Chapter Six
Crew braced a hand on the wall next to the bulletin board, not even seeing the success stories or photos there.
His mind was back in a small kitchen with flowers on the damn cupboards and a woman rubbing her pussy against him through their jeans.
Fuck. He pushed off the wall and spun for the exit, needing fresh air. Needing escape from the desire that had him half erect since he backed away from Fern.
The soft expression in her eyes had almost ripped his control away, made him carry her to her bed and find out how far those freckles dipped between her rounded breasts.
Before he reached the exit, the door opened. Crew’s vision cleared and he settled his gaze on Willow backing inside, her arms piled with boxes.
His manners kicked in. “Let me help you.” He hurried forward, and she tipped the load of boxes into his arms.
“Just the man I was looking for.” She swiped her braid over her shoulder. As she did, the sunlight caught the small diamonds parading around her wedding band.
“Oh?” He hefted the boxes to one arm.
“Theo needs these boxes taken to the training facility. Would you mind?”
He gave her a simple nod. Having a task would help him recenter himself, and after kissing Fern—putting his hands on her—he could use it.
“I’ll take them.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Crew. Take one of the trucks.” She was already reaching for the door handle, in a hurry to get to the next task on her never-ending list. She held the door for him, and he gave her another nod of thanks as he passed through.
After he placed the boxes in the bed of the truck, he got in and settled his hands on the wheel, his mind still fogged from the feel of Fern’s hips in his grasp.
His cock stirred behind his fly for the hundredth time since he’d touched her, and he gave it a nudge to alleviate the strain before starting the engine.
When he first came to the Black Heart, he didn’t drive. As he began to heal, the Malones gave him more and more liberty to move around the ranch and even drive to town. He realized how something as basic as driving made him feel normal. Right now, he needed to feel normal.
The road leading to the new military training facility was recently paved, a black line slicing through fields where cattle grazed.
As he passed, a calf standing beside its mother nuzzled her underside to feed as the smell of grass drifted through the open window from the pasture.
Ranch things. Normal things in his life now.
Beautiful, quirky women with freckles and a passion for gardening and kissing were so far from his comfort zone that they might as well be in another solar system.
Everything about her drew him to her. And when she got so upset over a dirty cup in the sink, he wasn’t prepared for his body going straight into protector mode.
She didn’t share her past with him, but he saw the telltale signs of a woman who’d been in an abusive relationship.
That alone should have stopped him from kissing her, but the minute she wrapped her arms around him, there was no stopping the pull of attraction.
He was so deep in his thoughts that when the training facility popped up in front of him, it was a surprise he reached it so fast. The complex occupied twenty acres of rough terrain with new buildings dotting the stark landscape.
Barracks and tactical courses lined the east side.
To the north was a row of climbing structures designed to break soldiers down and rebuild them for high-altitude warfare.
The facility looked like any other base Crew had ever been stationed on and gave him a strange, tight sensation in his chest. He rolled up to the main building and parked beside two trucks.
As he climbed out, Theo emerged from the building. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the glaring sun even though he wore a Stetson.
Crew jerked a thumb toward the bed of the pickup. “Brought the boxes. Where do you want them?”
“They go in the office. Do you mind lending a hand to unload the trucks?”
The back doors of both box trucks were rolled up, and were packed clear to the top. He shifted his shoulders. “No problem.”
Theo flashed a smile. “Appreciate it, man.”
At that moment, another guy walked out of the building.
Gabe Thorne was usually serious, but the moment he spotted Crew, his face broke into a smile. He stepped forward, offering his hand, and they fell into the familiar handshake shared by most of the men in the therapy program.
“Crew. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I guess I’m unloading trucks.” He chuckled.
“We can sure use the help.”
Another guy exited the building, and Gabe waved him over. Crew had seen a lot of men from all branches of the military, but this guy was the type they put on recruitment posters.
From his alert, watchful eyes to the Navy insignia inked along his thick forearm and all the way down to the polished military-issue boots, the man practically screamed SEAL.
“Upchurch. Meet Crew Diaz.”
He sauntered over at a pace that implied he’d already switched to operating on slow mountain time. His eyes were frosty blue and sharp as a blade.
Crew stuck out his hand, and the guy gave a single, hard pump. “How’s it goin’?”
