Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Well. Didn’t he have something at the top of his list of things to do.
The smile that hit his face was nothing that he bothered to hide, and not just because there was no one around—and as his cheeks burned, he decided healing came in many different forms, didn’t it: His medical landscape hadn’t changed, but his mindset was improving big-time.
“No more cigarettes,” he murmured as he ran his hand up and down the padded top of the center console.
No more Jack, either. It turned out what he needed to feel like himself was to make his woman feel like herself—and the rest fell into place.
As if the universe wanted to emphasize his new direction, Lydia walked out of the trees and into the trailhead’s open area. She was gloriously naked and utterly unselfconscious about it, as if, to her, nudity on the mountain was second nature.
“My wolf,” he purred.
But then the other woman came out, and not only was she clothed… she was fucking armed. Before he could think about it, he unlocked and opened his door and slid out with his own gun, his numb feet catching his weight.
The woman stopped where she was. She was tall, at least five nine, with short hair, a lean face, and a body that was taut with muscle. In spite of the cold, which immediately started clawing into him in spite of his loose jacket, she was dressed only in a black muscle shirt—and she seemed wholly unaware it was fucking freezing out tonight.
“We going to play with metal?” she said in that low voice he recognized from the phone. “Or do this in a civilized manner.”
Her weapons stayed strapped around her waist, but she put her hands right on her belt so they were within easy reach.
“I didn’t know we were packing at this meeting,” he tossed back.
“Then why did you bring your gun.”
“I’m too weak to defend my woman otherwise. Can you really blame me?”
As his reply hit the airwaves, Lydia’s head snapped around to him, and he was surprised at the admission himself. For however self-aware he had been, he had avoided acknowledging a lot, too.
That shit was done now.
In response, Alex Hess briefly looked down at the hardscrabble ground. “So when you said you were dying over the phone, it wasn’t hyperbole. Or a metaphor for having a bad day.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He lifted his chin and held out his hand to his woman. “I have cancer and not a lot of time left.”
Lydia came over to him, and he sensed her tears sure as if he were looking at her. He kept his eyes on the soldier in front of them, however—because that was what this woman was. He’d spent enough time in special forces that like recognized like.
Plus she was as sure of herself as any other fighter he had ever seen.
“I’m going to throw some clothes on,” Lydia murmured. Then, in a louder voice, she said, “As long as you two aren’t going to make introductions in a target-practice kind of way?”
She clearly wasn’t worried about the woman—and not only did Lydia have that thing where she made instant, valid assessments about people, but the two had walked back from the summit together. Side by side. Without tension.
And Miss Hess didn’t seem bothered by the nudity. She was just staring at Daniel like she was trying to diagnose him.
“Are you a doctor?” he asked.
“No, I’m not.” Her dark eyes narrowed on him. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“We just got here, really.”
“Not tonight. For all these months.”
Over on the driver’s side, a car door opened and there was some flapping and shuffling as Lydia covered her body. He supposed he should have been uncomfortable that she’d been naked in front of a total stranger, but if she wasn’t bothered, why should he be?
“So what changed your mind, Alex?” He hobbled to the rear door of the Suburban and opened the back. “I’m going to have to sit down. ’Scuse me.”
When he pivoted and tried to pop himself up onto the lip of the cargo hold, he fumbled—and was caught by the stranger with the weapons. But the woman didn’t give him a lot of fussy sympathy or simpering compassion. She just hitched him up by the armpits, set him on the edge as he’d wanted to be, and stepped away. No muss, no fuss.
“So how long have you been in the military,” he asked her.
Her eyes were gray, dark gray. Like her guns.
“I’m not. Well, not in the sense you mean.”
“Me, either.” When she cocked a brow, he figured as a dead man walking, he could afford to be more honest than he usually was. Ever was. “I’m also not in a formally recognized arm of the government.”
“So how long do you have,” she asked quietly.