Page 40 of Finally Mine
Gloria was only about one-third of the way through the two dented cardboard boxes filled with papers that Merle’s granddaughter had dropped off about an hour after her ill-conceived volunteering.
“I’m going to have to get back to you on that,” she said. “Can I have your email address?”
While Bob rummaged for paper and a pen, Mrs. Valencio from the grocery store bellied up with her empty cigarette holder and raspberry red hair. “Got a question for you on parking and the parade.” She launched into a recounting of the last seven years of Fourth of Julys and their inconveniences.
Gloria felt her eyes glazing over. All of Benevolence seemed to have appeared in front of her with questions.
Sophie shot her a quick grin and topped off Gloria’s glass.
* * *
An hour later,Gloria had a list of twenty-two email addresses, fifty-odd questions that she’d “get back to them on,” and a splitting headache. She chugged the ice water Sophie had thoughtfully left next to her empty wine glass.
“How’s my favorite bartender?”
Gloria lifted her head from the bar at the rich baritone.
Sophie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I bet you say that to all the bartenders, Linc, including Titus.”
Lincoln Reed, fire chief, ladies’ man, all American hunk of man candy, gave Gloria an assessing look.
“Well, well, well,” he said.
Sophie raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in his direction. “Down, boy. She’s new to the single life.”
“I’d be happy to ease you into it,” Linc winked. He was a shameless flirt but in a friendly, habitual way that had Gloria smiling shyly.
“That’s very generous,” she said, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.
The band kicked into a ballad. Linc held out his hand and gave a mock bow. “Care to dance, Ms. Parker?”
Sophie gave her the “get your ass out on the floor” shoulder shimmy.
Exhausted, confused, and maybe the tiniest bit curious, Gloria took a subtle breath and put her hand in his. He led her toward the edge of the dance floor, his back muscles making a hypnotizing show under his tight gray t-shirt.
He was taller than Aldo but not as broad. And when he coaxed her into his arms—with a respectable distance—when he smiled down at her like she was the only woman in the room, Gloria felt nothing.
A man was flirting with her in a bar. A gorgeous, confident, sexy man. And she felt like she was dancing with a first cousin.
What had Aldo Moretta done to her?
21
“Let me get this straight.” Second Lieutenant Steph Oluo shot Aldo a look that told him he was a huge dumbass. “You didn’t give her any way to get in touch with you?”
Aldo brought one hand to his temple, keeping the other firmly on the wheel of the big-ass truck. His eyes never left the skinny village road they were navigating. “The spirits are telling me you are not impressed,” he said in his best psychic woo-woo voice.
Their small convoy was delivering food and supplies to Afghan forces outside the wire. Aldo had volunteered for the mission to keep the antsiness from eating him alive on base.
“Men are dumbasses,” Oluo snorted, her cool gray eyes scanning the buildings around them. They both were familiar enough with missions like this that they could banter without stealing focus from the necessary constant vigilance.
What might look like a sleepy village often was a hole for insurgent forces with snipers. Villagers, in their loose linen dress hurried about their days. Most pointedly ignoring the six-vehicle convoy that was plowing its way through their streets with guns at the ready.
“She’s been through a lot,” Aldo argued. He hadn’t shared Gloria’s secrets, just that she’d gotten out of a bad relationship.
“You could have been using these six months to, I don’t know, build up a rapport with her,” Oluo pointed out. “You know, maybe be friends with the girl first before you try to jump her bones.”
“I’m not trying to jump her bones,” Aldo said defensively. He saw brake lights and rolled to a stop behind the truck in front of them. They both scanned the buildings around them for signs of activity. A minute passed in tense silence. He could feelsomethingout there on the horizon. That tingle at the base of his spine had been honed by countless near misses. The last one, a sniper on a rooftop, had lined up a shot on Luke. Aldo had bruised his friend’s ribs in the rush tackle that had the bullet missing them both by inches.
