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Mark followed her into the kitchen, taking in every detail. Nothing had changed. Pictures of Amy with her dogs, of her and Darren, hung on the walls. There was a large framed shot of her parents sitting on a boat.
“Your folks enjoying Florida?” he asked.
“They love it.” She removed a handful of jerky treats from a jar. “My mom likes the weather, and she’s thrilled to be closer to my grandmother. My aunt moved down there, too. They thought about coming west for the opening, but it’s a long trip. I told them not to bother.”
“That’s too bad. What you’re doing here is pretty impressive. I’m sure they’d be proud.”
“Thanks, but you haven’t even seen the kennels yet.”
As if they’d smelled the treats through the walls, the puppies came running. Amy offered one to each dog as she led them around the corner. “Or met Nova and Bullet.”
“The dogs you brought back from Europe?”
She nodded, opening the door to the spare bedroom. “I’ve been keeping Nova in here with her puppies while we finish the kennels. They should be able to move down in the next few days, before the opening. Until then, you’re stuck on the couch. I hope that’s okay.”
“Long as I’m not in the way.”
She knelt down beside a large Belgian Malinois and began rubbing her belly. “I’ll be glad for the company.”
He looked around the room. Two adult dogs, including Jango, and five puppies. “Looks like you have a full house already.”
“I’d like to talk to someone who doesn’t bark at me,” she said. “Eloise doesn’t count. The only time she stays here she is too drunk to drive home, or avoiding her latest romantic disaster.”
“Sounds like the same old Eloise.” He bent over and scooped up a tan puppy with a striking black nose and pointed ears. Mark was familiar with the breed, but also knew they were often mistaken for German shepherds. The little one in his hands bore a strong resemblance to the more popular breed.
“What about you?” Mark asked. “Are you seeing anyone?”
Amy froze, her hand on Nova’s belly. “Wow, no one has asked me that.”
Mark shrugged, turning the puppy onto her back. From a young age, war dogs were handled a lot, put in different positions to make them comfortable with anything. “Darren’s been gone eighteen months.”
“I know, but—I’ve been busy. Opening this place has taken all my time.”
The tension Mark had been holding on to since he’d first thought her underwear might have an intended audience slipped away.
“And I haven’t exactly been looking,” she added.
“Then your couch sounds great. An upgrade from the crowded barracks.”
Amy stood and turned to him. He knew that look. She’d worn the same expression when she won homecoming queen. Pure astonishment.
“You thought you’d be in the way because I was seeing someone?” She let out a laugh.
“Yeah,” he said, looking up at her. “It’s not such a crazy idea.”
He cut himself off before he said things he couldn’t take back. Amy didn’t need to know that he’d taken one look at her bare legs and thought about running his hands up her limbs because, shit, his mind should never have traveled down that road. She might be single, but that didn’t mean he was the guy to fill the empty space in her bed.
“Sometimes it still kind of feels like it is,” she said softly. Then she gave a little shake of her head and turned to the door. “You came all this way, I think I owe you a tour.”
“Love one.” He returned the puppy to his mother and held the door for Amy and Jango.
With the sun sinking low in the sky, they walked through the yard to the kennel. It was double in size, compared to the previous structure. He knew she’d done well with her dog training and boarding business, and enjoyed it, but a building this size suggested she was seriously committed to her new venture.
He stopped a few feet from the door, resting his hands on his hips as he studied the new kennel. She’d painted it white with a forest green trim. It looked shiny and new.
“Impressive,” he said.
She looped her arm through his. “You haven’t seen the inside yet.”
He followed her through the reception area into a long hall with individual rooms lining either side. Peering through an open door, he saw that each room held a doghouse and two doors—one doggy and one human—to a small fenced outdoor area.
“I tried to replicate the kennels where the SEAL teams kept their dogs,” she said. “On a smaller scale, of course.”
“You did a kick-ass job.” The place was amazing. How she’d pulled it together in only a few months, while working to secure the funds from the bank, astonished him.
“When Darren was home, I would ask him to draw sketches of the kennels Jango lived in. He also made lists of changes he wanted to make and things he’d keep the same. And I added some of my own ideas, too.”
