I click the fob in my hand and hurl myself in the driver’sseat. “You really going to make this as hard as it can possibly be.”
Looking out the window at nothing, she says, “Yep. Now take me home.”
Ha. Right.
I start the truck, put it in reverse to exit the small lot, and turn left on Main Street. Bracing for her realization that I’m going the wrong way.
East is the opposite direction of her ranch.
There’s a thunderstorm brewing in the cab of my truck when I’m saved by my phone ringing.
Caleb Allison appears on the caller ID.
My relief is instant and twofold. One, he’s alive. Two, he can calm River down by telling her all the things I’m contractually obligated not to tell her.
“Thank Heavens!” she exclaims, practically climbing over the center console to punch the button to answer the call.
“Caleb! Oh my god. I’m so glad you called.”
“River?”
She leans closer, her shoulder brushing my bicep now. “Yes! It’s me, but obviously this isn’t my phone.”
“River? Can you hear me, I’ve got a bad connection. I’ll try to call back…”
Alarmed, she clutches the leather console between our seats as if it’s a tether to her brother. “Wait, don’t go!”
Caleb’s reply is garbled. A few seconds later the call goes dead.
“No!” River covers her mouth with her hands, breathing hard through her fingers. “Call him back. Now. I need to talk to him.”
The call fails twice from our end.
“He’ll call back, you know he will.”
She’s folded in on herself now and looking vulnerable which makes the protective side of me want to drag her over the console into my lap.
I shake myself. That can’t happen.
My attraction to River is a serious threat to being able to keep my head straight.
Ten minutes pass before the call comes in again. “Diesel,” he says, “Put me on FaceTime.”
There’s a catch in River’s breath when his face comes on the screen. For a second she doesn’t say anything and I know she’s taking in his appearance.
It’s rough.
Caleb’s eyes are hollowed out, black smudges down his cheeks. The lines that bracket the grim set of his mouth are etched in deep. The backdrop is a shadowy tent in some unknown location. He’s wearing fatigues and a plate carrier over his chest and looks fresh off a mission.
Memories of past ops hit me in a flashflood. Good ones. Bad ones.
Memories you can’t categorize.
Forcing air in my lungs, I pull to the side of the road to preserve the fragile signal because I know how precious calls like this are.
Never take them for granted.
Even if the conversation that’s about to happen is going to be volatile.
