Soldier's Choice (5 page)

She was proud of them. Working on a Saturday when they didn’t have to, even getting up early to do it. Being responsible adults.

The opposite of what she’d been last night.

Well, at least that wasn’t going to happen again. She refused to regret it, but she also refused to put herself back in that position. No pun intended. If she let herself believe that her and Reese had a chance, she’d wind up with a broken heart.

She wandered into the kitchen and found it mostly clean—another surprise, since it was Gage’s day. He wasn’t exactly housekeeper of the year. They’d left some coffee in the pot, so she poured a cup and stuck it in the microwave. She still had a good four hours before she had to leave for work. Mags never scheduled her for anything before two in the afternoon on Saturdays.

With the house to herself, she decided to spend the time in the attic.

She grabbed the coffee and turned her phone off on her way upstairs, so she wouldn’t be interrupted. Maybe no one would ever see her work, but the act of doing it mattered more to her than the idea of showing it off. When she was painting, creating something out of nothing, she felt alive.

She’d banned her brothers permanently from the attic, under threat of violence. It was the one thing that belonged to her. They knew she kept the key to the locked room on top of the door frame, but they respected her not-so-subtle request to stay out.

She unlocked the door, and stepped into her sanctuary.

Her latest work-in-progress stood on an easel at the far end, turned toward the window to catch the light when the sun was in the right place. There was a pile of blank canvases off to the right, next to a cabinet full of supplies. She’d hung a few finished pieces on the walls, but most of them rested against the left-hand wall in upright stacks. The last thing in the room was a small sitting area in the back corner—couch, chair, coffee table, a small cart shelf with a modest collection of art books. She hadn’t been able to go to college, but she’d educated herself as much as she could.

She took the paint caddy out of the cabinet and headed for the easel. There was only a slight twinge at the sight of the emerging picture: Covendale from the ridge, with a summer storm brewing on the horizon. She’d started this, working from memory, right about the time Reese came back to town.

Now she had all the more reason to play up the storm.

Setting the coffee aside for the moment, she prepared her palette and got started. It didn’t take long to fall into the work, to lose herself in finding just the right touches to bring her vision to life. A brighter roof here, a deeper shadow there. A tree curved just so, bending in the wind she could almost feel from the gathering storm.

She had no idea how long she’d been working when a hollow, stuttering sound nudged her from the self-induced trance. She frowned and listened.

The sound came again. There was someone knocking at the front door.

She let out a sigh. She was tempted to ignore the intrusion, but it was probably Sydney with some major wedding crisis—and if she’d already tried to call and gotten no answer, things might have escalated to full-blown panic by now. She dropped her brush in the cup of paint thinner next to the easel and headed downstairs.

The knocking repeated when she reached the first floor. “Coming,” she called. “Keep your pants on, Syd. Everything’s going to be fine. I promise.”

She opened the door, and right away wished she’d just stayed upstairs.

“Reese.” She cleared her throat and backed up, almost without realizing it. “What…how did you know where I live? We’ve moved since you left.”

“I know. I had to ask Mrs. Carmichael.”

She held back a groan. Theresa Carmichael was an older lady who lived in the center of town. She had nothing to do except gossip—and she’d perfected it to an Olympic sport. By the time Luka got to work this afternoon, everyone in Covendale would know that Reese had been looking for her.

“So,” he said slowly. “Who’s Syd?”

“Sydney. My best friend. Remember?” She gave a slight frown. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

“Oh. Right.” He held up a small, beige object. “Found this in my Jeep,” he said. “I’m pretty sure it’s not mine.”

Her clutch purse. Damn, she knew she’d forgotten something—but she’d been in a hurry to get away last night, before she made a bigger fool of herself. “Well, you’re right,” she said. “It’s not yours. Thank you.” She held a hand out.

His fingers brushed hers as he gave it to her, and her body reacted with a quick rush of heat. She really hated it for that.

Reese smiled a little and cocked his head. “You’re either trying out some crazy new makeup, or you’re painting.” He rubbed a finger in front of his ear. “There’s a little purple right here,” he said.

