strongest roast you’ve got.”
“I’ll get a table,” Therese said, scooping up napkins along with her drink.
He watched her weave between the tables to a cozy table for two next to the plate glass window and continued to watch until the kid cleared his throat. “That’ll be two and a quarter.”
Keegan slid his card through the reader, took his foam cup, and murmured thanks before following Therese. He slid into the chair across from her, glanced out the window at the rain, sipped the steaming coffee, and nearly burned his tongue. Though she didn’t say anything, her faint smile showed she’d noticed.
“So…you’re from Montana.” Really smooth, Logan. What are you—fifteen?
“I grew up on a ranch outside Helena.”
“Beautiful country.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Not even close.”
Her brows raised, then she smiled for real. It made her look a few years younger and a lot of burdens lighter. “You’re right, though. It is breathtaking.”
“But you decided not to go back there when…” He shifted his gaze to his coffee. He had no tact for talking to a widow. He couldn’t remember ever even meeting one, other than his fourth-grade teacher, when he’d been too young to really grasp the concept, and a few aunts whose husbands had earned gray hair and retirements before their deaths. He’d known plenty of guys who’d died—a hell of a fact, considering he was only thirty-one—but he hadn’t known their wives.
“When Paul died.” Her voice was steady; so was her gaze. “It’s okay to say it.” She sipped her coffee, then set it down again. “No, I didn’t think about it. It would have been nice to be close to my parents and my brother, but I’d been living out of state for several years before I met Paul. Jacob and Abby had already been through so much, what with moving here, their father’s deployment, then his death. I thought it was best at the time not to move them again.
“And it gets damn cold up there. I’m not a snow-and-ice girl. There’s nothing quite like chopping holes in six-inch-thick ice so the cattle can drink. Or digging a path from the house to the barn, taking care of the animals, then digging out the path again to get back.” She sighed. “Sun, sand, a gentle breeze…”
“Doesn’t it get cold in Oklahoma?”
“Yeah, sub-zero from time to time. But it’s not as if winter moves in to stay. We may go from ten below to ninety degrees within a couple of days. We do get snow and ice, but usually nothing major.” She popped the plastic top off her cup and used the straw to scoop out piles of whipped cream. “Your accent says you’re from the South. Not Georgia, I’d guess. I was teaching in Augusta when I met Paul.”
“Louisiana. Natchitoches.”
“How long have you been in the Army?”
“Six years.”
“There’s a big risk in joining the military when the country’s at war.”
If the comment had come from anyone other than another service member—or the widow of one—his response would have been short. No shit.
“I was already doing medical stuff and occasionally getting shot at.” At her raised brow, he shrugged. “I was a firefighter and paramedic. We did a couple runs where the guys who set the fires weren’t too happy to see us putting them out.” One was hoping a little arson would save him from bankruptcy, while the other was counting on the charring of his wife’s body to disguise the fact that he’d beaten her to death.
She shifted in the chair, and it made the little squeaky noise he associated with rocking chairs, ancient wood floors, and home. “Why the Army? You were already being a hero.”
Keegan hoped his snort wasn’t too obnoxious. “I was doing a job. I liked the medical aspect of it better than the running-into-a-burning-building part, and…A guy I went through the fire-training center and worked at the same station with was a reservist who got activated and sent to Kandahar Province. He didn’t come
“I’ll get a table,” Therese said, scooping up napkins along with her drink.
He watched her weave between the tables to a cozy table for two next to the plate glass window and continued to watch until the kid cleared his throat. “That’ll be two and a quarter.”
Keegan slid his card through the reader, took his foam cup, and murmured thanks before following Therese. He slid into the chair across from her, glanced out the window at the rain, sipped the steaming coffee, and nearly burned his tongue. Though she didn’t say anything, her faint smile showed she’d noticed.
“So…you’re from Montana.” Really smooth, Logan. What are you—fifteen?
“I grew up on a ranch outside Helena.”
“Beautiful country.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Not even close.”
Her brows raised, then she smiled for real. It made her look a few years younger and a lot of burdens lighter. “You’re right, though. It is breathtaking.”
“But you decided not to go back there when…” He shifted his gaze to his coffee. He had no tact for talking to a widow. He couldn’t remember ever even meeting one, other than his fourth-grade teacher, when he’d been too young to really grasp the concept, and a few aunts whose husbands had earned gray hair and retirements before their deaths. He’d known plenty of guys who’d died—a hell of a fact, considering he was only thirty-one—but he hadn’t known their wives.
“When Paul died.” Her voice was steady; so was her gaze. “It’s okay to say it.” She sipped her coffee, then set it down again. “No, I didn’t think about it. It would have been nice to be close to my parents and my brother, but I’d been living out of state for several years before I met Paul. Jacob and Abby had already been through so much, what with moving here, their father’s deployment, then his death. I thought it was best at the time not to move them again.
“And it gets damn cold up there. I’m not a snow-and-ice girl. There’s nothing quite like chopping holes in six-inch-thick ice so the cattle can drink. Or digging a path from the house to the barn, taking care of the animals, then digging out the path again to get back.” She sighed. “Sun, sand, a gentle breeze…”
“Doesn’t it get cold in Oklahoma?”
“Yeah, sub-zero from time to time. But it’s not as if winter moves in to stay. We may go from ten below to ninety degrees within a couple of days. We do get snow and ice, but usually nothing major.” She popped the plastic top off her cup and used the straw to scoop out piles of whipped cream. “Your accent says you’re from the South. Not Georgia, I’d guess. I was teaching in Augusta when I met Paul.”
“Louisiana. Natchitoches.”
“How long have you been in the Army?”
“Six years.”
“There’s a big risk in joining the military when the country’s at war.”
If the comment had come from anyone other than another service member—or the widow of one—his response would have been short. No shit.
“I was already doing medical stuff and occasionally getting shot at.” At her raised brow, he shrugged. “I was a firefighter and paramedic. We did a couple runs where the guys who set the fires weren’t too happy to see us putting them out.” One was hoping a little arson would save him from bankruptcy, while the other was counting on the charring of his wife’s body to disguise the fact that he’d beaten her to death.
She shifted in the chair, and it made the little squeaky noise he associated with rocking chairs, ancient wood floors, and home. “Why the Army? You were already being a hero.”
Keegan hoped his snort wasn’t too obnoxious. “I was doing a job. I liked the medical aspect of it better than the running-into-a-burning-building part, and…A guy I went through the fire-training center and worked at the same station with was a reservist who got activated and sent to Kandahar Province. He didn’t come
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