Rhonda+Nelson+-+The+Soldier (5 page)

games.” She glared at him, but something in the expression told him she was secretly pleased. “I

could have carried that, you know. I do it all the time.”

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t have to.” He scowled. “Where are these girls’ fathers? They

should be helping you out.”

She grinned and a sparkle of something he couldn’t readily identify lit her gaze. “They’re at

work. Seriously, I’ve made cakes that are heavier than that bag.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have one in your car now, would you?

I’m hungry.”

Another soft smile. God, he loved her mouth. Full, lush and rosy, it had the strangest effect on

his ability to breathe.

“Sorry, no. But you’re more than welcome to come share my dinner. I’ve got a pot roast and

vegetables simmering in the crock pot at home.”

He quirked a brow, surprised. For whatever reason, he just assumed she’d eat out. “You bake all

day at work, then cook again for yourself once you get home?”

Using the keyless remote, she unlocked the doors to her small SUV and lifted the hatch for him

to stow the equipment. Various tennis shoes, goggles and a swim cap littered the cargo hold. “If I

want to eat, I do.”

Her eating habits forgotten, he frowned and picked up the goggles.

“What’s with these?”

“I swim.”

He knew she swam—she’d been on the team in school. He just wasn’t aware that she was still

doing it. “Regularly?”

“A mile and a half every morning,” she said as though it was nothing. She snatched the glasses

from his hand and tossed them back into her car before closing the hatch. “So I guess that’s

regular.”

Though he shouldn’t have been surprised, Adam felt his eyes widen. “A mile and a half. Every

morning?”

She shrugged as though it didn’t signify. “It’s a stress reliever. And it allows me to settle down

before I go into work. I just get in my lane and go, you know?

Everything else gets tuned out.”

A spark of competition flared in his belly before he could completely snuff it out. It had been

awhile since he’d been in the pool, but he knew exactly what she meant. He’d spent quite a bit of

time in the pool for his Special Forces training, but other than the wake-boarding he’d done at

the Center, hadn’t been back in the water since. But he’d wanted to be. He’d even had a special

finlike prosthetic for the activity.

Still, he found the fact that she was going, every morning, for a mile and a half was

somehow…galling. Impressive, too, he’d admit, but…damn.

Meanwhile, he’d been in bed…

“It’s easy on the joints and builds endurance. It’s great exercise and I have to admit I’ve noticed

the difference when I run. I’m not so easily winded.”

She’d always been a runner, so that didn’t come as any surprise.

No doubt she was training for

another marathon, Adam thought, feeling like a complete slacker.

His cheeks burned.

Swimming was fabulous exercise, the kind that worked fast. He should have been in the pool

every day he’d been home, should have been doing everything humanly possible to get his body

back into prime form before his next physical, the one his entire future hinged on. But he hadn’t.

Adam inwardly swore again.

He was an idiot.

“What time does the pool open?” he asked, determined to be there in the morning.

“Six.”

He nodded and pressed his lips together determinedly. “Is it usually crowded?”

She gave a speculative hum. “Not crowded, but full. There are a few regulars, of course. The

bobbers. Me, Cindy Matthews, Mark Holbrook—”

“The bobbers?”

A sheepish smile curled her lips. “The older crowd. They don’t exactly swim. They…sort

of…bob around. So we call them the bobbers.”

Adam laughed. “Winnie, I’m surprised at you. You should have more respect for your elders.”

“I respect them until they decide to start hogging the lanes,” she said. An endearing wrinkle

wormed its way across her forehead. “Then I get annoyed.”

“You know who annoys me? Mark Holbrook.” Because he was a glutton for punishment and

unable to help himself, Adam moved into her personal space. “I thought I told you never to

mention his name again.”

He had the pleasure of watching her pulse flutter wildly against her throat and she struggled to

suppress a smile. “Sorry,” she said. “It was an accident.”

“An apology doesn’t fix anything. But, just this once, I’ll allow you to buy my forgiveness with

a cupcake.”

