“Yes.”

“Jewel told me all about it last night while you and

Mack were watching the game. Even though they grew up less than thirty miles apart, they met in Vietnam. Strange, isn’t it?”

“I know their history. I’ve learned quite a bit about them in the past six years.”

“Did you know Mack still has nightmares about Vietnam? Jewel said he stopped having them for a long time, but they started again after Tommy died.”

She watched Kyle’s fingers tighten on the wheel. “No,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t know that.”

“Do you and Mack ever talk about your war experiences?”

His expression hardened, though she could only see his profile. “We have other things to talk about.”

“Jewel thinks it would be good for both of you. She said sometimes a man needs to talk to another man— but it’s hard for Mack to initiate that sort of conversation. She knows it’s hard for you, too.”

For several long minutes, George Strait’s voice was the only one she heard. When she finally decided Kyle wasn’t going to say anything, she spoke again, “Have you ever talked to anyone about what happened over there?”

He sighed gustily and shot her a stern look. “This is going to be a very long trip,” he warned in a near growl. “You really don’t want to make me cranky when we’re just getting started.”

“This subject makes you cranky?”

“Very.”

“Then you start a conversation,” she challenged. “We have to talk?”

“I’m afraid so. I thought I could resist, but I just can’t.” It pleased her to see one corner of his mouth tilt with what might have been a very faint, very reluctant smile. “Then talk. About anything you want—except my experiences overseas.”

She would have liked for him to tell her more about Tommy, and the time they had served together—just because it was such an integral part of who Kyle was now. But at least he had indicated his willingness—however grudging—to converse about anything else. “What do you remember most about living at the ranch?”

“Do your conv

ersations always consist of questions?” he asked in mild exasperation.

“Mostly,” she admitted readily. “How else would I find out about people?”

“Anyone ever tell you to mind your own business?” “Other than you—not very often. Most people like talking about themselves.”

“I’ve never been like most people.”

“Which makes you even more interesting,” she pointed out.

He sighed again, a long-suffering sound that made her laugh. “Lucky me,” he murmured. “What was the question again?”

“The ranch?”

“Yeah, okay. What do I remember about being there?”

He thought a moment, then said, “Your mom’s cookies. I don’t think I’d ever had a homemade cookie before I went to the ranch—not that I remembered, anyway.”

It amazed her how easily he could tug at her heart without even trying. She debated briefly about asking him more about his earlier childhood, but decided she’d better not push her luck just then. “I remember Mom sending you cookies after you went away,” she confided, instead. “She packed them in those tall potato chip cans. She let me help her.”

“They were good. Sharing those cookies made me a few friends in my barracks.”

“Tommy?”

“No.” His voice roughened. “I met him later.” “Oh.” Obviously still a taboo subject. “Mom still makes the best cookies in the world. Shane’s girls are always begging her to make some and let them help.”

Tags: Gina Wilkins Romance
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