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“Caleb, you haven’t looked me in the eye in a week. Either you’ve got quite the crick in your neck or you really like my shoes.”
I sigh and raise my head to look at him. He instantly smiles and my muscles turn to jelly. “There. I looked at you. Can I have a moment to myself now?”
“Not yet.” He clears his throat. “I still have something to say.”
“Then, say it.”
I keep my eyes steady on him, desperately trying not to swoon. Somehow, he’s grown more attractive since that night.
“Okay…” He shifts over to Fox’s cot and sits down across from me, giving me his undivided attention. “I think — and it’s possible you might, too — that the two of us kind of got off on the wrong foot…” His hands jerk nervously. “And I don’t mean that in a puny way. I wasn’t referencing the two of us getting off…”
I deepen my glare. “Boxcar.”
“Right.” He shakes his head. “Obviously, I like you, Caleb. I think you’re beautiful and strong but there’s so much more to you than that. I would like the chance to go back in time and get to know you as if the night in the jeep never happened — as amazing and strange as it was.”
“Strange?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but beautiful women don’t often mount me in public places.”
I fight my chuckle. “Okay. Strange, it was.”
“What say you, Caleb Fawn?” he asks. “Can we start over? As friends? Or… acquaintances, at the very least?”
Those damn green eyes.
“Fine,” I say.
He points down at my revolver. “Where did you even get that?” he asks. “Doesn’t exactly look standard issue.”
“It…” I hesitate, choking on every lie before the truth slips out. “It was my father’s.”
“They let you bring it out here with you?”
“No, it—” I pause for a moment more. “He found it out here and his commanding officer gave it to me when I arrived.”
Boxcar’s brow rises with interest. “Your dad’s out here, too?”
“Not anymore,” I answer. “His convoy was hit by a pipe bomb just before I enlisted.”
He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out at first. “Damn…” he finally whispers.
“His CO told me that my dad never fired it. He was saving it for a special occasion, whatever that means. Apparently, he always kept it on him except for the one time he forgot it in his footlocker…” Boxcar’s eyes twinge with sympathy. “It’s been my good luck charm ever since.”
“Can I hold it?”
“No.”
He raises his hands again and chuckles. “Okay.”
His smile tickles my toes, but I shake it off, hardening my shell. “What else do you want to know?”
“Where are you from?” he asks.
I hesitate, feeling a bit of that self-consciousness ease in. I wasn’t expecting to dive into even more of my history so quickly, but I guess I shouldn’t feel so weird about sharing intimate details with someone I’ve already been intimate with.
“Oklahoma,” I answer.
Boxcar pauses. “Whereabouts?”