“You got me,” she said. “I’m starting a new trend. Splatter blush. What do you think?”

“I think…I’d love to see what you’re working on. If you’ll let me.”

Her mouth went dry. She resisted her initial instinct to scream no and shut the door in his face—and then she realized she was actually considering it. After all, he was the only one who’d ever seen her work besides family, which Sydney counted as. He’d even gotten a little gushy over the amateur stuff she was doing in high school. And much as she enjoyed the work itself, was it really art if no one else had the chance to appreciate it…or hate it?

Maybe an audience of one wasn’t such a bad idea. And if they were actually going to be friends, it wouldn’t hurt to treat him that way.

“I’m sorry,” Reese said. “I shouldn’t have asked.

“No…it’s okay.” She smiled and opened the door wider. “I’d like to show you.”

“You would?”

“Long as you promise you won’t laugh.”

He made a solemn face and put a hand on his heart. “Promise.”

“All right. Come on.”

She closed the door behind him and led him upstairs. Her heart sped faster with every step, and she started to regret agreeing to this. What if he hated the paintings? He hadn’t the first time, but her style had changed drastically since high school. Then, she’d basically been copying real artists. Now, her work was her own.

What if her own wasn’t good enough? What if it sucked—or worse, what if he nodded and smiled and said
that’s nice
? She wasn’t sure she could take being damned with faint praise. Everything else about her was unremarkable. If she got confirmation that her art was, too, she’d have nothing left.

She paused in front of the attic door. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said without turning around. “I’m…well, I’m terrified.”

A gentle hand at the small of her back made her breath catch. “It’s completely up to you,” Reese said. “I can only promise that I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to. So if you don’t want this, I’ll understand.”

“Thank you.” She closed her eyes briefly. She could keep painting forever, never show anyone, and never find out for sure if she was any good—or she could take a chance and get a second opinion. From a friend. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

She opened the door, and let him inside.

He walked slowly across the room toward the easel, looking at the paintings she’d hung on the walls along the way. Nothing showed on his face. He reached her work-in-progress and stopped, standing in front of it with folded arms and a blank expression long enough for her heart to climb into her throat and lodge there. If he didn’t say something soon, she’d choke to death.

Finally, he turned to look at her. “Why are all these locked in your attic?”

She blinked. Out of a thousand reactions she’d imagined, this wasn’t one of them—and she didn’t know how to respond. Did he think she should show them? Burn them? Drag them outside and have a yard sale?

“Luka.” He moved toward her, and she had to fight the urge to bolt before he could clarify his opinion. “I’m no artist, but…how can I say this?”

“Just spit it out.” She could barely whisper.

“All right.” He drew a deep breath. “Like I said, I’m no artist. But I know something beautiful when I see it. And these are beautiful.”

Before she could stop it, surprised tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away fast. “You really…I mean, beautiful?”

He nodded. “And powerful. I look at them, and I can
feel
them.” His gaze focused on the paintings stacked against the wall, and he drifted over to crouch in front of the nearest column. The first painting was her tribute to The Wizard of Oz—a young girl in the foreground, barefoot and holding a single red shoe, with a sepia-tone farm spread behind her and an ominous black twister dancing on the horizon. “Beautiful,” Reese said hoarsely. Then he looked at her and smirked. “Do you paint storms into everything?”

Unexpected laughter held back her tears of relief. “Just about,” she said.

“I think they’d call that a ‘cohesive style,’ or something.” He turned back to stare at young Dorothy another minute, and then carefully moved the painting aside.

A shocked hiss of air escaped him.

“What’s wrong?” She moved closer, until she could see the one he was looking at—and her mouth fell open. Oh, God, how could she have forgotten about that?

She’d painted Reese.

He’d been gone three years when she did that one. She’d just come off a string of bad dates. Guys she couldn’t have talked to if she tried, who were only interested in banging someone the whole town thought was easy. It made her miss him more than usual, so much that it hurt to breathe. So she’d locked herself up here for the day and brought him back the only way she could.

