“Well, if the local news channel calls me for comment on your heroic death, don’t expect me to lie. I’ll tell them straight up you were a psycho son of a bitch who never should’ve been given a gun.” Trey managed an unconvincing smile.
“As long as you promise to turn up to my Viking funeral.” He slapped Trey on the shoulder, ready to move on from the solemn turn this conversation had taken. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve misplaced my wife.”
“She’s over there, with Rob Terry.”
Chance followed the direction of Trey’s pointed finger and stiffened as he found its target. Rob, the sexually prolific owner of Rock’s, had one arm propped against the wall of the barn. Tara lounged against the weathered boards, smiling up at him.
Hot, irrational anger surged through him with ferocity identical to the bonfire reaching ever higher into the sky. Without so much as a parting word to Trey, he stalked across the hard ground toward his bride.
Tara’s forced grin had just started to falter when she spotted Chance approaching on her right. She turned a grateful smile in his direction, then dropped it altogether as she read the thunder in his eyes.
Rob pushed back from the barn, finally freeing her from the invisible cage of his generously applied cologne.
“Hey, McKinley, I keep asking Tara what persuaded a gorgeous gal like her to marry a busted-up grunt like you. She insists it was love at first sight, but I’m sure you must’ve spiked her drink. Which is it, huh? And where can I get whatever you used?”
Tara was thankful the darkness hid her blush as Rob repeated her words, but when Chance’s expression didn’t change she figured he hadn’t heard—or didn’t care.
Ignoring Rob’s greeting, he nodded in the direction of the pasture fence. “Come on, we’re going home.”
Searing fury reared up in her chest but she shoved it back down, all too aware of Rob’s keen attention. She pushed trembling lips into a broad grin and linked her arm around Chance’s.
“Sure thing, honey. It was nice to meet you, Rob. Hopefully I’ll see you in town sometime.”
“Definitely,” he affirmed, but Chance tugged her away before he could say anything else.
Tara waited through several minutes’ terse silence and brisk walking until they were well out of earshot of the partygoers. Then she wrenched free of his grip and spun to face him with blood pounding in her ears.
“Were you planning to explain our sudden departure or am I supposed to quietly follow you around like your subservient little wife?” she demanded, hands clenched at her sides.
“I don’t know, were you planning to explain why you were flirting with Rob for who knows how long?” he shot back.
She rolled her eyes. “He owns a bar, Chance. I want him to give me a job.”
“Why do you need a job?”
“For the money, of course. Why does anyone need a job?”
“I mean, why do you need a job around here?”
Anxiety spiked her pulse before she willed it back down. Was he expecting her to leave? “I guess we skipped the calm, rational, adult conversation about how your deployment is going to affect our marital status.”
She could barely see his expression in the darkness, but his momentary silence seemed more stunned than angry. When he spoke again, some of the hostility had drained from his voice. “Probably shouldn’t be a surprise.”
“That I figured I’d stick around while you’re away?”
“That we haven’t had a grown-up discussion about it.”
She pressed her back teeth together. “We’re talking now. What do you think?”
He shrugged. “Up to you.”
Disappointment thudded in the pit of her stomach, but she straightened her spine and raised her chin. “Don’t sound so thrilled.”
“Don’t think I wouldn’t tell you if I wanted you to leave.”
Guess that’s as good a declaration of undying devotion as I’m going to get. “Then it’s settled. I’ll hold down the fort and bring in a little money while you’re away.”
He shook his head resolutely. “My pay will more than cover the rent on the house, gas, utilities, anything you’ll need while I’m deployed.”
“I’m a third-generation bartender,” she insisted, poking her finger in his chest to emphasize the words. “I’m good at it and I’m proud of it and you’ve got no right to stop me.”
He seized her scolding finger and pulled her against him, closing his hands on her upper arms. “My wife ain’t working in no bar, you hear me?”
“Your wife’s gonna be bored out of her damn skull stuck out at that house while you’re dodging bullets in Afghanistan, how about that?”
A crack ran through the steel in his expression, but he pushed her away and turned his back before she could trace its origin. Her heartbeat stuttered, her irritation wavered, but as terror accompanied the tenderness swelling in her ribcage she advanced on her husband, her voice growing louder and sharper with every word.
“What the hell kind of marriage is this supposed to be, anyway? One minute you’re sleeping on the couch like I’m your long-lost cousin on a weekend visit, the next you’re bossing my job prospects and accusing me of flirting. I got news for you, buddy, a girl can’t step out on a husband that don’t act like no husband.”
That got his attention. “What does that mean, I don’t act like your husband?”
“I’ve been here for days and you haven’t even kissed me. That’s what I mean.”
The line of his jaw hardened as he advanced on her. She took one stumbling step backward, then another, then another, until her back hit the cold bark of a leafless tree. Her palms found its coarse surface as Chance moved even closer, towering over her, the sheer size of him quickening her pulse with a mixture of fear and reckless attraction.
“That’s what this is about, huh?” His voice was low and full of menace. Briefly she wondered if this was how he spoke to Afghan prisoners, whether he knew all kinds of brutal interrogation techniques, if that was ever part of his job or just a ridiculous image she’d plucked from a primetime drama.
He seemed to be waiting for an answer. She glared at him instead.
