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Falcon
Staring at the monitor, several emotions flooded his body. Pride. He was so proud of his son. He'd grown to be a fabulous man. He'd moved up the ranks in the Army quickly because of his work ethic. He'd instilled that in him from the beginning. Falcon's rank was already the same grade as his own at E7. But Falcon had already told his dad he was staying in. He loved it in the Army.
Clicking on reply, he penned an email to his son.
It's so good to hear from you, and I'm glad things are quiet. Don't let your guard down. Emmy will be thrilled to hear you devoured her cookies; that's why she sent them. I'm sure there will be more coming as soon as she hears how much you love them.
Things are quiet here. I'm back at the house for a while and more determined than ever to find a way to stay here permanently. I miss you and wish you were here. Do you have a return date to the states?
Keep your head down.
Love, Dad
Closing his eyes, he sent up a silent prayer for Falcon's safe return. Another for himself. He would need it to keep his head about him and accomplish all he needed to. Things were getting complicated.
Chapter15
Waking with the sun streaming in through the windows, she sat up in the bed and marveled at this view. For as far as she could see, the mountains greeted her with greens and flowers, and white caps had been added overnight. It was stunning. Wrapping her arms around her bent knees, she rested her chin on them and allowed her thoughts to float to Ford.
How could he be happier in a cabin at the bottom of the mountain than up here with this view? This house held so much meaning for him. From the wood used to build it to the memories of his father building it with him. It made no sense that he had something to “work out.” But, it really wasn't her business, so she'd only hope he'd share if he wanted, and if not, he wasn't the man she thought he was. It would help her keep her emotions in check cause she’d never be with a man again who kept secrets from her. Not again. Not ever.
Throwing the covers aside, she left her warm, comfy bed and rummaged in the dresser for her clothes. Stepping quietly to the door, she listened to see if he was in the kitchen. Her bedroom was across the house from his, but he had a straight view from the kitchen area to the bathroom door, and she didn't want him to see her until she showered and added a little bit of makeup. She'd figure out what to do with her hair after she saw what it did in this humidity.
Silence greeted her, so she cracked the door, peeked out, didn't see Ford, and skittered quickly to the adjacent door. Twisting the handle to start the shower warming, she again marveled at the beauty of this house. The earth toned tile work in the bathroom was something of a professional designer’s touch. Perfectly matched border tiles and copper fixtures set the room’s tone to natural, from the earth, but also pleasing to the eye. Undressing and stepping under the warm stream of water, a wild shiver raced down her body. A little bit of heaven after all she'd been through.
After showering and drying her hair, the humidity won and the curls she tried so hard to hide made their appearance. She didn't have a flat iron here, so she'd need to resort to ponytails to tame the wild mess. Pulling it high up on her head, she wrapped it around in a messy bun, donned some mascara and lip gloss and heaved out a big sigh. She was nervous to see him this morning, though she didn't know why. Probably because she'd kissed him back last night. Being honest, she wanted to do more than that. He was simply the most handsome man she'd ever met. His quiet reserve was comforting to be around. Then there was the commitment to his family and the way his voice changed when he spoke of his father. It softened and lowered. His face took on a serene quality when he spoke of his parents. And, when he talked about Emmy, it was as if he couldn't stop the soft smile that widened his full, sensual lips. This man cared. She couldn't recall being around a man who cared for the people in his life.
Hesitating a moment, she lay her hand on her stomach to quell the rolling. "Here goes," she whispered as she pulled the door open. Scooping up her pajamas, she scurried to the bedroom and lay the folded night clothes at the foot of the bed. The aroma of coffee wafted in and her mouth watered. Her favorite thing in the morning was the smell of coffee.
Softly walking into the open area that served as the living room and kitchen, her heartbeat sped up. He stood at the stove, scrambling eggs. The tight Army green T-shirt he wore stretched across his shoulders. It molded to his body like a glove, and for the first time, she could actually see the muscular frame beneath. The green hugged his frame like a lover, narrowed at his waist, and disappeared into the softly faded jeans. Just like the pants he wore yesterday, these hugged his perfectly shaped ass and strong thighs, revealing the incredible shape he was in. A soldier still. Her head turned to the array of pictures on the fireplace mantle and the photographs of a younger Ford in his uniform. The smile on his handsome face was breathtaking. Another with him and men alongside and kneeling in front of him, dirt smudged on their faces and a desert behind them. Counting out the years, she guessed this was the Desert Storm conflict, and he was there. She wanted to ask last night but lost her nerve. Some soldiers didn't like talking about the conflict they'd seen.
