Jump Start (Texas Hotzone 1)

She pulled up to her condo, the interior of the car a sopping wet mess from her clothes, and rushed to the door, the rain still coming down so hard she officially understood the saying “it was raining barrels.” She unlocked the door, to be greeted by a meowing kitty. She offered a few kitty pets and a little kitty talk, then stripped, eager for a hot shower.

An hour later, near ten already, hair dry, her face scrubbed fresh, Jennifer sat on her couch, the air cranked on high, and snuggled beneath a white down comforter. She had a cup of hot chocolate in her hand despite the season; it was like her comfort food in a mug—warm and sweet. Maybe because it reminded her of family and holidays.

Beneath the blanket, she wore pink sweatpants and a pink tank top, a bra most defiantly in place in her determination to be casually pulled together with a strong, not sexy, appeal. Okay, so maybe pink wasn’t the best way to send the strong message, but she’d changed three times and this was the best she could come up with.

Sipping her chocolate, with Julie curled in a ball at her feet, she told herself to stay angry at Bobby, to end any relationship with him tonight. Maybe if she drank enough chocolate bliss, she wouldn’t need any Bobby bliss. She sighed at the fallibility of that strategy. She fiddled with the remote, but didn’t turn on the television.

Instead, she sat there, processing, thinking. And the longer she sat on that couch, the more she saw beyond her own emotions. Bobby had been brave tonight, honorable. She didn’t know the Bobby who jumped out of planes and saved lives. Or did she? He’d been a strong, steady, dependable friend during the party when the guests had gotten out of control. Maybe he was born to be a soldier. Pride welled inside her.

“He’s trying to choose between me and the Army,” she whispered. Her hand went to her stomach, feeling suddenly queasy. He didn’t want her to know about the reenlistment in case he chose the Army. And how could she ask him to choose her? She’d seen him today—seen how he’d acted to save lives. How could anything compare? Maybe this wasn’t a fling. Maybe it was simply two people in love whose destinies couldn’t be one. Maybe rather than giving him ultimatums, she simply needed to love him while she could. To love him enough to tell him it was okay that he be who he was, that he be the soldier he’d become.

Reaching for the remote again, Jennifer hoped for something to occupy her mind, rather than sit there and think herself into some sort of insanity. At the same moment, a knock sounded on the door. She jumped and the remote went flying, her heart exploding in her chest. Julie screeched and jumped. Jennifer pressed her hand to her face. Good grief, so much for seeming together.

Jennifer threw back the blanket and rushed to the door. “Hello?”

“It’s Bobby,” he said, his voice a familiar rough sandpaper that both stroked her nerves and aroused her senses.

Jennifer opened the door to find him standing there, his clothes wet, his blond hair lying haphazardly framing his strong features, a swatch across his brow. The rain splattered around him, jumping off the awning that wasn’t enough to protect him from being any more beaten and weathered. And he did indeed look weathered and worn, tired from no sleep the night before, the expression on his face stark, as if he expected her to turn him away.

“I should never have taken you there tonight,” he admitted. “I was called to investigate the Hotzone, and I selfishly didn’t want to give up time with you. I put you in danger.”

Her heart squeezed, the need to reach for him too great to ignore. She stepped forward and forgot the rain, flinging her arms around him and holding him tight.

“You were a real-life hero tonight, Bobby,” she said, pressing her head to his chest, his heart racing against her ear. “I was proud of you.” His shirt was wet, but the warmth of his skin seeped through into hers. The strength of his arms closed around her.

“Jennifer,” he whispered, lifting her and setting her back down inside the house, kicking the door shut. “Sweetheart—”

“I don’t care about how, or why, we went to that show tonight,” she said, tilting her head up to stare at him. “I don’t even care why you came into town.”

“I swear to you, Jennifer,” he said, framing her face. “I was assigned the task after I arrived. I came for the wedding.” His voice softened. “I came for you.”

She wet her lips, her mouth and throat dry. “I believe you,” she promised. “But, Bobby…tonight I saw the soldier in you. It’s in your blood. I’m not asking you to walk away from that for me, and I know that’s what you think you have to do. But you don’t. You can’t. You have to be who, and what, you are.”