—the lady who runs the 1Night Stand service?”

Pushing his hat back, A.J. scratched his head. “Not to sound stupid, but what the hell are you talking about?”

Luke laughed. “Don’t play dumb. We talked about this, about eighteen months ago now? We all signed up.”

He wasn’t playing dumb. Tossing the empty bottle into the recycling bin, he grabbed another one out of the cooler and pressed the coldness to the back of his neck. “Seriously, Captain? Eighteen months ago, I was running munitions and supplies between Mosul and Baghdad.”

“Perkins wanted to sign up for a service that matches couples looking for one night together. He didn’t want to date, didn’t think he was ready to do it. When he backtracked on the idea, we all said we’d do it, the whole unit.”

Vague recollection itched in the back of his mind. “Dating service.”

“Something like that. Sound familiar now?” Luke’s easy humor relaxed the tension knotting A.J.’s shoulders.

“Vaguely. But I was still in the sandbox.” He’d signed up, but didn’t think anything of it. He was away, without a leave date in sight, but solidarity held them together.

“I know. We put that on your application and when you sent word that you’d signed your discharge papers, I updated the profile to active.”

If any other man told him that, A.J. would be hard pressed not to break his nose.

“You did what?” His voice went soft and quiet.

“I marked you active. You agreed, A.J. We all did.” The gentle humor fled, replaced by the hard tone of a commanding officer, one he’d followed for years.

“Luke, I appreciate it. But I just got home. I have a lot of work here, and I don’t have time to fly back to Dallas.” Maybe he had an out after all.

“You don’t have to. Check your messages. Madame Eve’s been trying to get in touch with you. Seems someone in Freewill might be seeking a little free loving.”