Mark paused and leaned against the entry to a modern, brand-new veterinary exam room.
“You should be proud of yourself.”
Her lips curved, offering a hint of a smile. “I am.”
“Are you planning to head out with the guys tonight?” He stepped into the exam room, closer to her. After seeing her in her underwear, he knew he should keep his distance. But he couldn’t do it. “To Tall Pines Tavern?”
“I might drop by. I think the puppies are old enough now to be left alone for an hour or two. Maybe I’ll see if Mrs. Benton can stop in and check on them.”
“How about I take you to dinner first?” he said, running his hand over the metal table’s smooth surface. “Toast your success.”
Amy blinked. Shit, he’d surprised her. Too late to take it back now. He kept his gaze fixed on her, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jango stand. The animal looked ready to attack. It was as if he’d understood Mark’s words but misinterpreted his intentions. This was just dinner between two friends. And that was all they’d ever be—friends.
* * *
AMY STARED AT MARK as if he was speaking a foreign language. She’d eaten dinner with Mark hundreds of times. But there was something about this invitation that sent her mind spiraling back to the flash of longing she’d seen in his eyes earlier. The thought of sitting across from him, sharing a meal, his attention focused on her...
“I...um...yes. Okay,” she said, feeling like a giddy schoolgirl.
He nodded. “Is Lucia’s Italian place still open?”
“It is. But I think they changed their sauce. It’s too sweet now. There’s a new Mexican place in town that makes the best enchiladas.”
“Your night, your choice.”
“Mexican it is.” Amy led Mark back into the kennel’s central hall. “But I need to finish up a few things first. Check with the guys. I’ll come find you in an hour.”
Mark nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
He headed for the exit, his hands shoved in his pockets. She had a lot to do before dinner, but she didn’t move until the door closed behind him. It felt good, seeing him in the flesh instead of on a screen. And the fact that he, of all people, understood what she was trying to do here—that meant so much.
Amy turned and moved toward the sound of hammers pounding, planning to tell the Benton brothers to call it quits for the day But she stopped out of sight of where the brothers were working and closed her eyes. She felt Jango sit by her side and press up against her leg. Reaching down, she touched the dog’s head.
Part of her still felt married and that even the smallest hint of desire was a betrayal. But Darren was gone. And eighteen months was a long time. Moving forward—she was allowed to want that, wasn’t she?
“I’ve waited,” she whispered. “For so long.”
In high school, she’d waited for Darren to notice her. After that she’d waited for him to ask her out and, later, marry her. Then she’d waited three hundred days out of every year for him to come home.
She’d put her dream business on hold because Darren wasn’t ready to quit his SEAL team. After his death, she’d waited for the grief to fade, knowing only time would help her heal. And it had. But now, after spending the past twelve years in a holding pattern, she was done waiting.
Jango turned his head up, licking the palm of her hand. “Even if I am ready to put myself out there and start dating, Mark isn’t the guy,” she whispered.
Yes, he was gorgeous—especially with his shirt off. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been her husband’s best friend.
4
FOR THE FIRST TIME in months, Amy felt full. Enchiladas, chips, guacamole—she’d devoured all of it while discussing her plans for the kennel. Mark sat opposite her, listening and occasionally surveying the restaurant.
Amy studied the collar of his button-down shirt peeking out from underneath his sweater. When had he started wearing dress shirts? He’d always been a T-shirt kind of guy. Maybe a sweatshirt or flannel in the colder months. Nothing that drew attention. And in Heart’s Landing a button-down in a place where no one dressed for dinner was bound to make people look twice. She’d already caught half a dozen diners, mostly women, glancing their way.
Or maybe it had nothing to do with his shirt. At six-four, Mark towered over most men. A sweater and dress shirt didn’t exactly hide his broad chest and powerful arms. Of course, she’d seen those muscles stripped bare...
She pushed the thought away and tried to focus on the here and now.
“You look nice.” She waved at his collar. “Fancy shirt.”
Mark shrugged. “I travel light, especially when I know I won’t be back long. And I wanted to look decent for your opening.”
