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“Big Buck’s Bar. This is—”
“Noah,” Caroline cut in. “I need to borrow Josie for a few hours. Is she around?”
“She’s in the back. Everything all right?”
C
aroline heard footsteps as her friend and boss moved through the bar, heading to the room that held the dishwasher. “I need help putting together an outfit for tonight.”
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Out.” The man who’d appointed himself her honorary big brother did not need details.
“Where?”
She stared out the window at the barn. One of Noah’s rescue cats stalked across the gravel as if preparing to pounce. Caroline had a feeling there would be a dead bird or mouse waiting on the porch when she returned home from her date.
“Caroline?” Noah said.
He’ll find out from Josie or Lily. Someone would clue him in to the fact that she was officially dating Josh Summers. He might even hear it from his new father-in-law. And then, Noah would come to her with a pile of questions.
“Josh is taking me out to dinner.”
And cue the crickets . . .
The footsteps on the other end of the line stopped. She could hear Noah breathing as he struggled to hold back a what the hell, Caroline?
“Did he coerce you?” Noah enunciated each word, his tone low and ominous. “I heard about what happened at the party. You had a run-in with Josie’s dad—”
“I want to go out with him,” she blurted. “I’m tired of hiding. I go to the bar. I come back here. Once or twice I’ve stopped by Lily’s house. I’m ready to get out there . . . but I don’t have anything to wear. I need shoes. Something soft and feminine. I can’t wear combat boots. What kind of message does that send?”
“I’ll kick your ass if you get fresh with me?” Noah murmured.
“I could, but I don’t think attacking my date is the best way to get him on his back.”
“Caroline—”
“I was good at this once,” she said firmly. “You didn’t know me then. Before we deployed together. But back then I went out on dates. I flirted.”
I wasn’t afraid.
She heard the familiar whoosh through the phone as Noah pushed open the swinging door that led to the bar’s back room.
“Josie,” he called. “You’re needed at my dad’s place. Caroline is having a shoe crisis.”
CAROLINE PACED THE kitchen and fought the urge to unlock the gun safe. She’d talked Noah’s dad into giving her the combination months ago. Sometimes she needed the added comfort of a loaded weapon against her leg. Logic suggested that her rapist would have hunted her down by now if he still held the end of his illustrious military career against her. But logic and fear didn’t always play nice together.
More than a year had passed since she last saw her former CO in the doorway to her sister’s home. He’d suffered a dishonorable discharge for adultery. With Noah’s testimony, the military court had accepted the fact that she had a sexual relationship with him. But she couldn’t prove her CO had forced her. And oh the irony, the man who’d promised to lead her through a war zone then forcibly removed her clothes from her body, he dared to blame her for losing his job.
She refused to let that man hurt her again. But as the possibility of an attack slipped further and further away, her need for a gun strapped to her thigh or tucked into the waistband of her pants should have disappeared too. But the feelings still haunted her even if the man had given up.
Alone . . . Afraid . . . Skirting the edge of depression as if it were a deep pool she might stumble into . . .
But not tonight.
She circled the table, her fingers brushing the tops of the four chairs as she walked. Her fitted grey jeans and flowing, sleeveless pink blouse didn’t exactly scream, ‘accessorize with a handgun.’ Josie had lent her the clothes along with a pair of black leather ankle boots. And if she planned to kick some ass in these shoes, she better be prepared to balance on her toes—or use the three-inch spikes attached to the back of the boots.
She heard the crunch of gravel before Josh’s pickup pulled into the parking area. The cat abandoned her prey and ran for the barn. And Caroline debated following the scared animal. But she wouldn’t get far in these stilts masquerading as footwear . . .
