Free Battle for the Soldier's Heart by Cara Colter Page A

overtaking him ever since he had seen her again herding the damn ponies.
    It was as though he was driven to show her what was real about him, driven to see if she could handle it.
    It was the perfect time to tell her how he had failed her brother, but somehow he was not ready for that.
    “Who I really am? Cynical. Dark. Aggressive when the situation calls for it.”
    He hated that he had said that. It made him feel as vulnerable as if he had told her the whole truth about her brother. He had exposed a wound to her that he had succeeded in hiding from the whole world. And so he finished with just a touch of sarcasm, “In other words, Gracie, not your type. At all.”
    As he had hoped, she was insulted. “Whoever said you were my type?” she said with a bit of heat.
    “No one. Just to keep you from getting ideas.”
    “I would not ever get an idea about you!”
    “Great. Let’s go swimming before you sweat to death in the skirt you didn’t put on for me.”
    “I don’t have a bathing suit.” Her voice was stiff with indignation. So, she had picked out that delectable, sexy and too warm suit just for him.
    “Is that wool?” he said leaning over the table to get a better look. It was sticking to her, and she tugged it away.
    “Very lightweight wool,” she said, annoyed. “We should leave now.”
    “We should go swimming. What are you afraid of?”
    “I’m not afraid of anything! I just don’t happen to carry a bathing suit in my purse. Though I’m sure your type would.”
    “And what is my type, Gracie?”
    “Bimbo,” she said, without any hesitation at all.
    He lifted his water glass to her. “Touché.”
    She gulped back the rest of her wine. Her cheeks had pretty red spots on them. He was right. One glass and she was practically soused.
    She tossed the glossy wave of auburn hair that he had been dumb enough to set free, looked him straight in the face and said, “There are all kinds of stores here at the resort. I guess I could find a bathing suit.”
    He could tell it was not in her plan for the day, and that it did not come naturally to her to be spontaneous.
    And maybe spontaneity between them had some dangerous overtones, given the startling intensity that had unfolded between them.
    She wanted to move away from it.
    And so did he.
    And at the same time, he wanted to see if he could be immune to her. If he could burst the myth that he had always had surrounding her family.
    He supposed she’d buy a one-piece suit, about as sexy as the uniforms of the East German girls’ swim team, pre-Wall collapse.
    And even though that was exactly what he wanted, he goaded her.
    “When you buy that bathing suit? Be the girl in the red Ferrari,” he suggested, “not an old stick-in-the mud.”
    Instead of looking offended, she looked suddenly sad. “Graham used to accuse me of that.”
    “I know,” he said softly. “Break loose, Gracie.”
    And then he wondered what the hell he was playing with, and why. He looked after the check, and they separated in search of swimwear. He purchased a pair of trunks from one of the hotel stores in about two seconds, left them on, and went and sat on a bench where she would see him when she came out of the store she was in.
    He had turned off his phone just before picking Grace up this morning, and now he turned it back on and sorted through his incoming messages.
    Only one interested him. From Slim McKenzie, the cowboy who had accompanied Serenity home.
    Rory glanced toward the store. Through a plate-glass window he could see Gracie holding up a very Gracie bathing suit. It probably had a matching bathing cap with a flower over one ear.
    He listened to Slim’s message and taking one more glance at the window to make sure Gracie would not materialize while he was in the middle of the call, he called back.
    “Sorry, Mr. Adams. The kid tossed the soda can out the window before I could grab it.”
    “Never heard of littering?” Rory asked.
    There was a pause.