Back, not home. Didn’t he still consider Heart’s Landing home? If not here, where? His words sank in further. He was leaving again soon. She’d known that from day one. Mark had a month’s leave at most, and he hadn’t said how much of that time he planned to spend in Oregon. But still, hearing him say it thrust her into the past. She’d hated the goodbyes, could still feel the dread.
“You could wear your dress uniform,” she said, scraping the last of the guacamole from the bowl even though her appetite had vanished.
“I will if you’d prefer. But I figured you already had Gabe walking around in his navy whites. Plus Luke and T.J. in their dress uniforms.”
And Mark had always been more comfortable in the background. In high school, he’d been a star on the football team—and an attractive one with his wavy brown hair and rich brown eyes. He’d drawn half the cheerleading squad’s attention. Yet, he’d always hung back.
“Wear whatever you’re comfortable in. I’m just glad you’re here.” She polished off her last chip and pushed the bowl away.
“You were hungry. We could always order another.”
“I can’t eat another bite. But if you want more, go ahead.”
Mark shook his head, his eyes darting to the door and back. She wanted to reassure him that nothing bad was likely to happen in their quiet little town. But she suspected he already knew that.
“How does it feel to be here?” she asked gently. “The transition from Afghanistan to a sleepy town in the middle of nowhere has to be a culture shock.”
“Like I’ve walked into the past,” he said grimly.
“Not much changes here,” she acknowledged. “Mrs. Marlowe is still running the general store. And half of the people in town head over to Tall Pines to drink and dance every night. Not that I go much, but Eloise drags me in every so often. Most people haven’t changed since high school, just aged a bit, gotten married and had babies.”
She was rambling on and on, but she wanted to lighten the mood. If Mark needed to talk, of course she’d listen. He’d been there for her in the early months, first in person and later through the computer screen. But she’d rather close the door to heavy conversation, at least for one night.
Mark smiled. “I think you’ve thrown Heart’s Landing a curveball with your kennel.”
And just like that, the door slammed shut. “Everyone in town...they’ve been very supportive.”
“Your passion for those dogs is contagious. They feel that and want to be a part of what you’re doing.”
Amy cocked her head, studying him. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“That you’re a passionate woman? Yes.”
Amy laughed. That comment was pure Mark. If she hadn’t known him since elementary school, she would have thought he was flirting with her.
“Wow, that came out wrong.” He ran his hands through his short brown hair. The waves all the girls had admired in high school had been lost to a military buzz cut.
“I guess some things don’t change,” she said. “You still have a way with words.”
“Yeah, being here makes me feel like I’m back in high school. Opening my mouth and sticking my foot in.”
“Like when you picked Molly McAdams up for a first date and you promised her father that you wouldn’t do any of the things you wanted to do with her?”
“Her dad came to the door with a shotgun. I was trying to tell him I wouldn’t lay a hand on his daughter. It came out wrong.”
“Molly thought it was hysterical. She told everyone the next day.”
“I remember,” he said. “I learned to keep my mouth shut and avoid girls whose fathers owned guns.”
Amy laughed. “That was everyone in school.”
“I know.”
Amy paged through her memory. Mark had steered clear of other girls after Molly. Maybe that incident, and the way Molly had retold the story of Mark’s fumbled words for the rest of their junior year, had bothered him more than he’d let on.
Staring across the table at the tall, muscular man, she didn’t see the quiet boy she remembered from high school. Yes, he’d just given her a verbal reminder, but the man who’d said the wrong thing was not the same person she video chatted with each week.
“You’re different when you’re deployed,” she said. “More focused and intense.”
Any trace of humor faded away. “I have to be. I lead a team of men. When a mission drops, we can’t mess around. I need my team to follow my orders.”
Amy nodded. Lives depended on him. Just thinking about it was sobering.
“Mark, how did you know that you wanted to be a PJ?” she asked. “You could have stayed here and become a doctor if you wanted to save lives.”
“Medical school was a little out of my reach.”
In high school, she’d asked Darren if Mark’s mom minded that her son ate dinner with the Benton family six out of seven nights a week. She’s not home, Darren had said. If he wasn’t here, Mark would be alone. And I don’t think there is much to eat at his place.