"That's my crew in Iraq. We were there for a year before coming home." He took a deep breath, and his voice cracked. "Not all of us came home."
He walked across the room to the fireplace, and as if a rope tied them together, she followed. As she stood next to him, she realized just how tall he was—at least a foot taller than her. Raising his arm, he pointed to the men in the picture. "Seth died a week after this picture was taken." Moving to the man to his right, he said, "Smith did as well." Moving past himself, he pointed to the man on his left. "Jackson came home with one arm. The next in line … Rory is my best friend and the Chief Detective in Lynyrd Station." The two men kneeling in front of him in the picture is where his finger went next. "Lincoln and Dodge both came home when Rory, Jackson, and I did." A softness washed over his face as his eyes searched the faces in the picture, but she'd stopped looking at the men and watched Ford. "This picture was taken after we were engaged in battle just outside of Baghdad. We defeated the enemy that day with no casualties. It was always a reason to celebrate when that happened. We didn't have alcohol there, so we celebrated with a glass of milk from the mess tent and candy bars we bought from the Iraqi traders that wandered the dessert."
He moved on to other pictures on the mantle, and she was torn between watching him and looking at the pictures. Her heart flipped and beat an irregular rhythm as she gazed at his profile. Strong firm jaw, not clenched in frustration or control, but softened in what she'd describe as love. She wondered what it would feel like for him to look at her that way. She gently shook her head to turn her thoughts away from that train of thought. Didn't she just tell herself to keep her feelings at bay?
"This is Emmy and her family. Her husband, Scott, and Dillon and Raye Anne." He moved on to the picture alongside. "This is my brother, Dawson. His wife Sylvia, and their kids, David, Jessica, Matthew, and Mark."
Moving to the larger portrait of an older couple, the man's dark head and eyes identical to Ford's, she knew without a doubt that these were his parents. "My parents, Ray and Darlene Montgomery. The finest people to ever walk the earth."
Sadness washed over his beautiful face, and her heart hurt for him. Without thought, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him to her. Pressing her cheek to his chest, she let his scent seep into her. Leather and wood and man. Her eyes closed as she listened to his strong heartbeat against her face and as his arms wrapped around her in return, she heard his heartbeat speed up.
When she felt him lay his cheek on the top of her head and heard him inhale her scent, she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, and her body shook with a riot of emotions she struggled to understand.
His arms tightened around her shoulders, pulling her tighter to him, flattening her body to his, their hearts beat together in a steady rhythm she didn't recognize but knew it was pure. She lifted her head and felt bad when he stood taller, removing his cheek from her head. Lifting her right hand, she cupped his jaw, gently running her thumb over his freshly shaven cheek. His dark, shiny eyes bored into hers, and her breathing tumbled from her lungs in short bursts. His head began to lower, but he stopped, never breaking eye contact with her. Softly smiling and praying he'd kiss her, it was as if he could read her mind. When his lips touched hers, the excitement that raced through her body was difficult to contain.
Pliant, soft lips enveloped hers and instantly commanded her mouth. His delicious tongue, tasting of fresh coffee and warm against hers danced in her mouth—touching, tasting, and exploring every surface. A moan—more like a whimper—escaped her throat and a groan from him. His breathing grew stilted, and she realized that she had the same effect on him as he had on her. It was exhilarating and exciting, and her heart opened to something new and delicious even though it was scary. Her experience with men was limited to Waylon, and her body never responded to him as it did to Ford. She suddenly felt stupid and naïve and out of her league. Ford probably had women all over the world panting for his attention. But, more than ever, she wanted to learn, feel, explore, and be wanted as a woman. Desirable and beautiful and worthy of a man like this man right here in her arms.
"Okay, someone come and help me carry in groceries."
She jumped back as a woman's voice carried in from the garage door.
A handsome smile appeared on his face. "That's Emmy. Hang on."
He turned toward the garage, and she admired his retreating backside a moment before following him to help.
Reaching the door that separated the house from the garage, what she saw was Ford hugging a woman about her height with his same dark hair tight to him. When they separated, he glanced at her and motioned with his hand for her to join them.
