Page 29 of Beehives and Broken Heroes

She still had a hand over her mouth.

“So, is this your girl?” the man asked. “She’s pretty.”

Brandon laughed and shook his head. He jumped to his feet, pulling the guy up with him, then put an arm around the guy’s neck like they were old friends. “Pete, this is Allie Ward.” He signaled between the two. “Sunshine, this is Pete Navarro.”

Pete extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

What on God’s green earth was going on here? And why did she feel all giddy after watching Brandon take that guy down like that? She’d never seen anything like it. It was so . . . so . . . manly.

Just then, the heavens opened and rain poured down like a faucet had been turned on.

Chapter 9

Brandon sat next to Allie in a red booth too small for his long legs, and across from his army pal, Pete Navarro. Pete reclined in the corner on his side of the booth, his feet up on the seat. He ran a hand through his soaked black locks, then shook his head.

Allie lifted a hand to block the flying water and laughed.

Brandon kicked him under the booth. “What are you, a stray dog?”

Pete grinned.

Brandon had given Allie his flannel as soon as the rain had started, and it’d kept her mostly dry. His hat had done the same for him as they’d run across the street to Georgia’s Diner.

They ordered drinks, two coffees, and a hot chocolate.

Brandon caught movement out the window and across the street at Mo’s. Out the rain-dotted window, Tony burst through the doors of Cotton Eye Mo’s, his date following close behind. Behind her were Cash and Deputy Danny Cabrera. He just hoped they’d gotten his text to tell Jenn about Tony, too.

“I’m still confused,” Allie said, wrapping her delicate fingers around her mug—she hadn’t seen the scene across the street. “If you’re friends, then why—”

“You haven’t told your girl about B.O.T.s? Who’s the feral now?”

Brandon felt a little warm and tilted his hat down. “She’s not my—”

“What’s B.O.T.s?” Allie asked.

Without thinking, Brandon dropped an arm over the back of the booth above her shoulders. Allie leaned into him a little, just enough that he wasn’t sure if she was doing it intentionally or not. Enough that he had no intention of pulling away. He liked the subtle pressure of her back against his arm, her wisps of hair over his skin.

Pete raised both brows at him, then shot a glance between Brandon and Allie before grinning. Andy liked to tease Brandon about this kind of thing, but he was at least kind enough to keep it between them. Pete wasn’t like that. Sure, he was one of the best trackers the military had to offer, a serious and honorable soldier, but he still loved good gossip. The entire group would know about Allie by tomorrow. Tops.

“Black Ops Tag,” Brandon said. “It’s something me and several of my army friends have been doing for fifteen years.”

Pete pointed a finger at Brandon. “And this brute hasn’t had the decency to lose in ten of them.”

“Nine,” Brandon corrected, finding a little divot in the table to take an interest in. “This year will be ten—if I win.”

Pete threw up his arms. “And he doesn’t even have the decency to brag. He has to be all humble about it.”

Allie looked up at him, eyes wide with wonder and filled with mischief. He wanted to kiss her. Badly. “Nine years, huh? That’s impressive.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is.” Pete took a long pull of his coffee.

“So, who all’s involved?” she asked.

Pete pointed at Brandon. “The cowboy, here. Me, I’m el conejo. Andy Phelps.”

“Oh, I like Andy.” Allie sat taller in her seat. “What’s his code name?”

“You’ve met him?” Pete asked.

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