“I think we both know how much the people over there need help,” he added. “Getting soldiers home to their loved ones, that’s what I’m good at.”
“It’s your passion.”
“It’s a job, Amy. Just a job.”
She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
He tensed as if the touch surprised him, but didn’t pull away. Turning his hand over, he interlaced his fingers with hers, holding tight. A taut energy radiated from his touch. And she didn’t want to let go. She felt his strong presence through the computer each week. But this—this was more.
Or maybe she was imagining things. Maybe dormant desire had chosen this moment to rise to the surface, demanding she pay attention.
His gaze met hers across the table, searching and intent. It was as if he was trying to decode the meaning behind her words and the way her hand held his.
I want—
Mark’s phone vibrated on the table, silencing the errant thoughts. He picked it up, scanning the screen. “It’s Luke. They’re at Tall Pines. We’ve been ordered to join them.”
“We can’t avoid your welcome home forever.” She smiled. “I’ll get the check. Are you okay to split it?”
“I’m buying, Amy. I insist.”
The way he said those words left her nodding. “Okay, but your first drink at the bar is on me.”
“Deal.” Mark signaled to the waitress.
After settling up, they headed for the door. Part of her wished they could stay here, just the two of them, joking about the past and learning more about the people they’d become. But it was only a matter of time before the Benton brothers would come looking for them, determined to drag them both into the town spotlight.
* * *
MARK HESITATED, HIS HAND on the door to the tavern. He could hear the live country band and the stomp of cowboy boots on the dance floor from the street. The place would be packed. Not many bars around here and with the Benton brothers in town everyone would be at Tall Pines tonight.
He glanced over at Amy. Mark wanted to return to the quiet intimacy of the restaurant and keep her to himself for a little longer. Coming home, he felt as if he’d pulled on boots that he’d outgrown years ago. But with Amy he could kick them off and relax. Right now, that sounded a helluva lot better than facing old friends from school.
“Ready?” she asked, moving to his side.
“It’s crowded in there.”
She bit her lip, and he felt her shifting away as if she might turn around and head back to her truck. “I had a bad feeling it would be,” she said. “The guys likely rounded everyone up. Told them you were home.”
“We can leave. I’ll text Luke, tell him you’re tired and that I had to drive you home.”
“No. It’s your first night back. You should have fun. Drink. Visit with friends. I’ll be fine.” She glanced through the window beside the door. “As long as I stay off the dance floor.”
Mark frowned. “You were always the first one out there. To this day, you’re still the only person who has ever made me dance.”
“And your junior prom date loved that.”
“She knew it was part of the deal in advance,” he said. “But you stayed on the floor until they kicked us out of the gym.”
“I’m not up for dancing tonight. Too much Mexican food,” she said, glancing at the window again. “Mind if I hold on to your arm?”
His brow furrowed. “Sure.”
She stepped closer, looping her arm through his, leaning into him. Shock waves pulsed through him as if her body touching his set off a chain reaction heading south. And he sure as shit was going to stop it before that happened.
Mark told himself it was a matter of getting readjusted to living in a world that wasn’t peopled with his teammates and injured soldiers, where touch was more than a dying man’s hand in his and a fellow PJ slapping him on the back. His reaction had nothing to do with Amy’s slim legs or soft curves.
“If I tell them I twisted my ankle I won’t have to dance,” she said. “You know, if anyone asks. And they always do when I come here.”
Mark frowned. “You’re serious about not dating.”
“That, too.”
He stared at the Tall Pines’s wooden door. “It’s been more than a year, Amy.”
“I know, but...”
She started to move away, and he refused to let her go. Placing his hand on her arm, he kept her close. “But what?” he demanded. “What’s holding you back?”
“When I start dating again,” she said softly, “I need to find someone who sees me.”
“Okay, I get that,” he said, glancing down at her. Was he like the others? When he looked at Amy, what did he see?
A slim blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty with long legs—shit, a man would have to be half-dead not to fantasize about running his hands up her limbs. But looking down at her, Mark couldn’t set aside the fact that Amy was so much more than a beautiful blonde. He saw a woman who was working her tail off to establish her new business breeding dogs to help soldiers and law enforcement in the field.