The painting showed him in the rain. Dark hair plastered to his head, open shirt, hands in his pockets. Half his face was hidden in shadow, and one brilliant blue eye stared from the other half as rain tracked down like tears. The sorrow and longing in his expression reflected her own emotional state at the time.

“I’m sorry,” she said, breaking the perfect silence between them. “I just…I should’ve asked for permission. But you weren’t here…”

He straightened fast. Before she could react, his arms were around her, and his lips were on hers.

“Don’t apologize,” he rumbled. “God, Luka. I don’t even have words. It’s…”

He kissed her again.

If she had any sense at all, she’d pull away. Maybe slap him for good measure. But this felt so good, so
right.
All of her convictions crumbled to dust, and her mind insisted that it would be different this time—even though her heart knew better.

When he pulled back, she said, “Couch?”

“Yes.”

She grabbed his hand and practically dragged him to the sitting area. There, she pushed him onto the couch—and he pulled her down on top of him, hands on her waist to steady her. “Maybe we should’ve undressed first,” he said.

“Allow me.” She tugged her shirt off and dropped it on the floor, then went for the button on his jeans. It took a little maneuvering, but she managed to loosen his pants and slide a hand down to grip his hard length.

He gasped and grabbed for the back of the couch as his eyes darkened. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Do you know what you do to me?”

“I might have an idea.” Smiling, she freed his straining cock and began stroking him slowly. His head fell back, and he closed his eyes with a groan. The feel of him beneath her fingers had her damp in no time, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to tease him for long.

She needed more. She’d never get enough of him.

Just as she leaned forward, intent on kissing those firm lips, there was a loud bang from downstairs. She jumped, and Reese’s eyes flew open.

“Luka? There’s a Jeep outside. Is somebody here?”

“Gage,” she groaned. “Goddamn it.”

“Your brother?” Reese shifted semi-upright and fumbled with his pants. “Well. Shit.”

“Exactly.”

As she climbed off and retrieved her shirt, she heard footsteps climbing the stairs. “Hey, Luka,” Gage called. “You awake? Who’s here, Sydney?”

Her face heated, and she pulled her shirt on fast. “Gage, stop!” she shouted. “I’ll be right down. Just…wait a second, okay?”

There was a long pause. Then she heard him laughing as he headed back down the stairs.

“Wonderful,” she said. “I’ll never hear the end of this.”

Reese looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Should I climb out the window or something?”

“No. Just ignore anything he says.” She glanced at the bulge in his pants, and bit her lip. “Um. Sorry about that,” she said.

He gave her a crooked smile. “Don’t apologize, remember? You’re worth it.”

She had to look away, before her expression betrayed her.

When they got downstairs, Gage was in the living room, staring into the open linen closet. He looked over and gave Reese the Big Brother Stare for a second, then broke into a grin. “I was right,” he said. “You’re not Sydney.”

“Afraid not,” Reese said.

“Reese Mathers, right? You’re the reason my sister came in so late last night.”

“Gage.” Luka infused the name with warning. “Behave yourself, or I’ll tell Jonah what you did with his razor.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.”

“Not today.” She frowned at the closet. “What are you looking for in there?”

“My cordless drill. Jonah’s piece of shit B&D died on me,” he said. “Have you seen it?”

“Laundry room. Utility closet, top shelf.”

“Thanks.” He grinned again, and headed for the back of the house.

When he was gone, she turned to Reese with a sigh. “They’re all hopeless,” she said. “Especially Gage. At least he won’t be here long.”

“Yeah.” A look of discomfort flashed across his face. “Listen, uh…I have to go, anyway.”

She told herself not to get mad. Everybody thought her brothers walked around ready to punch people for the slightest reason, or no reason at all. It wasn’t true, but there was no point even trying to change the official town opinion. “Don’t worry about Gage,” she said. “He prides himself on annoying the hell out of me.”

“It’s not that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I have a job interview.”

“Really? Where?”

He stared at the floor. “The Stop ’n Shop.”

Shock and confusion poured through her. He was a military veteran, with a ton of training and experience. Why would he go for such a shit job? It was even worse than hers. “You can’t work there,” she said. “Don’t they pay minimum wage? And the hours are awful.”