She grinned and that dimple he adored made another appearance, inexplicably pulling the breath

out of his lungs. “Done.” She quirked a brow. “Before or after the pot roast?”

He grimaced. “No pot roast for me. I’ve got to hit the sporting goods store.” He slid a finger

down her nose. “See you in the morning, okay?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

“And Winnie…thanks.” He gestured toward the ball field. “This was better than I expected. It’s

good of you to do this. Those girls are lucky.”

She smiled and shook her head, shrugging the compliment off.

“I’m the lucky one. They’re a

great group of kids.”

She was right on both counts. He was lucky, too.

Lucky that she’d barged into his bedroom this morning and called him out. It would be so easy

to be with her, Adam thought. So easy to back her up against her car and kiss her the way he

wanted to—long and slow, deep and thorough. So easy to get so caught up in her and how she

made him feel that he’d forget everything else.

Easy…but wrong.

He had to remember that.

WINNIE STARED ATJana’s special request cake and released a rueful giggle. Maybe she

shouldn’t have made it quite so…realistic. Then again, realism in a cake like this was crucial, if

she wanted the message to translate. She shook her head and laughed again, then snagged a box

from beneath the counter. Tension tightened her shoulders and fatigue from a long day weighted

her limbs. A sharp rap on the front door of her shop startled her.

Her gaze automatically shifted

to the source of the noise and after a moment’s hesitation, recognition hit and replaced the alarm.

Adam.

She frowned as she hurried forward to let him in. It was after nine o’clock. What was he doing

out at this hour? “I saw the light on,” he explained at her questioning look. “Do you always work

this late?” There was a note of censure in his voice she found oddly endearing.

Dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and a dark blue T-shirt, the driftwood pendant Natalie had

given him—the Chinese symbol for courage—attached to his throat with a leather cord, Adam

looked like every good beach boy should. Casual, but polished.

The only off-note were the tennis

shoes. In the past he would have been wearing flip-flops.

Longing knifed through her and she caught the scent of the ocean on him, warm, tangy and

salty. He’d been to the beach, she surmised, unsurprised. He’d always loved the water. His hair

was tousled and she suddenly found herself keenly aware of the intriguing beauty of his

masculine throat. She loved the muscle play, the smooth skin along the side of his neck just

below his ear. She wanted to lick that little patch of tanned flesh and sigh into his ear, thread her

fingers through his hair and feel those wonderful lips moving masterfully over her own.

Her breath, his, commingled.

Just a kiss, she thought as the ache grew. Just a teensy little kiss and she could be happy. It

would be enough. Truly. She could make herself be satisfied with that. Was it too much to ask,

really?

A puzzled line emerged between his brows. “Winnie?”

She blinked. “Er…I do when I’m working on something special,”

she finally managed to admit,

struggling to gather her thoughts. Adam McPherson had always been able to scatter them with

ridiculous ease. “I, uh…I had a last-minute order come in this morning.”

His expression soured, then he followed her around the counter.

“People shouldn’t wait so long

to get their act together,” he complained, still obviously outraged on her behalf. “You should

have said no. It’s not a difficult word, but it’s one you seem to have trouble with. Here, say it

with me. No.”

Winnie pointed to the cake she was just about to box up and smiled. “I couldn’t say no to this

one.”

Adam’s eyes widened in horrified disbelief, then a bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “Eat

shit and die? Seriously?”

She smiled. “Told you I couldn’t refuse.”

Still staring at the cake, he shook his head and passed a hand over his face. “That is truly

revolting.”

She felt her smile widen. “Excellent. It’s shit. It’s not supposed to be pretty.”

An odd wariness tightened his eyes. “It’s not actually made with…”

“No! No, of course not. It only looks like shit, you idiot.” She whacked him. “It doesn’t taste

like it.”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile shaping his sexy mouth. “I had to ask. It’s awfully authentic

looking. And combined with the message, well…”

Winnie retrieved a cupcake from the case and handed it to him.