“It’s a big step,” he said. “You deserve someone who respects you. You should take as much time as you need.”
“Thanks.” She let out a sigh. “But on the flip side, I miss dating. I miss sex. After all, I am a ‘passionate woman.’”
“Not going to live that one down for a while, am I?” he said, doing his best to separate the words Amy and sex in his head.
“Nope. Not for a while.” Her smile faded as she glanced through the window at the crowded dance floor. “So, are you willing to play along and pretend I stumbled getting down from the truck?”
“As long as I get to keep you company in the non-dancing section,” he said.
“Deal.”
Mark opened the door and stepped inside. The smell of stale beer hit him, bringing back memories. There had been a time in his teens when walking into this place and inhaling that scent had seemed like a dream. He’d sneaked in once with some of the guys from the football team, but they’d been kicked to the curb the minute they’d tried to order a drink. The bartender had threatened to call their mamas if they came back before their twenty-first birthdays.
Looking at the place now, not much had changed. A wooden bar ran down one side of the restaurant, lined with stools. The cramped stage stood on the opposite side. A live country band, probably local, played fast and furious, strumming guitars and fiddles, pounding away at the drum kit, while the crowd danced. Wooden tables and mismatched chairs filled the space between the bar and the dance floor.
He spotted the Benton brothers standing by a table, holding court. Some of the men and women were familiar, old friends from school, and some were new. T.J. saw them first and waved. Mark headed over, taking it slow as Amy leaned against him.
Her hand held tight to his forearm, and even through the fabric of his clothes, her touch bordered on intimate. Mark’s jaw tightened as he mentally swept that thought away alongside Amy and sex. But with Amy’s slim figure aligned with his, from where her shoulder pressed up against his biceps down to where her hip touched his thigh, it was easy to buy into her little white lie. To pretend that she needed him, holding her, supporting her, and... Shit, what he needed was a drink.
“Oh, Eloise,” Amy murmured. Mark followed her gaze. Amy’s cousin was standing close to Gabe’s side. And the eldest Benton brother wasn’t fighting her off. Just the opposite. He had his hand on her lower back, holding her close. Mark doubted Eloise had sprained her ankle, too.
Mark and Amy reached the table as Luke raised his glass. “About time you joined us. We’ve been toasting your homecoming without you.”
Completing the semicircle of brothers, T.J. stood beside Luke, studying the nonexistent space between Mark’s body and Amy. “Something wrong, Ames?”
She tensed at the nickname, her fingers digging into his arm. “Twisted my ankle in the parking lot.”
T.J. stepped forward. “Want me to take a look at it?”
“You’re a vet, not a medic,” Mark said, leading a limping Amy to one of the two empty chairs.
“I didn’t realize they were calling the PJs out for twisted ankles,” T.J. shot back.
“I’ve got her.” Mark lowered Amy down, his hands on her arms and his face close to hers.
“You don’t have to put on a show,” she whispered.
“I don’t mind.” It beat handing her off to one of the cowboys hovering nearby ready and willing to swing her onto the dance floor. He’d counted three men looking her way as they’d hobbled toward the Benton brothers. Despite what Amy might believe, those men hadn’t seen her long, jean-clad legs or her wide blue eyes and thought widow. He’d bet money there wasn’t an ounce of pity in any one of them.
Mark lower himself onto one knee beside Amy’s feet and lifted her calf up, resting it across his thigh. “Let’s have a look.”
He slipped her shoe off, running his hands up to her ankle. He’d spent the past few months treating strangers, but touching them had never felt personal. With Amy, it was. Her skin was soft and smooth. The ruby-red nail polish on her toes caught the bar’s dim lighting, pulling his focus from his job.
Mark held Amy’s foot in one hand, turning it left and right, while his other hand rested on her calf, drifting higher than necessary. “Does this hurt?”
Amy nodded. “It does. When you turn it to the side. But just a bit.”
His fingers traced the curve of her ankle, his touch bordering on teasing. If anyone looked too closely, they’d realize Mark had stretched the definition of “ankle exam.” He looked up at her, hoping like hell she couldn’t see the heat he felt pulsing through his body in his gaze.