“Grant Upchurch. People call me Church.”
Funny that they had a Pope and now a Church. Maybe the pair would become friends.
He nodded in greeting. “Church.”
Gabe went on. “Church is spearheading the mountain ops training. Winter warfare and teaching men to survive rough terrain and conditions.”
Crew took in the information Gabe provided, surprised to feel the tug of interest inside him—something he hadn’t felt since his days in the cockpit learning maneuvers that would make the toughest pilots puke.
Church stepped back and fished a pair of dark glasses from his shirt pocket. He didn’t respond to Gabe’s introduction, just slipped his glasses on and turned to the trucks. “These boxes won’t move themselves.”
Crew jumped on the tailgate and drew a box into his arms. Church was standing at the door with his arms out. He took the box from Crew and hoisted it onto his shoulder before carrying it into the building.
By the time Crew got the first row handed off to the guys on the ground, he was working up a sweat. The sun was hot on his face, his muscles pleasantly burning with hard work.
After both trucks were unloaded, Gabe passed out bottles of water. Crew jumped down and leaned against the tailgate, sipping the cool drink. But he was aware of everyone looking at him. Eyeing him up.
He straightened, lowering the water from his lips. “What is it?”
Church spoke up. “Heard you can fly.”
His stomach did a nosedive. “Yeah,” he grated out.
“Choppers?”
His training was extensive and included several aircraft. “Yeah.” The word had a metallic taste. It tasted of smoke and ozone and pain.
Church twitched his head for Crew to follow.
For a beat, his boots were rooted to the dusty earth. He could get in the truck and head back to the ranch. Work with the horses. Hide in the rec room with a book. Anything but follow.
But his feet moved anyway.
Gabe jogged up to keep stride with him. “Crew, you don’t have to.”
Those words steeled something inside him, something that hadn’t been ignited since Conner’s death.
He didn’t respond, just circled the building behind Church. His feet slowed without him willing it to happen, and he felt a fist clamp around his heart so tight that it skipped beats.
Crew wet his dry lips. “What do you need?”
“The chopper came in on a flatbed truck. It needs to be moved over there.” He pointed to a big helipad.
He went through the steps in his head. Strap into the seat. Put on the headset. Flip the master switch and ensure all the instruments came on. Fuel check. Start the engine.
Panic clawed at his stomach.
Engage the rotors. Build speed.
The sensation shot upward at high trajectory into his chest…then his throat.
He gulped.
“Crew.” Gabe’s voice sounded as though he was calling him from a mile away.
He wiped his damp palms on his jeans. “I promised Willow I’d get back and tend the horses.”
He couldn’t read Church’s eyes behind the dark sunglasses he wore, but he didn’t give a damn what the guy thought. Before Gabe could speak, Crew pivoted on his heels and strode away.
As he jumped into the pickup, he battled the flood of memories—the rush of wind as he ejected from the cockpit, shooting upward when the parachute deployed.
The ball of flames spiraling through the sky in an oily smear of smoke and debris.
His eyes burning as he searched the sky for a second chute.
He smashed his fist into the steering wheel. “Fuck!”
He wasn’t ready to leave the Black Heart yet. Had no idea what he would do with his life when he did.
But as he sat there, breaths coming hard and fast, another memory slipped in.
Fern’s arms around him, her body swaying toward him as he plundered her mouth and gathered all her sweet little moans.
He wasn’t ready to fly again. Hell, he might never be ready.
But he didn’t want to be broken anymore.
* * * * *
Fern woke with a jolt, her heart hammering against her ribs. Sunlight streamed through the gap in her curtains, painting stripes across her comforter.
She flopped back against the pillows with a groan. Last night, she’d tossed and turned, replaying her kiss with Crew on a continuous loop. The taste of him. The heat of his body pressed against hers. The way he gripped her hips like he never wanted to let go.
Her thighs clenched at the memory, and she rolled onto her side with another groan. She had work to do. Plants to water. A side job that was turning into something bigger than she ever imagined.
After a quick shower that did nothing to cool the heat still simmering in her veins, she dressed in jeans and a soft green tee that made her feel like she blended in with her beloved plants. She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
The moment she stepped outside, she froze.
A truck sat parked across the street. Dark blue. Unfamiliar.