White cake, chocolate icing—

his favorite. “Now we’re square,” she said.

He took a bite, sighed appreciatively and smiled. “You are damned good at this.”

A blanket of warmth settled over her heart at the compliment.

“Thank you.”

He jerked his head toward the shit cake. “So who is that for?”

Winnie grimaced sadly. “I made it at Jana Mulrooney’s request, but it’s actually for Eddie.”

It took him less than a second to figure out what sort of circumstances would lead Jana to ask for

a cake like this. She watched the knowledge dawn in his eyes.

“Damn,” Adam said. “Stupid fool.

He needs his ass kicked up between his shoulder blades.”

“I vote for his balls,” Winnie said, her voice hardening.

“Who with?” Adam asked, naturally cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“His secretary. How cliché, right?”

Adam swore again. “Is she certain?”

“She saw them herself.” Winnie finished stowing the cake into the box, then turned to look at

him. “And do you want to know the most tragic part?”

Looking thoroughly disgusted, he leaned a hip against her counter.

“From the tone of your voice

I probably don’t, but tell me anyway.”

“Jana’s pregnant.” She relayed how the couple had been trying to have a baby, and how news of

the pregnancy had prompted Jana’s office visit to start with.

A hot epithet slipped between his clenched teeth. “What the hell is he thinking?”

A hard smile touched her lips. “That’s the problem. He’s letting the wrong head do his thinking

for him. He’s ruined their relationship and for what? A quick lay?”

She tidied the countertop and

could hear the frustration leaking into her own voice. “I will never understand how that can

happen. It’s ‘I do’ until ‘I don’t’? Then what? What’s the point of getting married? Of saying

vows if they’re ultimately meaningless?”

Adam merely stared at her and grunted in agreement.

This was a hot button for her and always would be. Her mother had nearly ruined her parents’

marriage with an affair when she’d been in high school. How her father had found the strength to

forgive his wife, Winnie would never know. She was grateful, of course. But at first had to admit

that she’d thought him weak. It wasn’t until she was much older that she could appreciate how

very strong he had to be. Forgiveness took strength.

Frankly, she didn’t know if she’d inherited that strength. But her parents were happy now, off in

their RV touring America, one scenic drive at a time. She missed them terribly, of course, but

this had been one of their dreams for many years. She suspected they’d weary of the travel soon

enough and then return to Bethel Bay. Their little community was like that. People left, but

invariably, they all came home at some point.

She was banking on that with Adam. She only hoped he wouldn’t be bringing a wife in tow.

The simple thought made her flinch in agony. Adam loving someone else, kissing someone else,

making love to someone else. And her, watching from the sidelines…

“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned. “You’re a little green.”

Winnie shrugged the unpleasant thought aside. “Yeah. Just got a little nauseated all of a

sudden.”

His eyes twinkled with grave humor. “You’re not pregnant, too, are you?” he asked jokingly. He

clearly meant it to be funny, but the smile quickly fled as though the idea was somehow

repugnant to him.

She smiled grimly and looked away. “Er…no.”

“What? Mark Holbrook hasn’t convinced you to carry his love child yet?”

Winnie stilled. He was fishing. But why? He knew he’d always had her heart. He had to know.

Hell, much to her embarrassment, it had been the worst kept secret in Bethel Bay.

Winnie cleared her throat and shot him a speculative glance, trying to figure out why he’d tossed

his line into this particular conversational pond. “I believe you have to be in love to carry a love

child.” She paused deliberately and smiled. “Then again there’s always birth control.”

She had the pleasure of watching his gaze grow slightly irritated with the purposely vague

comment. Humph. It might be good for him to wonder if she and Mark Holbrook had something

casual going on. They didn’t, of course. Winnie was incapable of casual. She’d tried it a couple

of times during college, when she’d felt pathetic for being one of the last remaining virgins in her