He managed to rearrange his facial features into something neutral by the time they’d spun around and sped past him back down the trail that snaked behind Hope’s house.
Nice and quick.
So maybe by the end of this gig he’d be able to kick his brother Sean’s ass in a race, just in time to send the little shit off to Iraq.
He pulled up to Liana and she flashed him the first completely carefree smile he’d seen from her. “Someone’s found his stride.”
“I was thinking of my brother. If you run like this often, by the time I get back from your tour I’ll be able to kick his ass. And he races semi-professionally.”
“Does he?” She raised her eyebrows. “What kind of races?”
“Marathons, Ironman, ultra-endurance. He’s not the fastest guy—he’s built like me, so we’re carrying a lot of weight on us. But he can do twenty, fifty, even trains up to a hundred kilometres. Just keeps going as others drop off.”
“Awesome.” She puffed a breath at a loose strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. “I’ve never tried anything longer than a marathon.”
He was distantly aware of the fact that they’d sped up a bit, and Hope had fallen back, but he didn’t care that he was running faster than his usual nine-minute-mile. He’d hit his stride, finally. “Neither have I. Honestly, a half-marathon is really my comfort zone.”
“How many fulls have you done?”
“Three.” And hated each of them.
“Well, that’s why!” She laughed, and he wanted to groan, because how did she have any spare oxygen for laughing? “The first five sucked for me.”
“And you kept doing them.” He couldn’t keep the disbelief from his voice.
“Of course. I had a goal.”
Right. Of course. He nodded. “I do get it, intellectually. I see that same fire in my brother. But I can’t get that focused in my training. I prefer to be the cop on the motorcycle ensuring the route is safe.”
“It’s not for everyone.” She leapt over a thick exposed root, her legs flashing in a splash of sunlight that poured in through a break in the leafy canopy.
“It’s not that running’s bad. I mean, I like it.”
“I meant the hard training.”
“I like that, too.” Although he preferred running for the competitive push. He was more of a hit-the-gym guy for training hard.
“Yeah?” She gave him a look he didn’t decipher until it was too late. “Then race you back to the house.”
And like a shot, she was off. Hope pulled up to him and together they watched her sprint like she hadn’t already been going for more than an hour.
“Better catch her,” Hope said as their feet churned.
“Not sure I can,” he said, not giving a crap that his voice was full of awe.
Chapter Eight
DEAN pickedher up the next morning at three a.m.—dark o’clock, according to him.
He said it like a joke, but also like he knew what an early call time was and she obviously didn’t.
Ha. Joke was on him. She’d done more morning talk shows than almost anyone in Nashville. She worked hard for every inch of success she gained. Plus first-thing flights weren’t an uncommon thing, either.
And she knew how to do that, not just without whining, but in something that approached style. She was waiting for him with her bags packed, dressed and ready to go. Her hair was braided into a thick rope that curled around her neck and over her shoulder. The odds weren’t high that she’d have her picture taken, but just in case, she liked to dress in such a way that she still looked halfway decent at the end of a long trip. This morning that meant a black t-shirt which she wore over black leggings. On her feet were black slip-on flats.
She had traveling down to a science, a fact Dean commented on as she slid into his SUV.
“Don’t be so surprised,” she muttered.
