Kimberly Raye - The Braddock Boys - Brent

For food, of course.

Abigail had been living on powdered milk and beef jerky in the mountains outside of Kabul for the past six months. She certainly wasn’t feeling suddenly hollow because the entire scene reminded her of her late mother and the one visit she’d paid to her grandparents when she’d been five.

She pushed aside the strange sense of melancholy and steeled herself as she faced Dolly.

“Thanks for the advice, but I’d rather have the malt.” Words to live by as far as Abigail was concerned. Men were distracting. She’d learned that firsthand back in high school when she’d almost thrown away a full ride to the Naval Academy for one measly date with the captain of the hockey team. She’d lusted after him for months, dreamt about him, penciled his name on her notebook. He’d been so perfect and she’d wanted him so much. Enough to miss her application interview in favor of getting her hair done for the first—and only—time to try to impress him.

A wasted effort because the Hockey Hunk had stood her up for the head cheerleader. A girl who wore short skirts and high heels and lots of makeup. Luckily Abby had had a perfect record and so the acceptance board had rescheduled her interview and given her one more chance.

She’d realized then and there that she simply couldn’t compete when it came to all the girlie stuff. Her hair would never curl quite as much and her body didn’t fill out the sexy clothes quite as well. She’d also vowed to never let a man make a fool of her ever again. While she went out every now and then (she was a grown woman with needs, after all), she didn’t let herself get emotionally involved. She didn’t sit around dreaming of a big wedding or a happily ever after. She was living her dream—to stand on her own feet, command her own unit and serve her country.

She was good at it. She liked it. Even if it was a little lonely every now and then.

“Oh, and add a double chili dog to that,” she added, eager to ignore the sudden tightening in her gut. Real food hadn’t been the only thing she’d done without all those months in Afghanistan. It had been over eleven since she’d been with a man and she needed a really good orgasm in a really bad way. Not that a man was required in order to have one, but vibrators had yet to become standard issue special ops gear and so she’d been forced to leave her deluxe model Big Man at home. Since she didn’t fraternize with her men and in-field operations didn’t permit time or energy for fooling around, she’d done without. Add the fact that Rayne was missing, and her superiors were holding her personally responsible to the mix, and she was definitely feeling some major frustration.

“Add a double order of chili cheese fries to that, too,” she told Dolly.

“Whatever you say.” The old woman pursed her lips. “Damned young folks. Never listen to one iota of advice.” She turned and waddled toward the glass door that led inside.

“With extra cheese,” Abigail called after her before turning her attention to her surroundings.

She wasn’t asking any questions yet. She’d come off a hellacious flight and she was tired. Which meant that tonight was all about doing a little recon and memorizing the lay of the land while she ate her first decent meal in ages. Then she would check into the nearest motel, plan her strategy for tomorrow’s Q & A and get a good night’s rest in a real bed.

She did a quick visual assessment, noting the faces and the cars and the details. She was good with details. It was one thing that made her a top notch commanding officer. That, and her instincts. She could assess a situation in the blink of an eye and note any threats, and then she could take the appropriate action. Deploy. Advance. Flank.

Run!

The warning echoed the moment she spotted the cowboy who rounded the side of the building. He made his way toward a beat-up 1967 Chevy Camaro parked near the road.

A pair of black jeans outlined his long, muscular legs. A black button-down shirt, the tails un-tucked, framed his broad shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to reveal the detailed image of a six shooter that had been tattooed on the inside of his left forearm. He wore a black Stetson tipped low on his head, shrouding the upper part of his face.

While he fit with the locals—he certainly looked the part with his boots and Stetson—he didn’t fit.

She tried to picture him swapping stories at the local feed store or hanging out here at the Dairy Freeze, and she couldn’t. His entire persona seemed much too intense, too detached, too mysterious for a small town like Skull Creek.

Too sexy.

The thought struck as her gaze hooked on his sensual mouth. An unexpected visual struck—of that mouth pressed to her throat—and her nipples snapped to attention. Need sliced through her, sharp and swift, and her stomach hollowed out.

As if he sensed her reaction, he turned. He tipped the brim of his hat back and the light illuminated his high cheekbones and sculpted nose. A fierce green gaze blazed across the distance between them and collided with hers.

Her breath caught and her heart paused. It was a crazy reaction for a soldier who made it her business to feel nothing and stay focused.

But for the next few, frantic heartbeats, her brain seemed to scramble and she forgot everything except him and the way he looked at her. Into her. As if he could see past the thick outer exterior, to the soft, vulnerable woman beneath.

As if that woman even existed.

She didn’t.

Abigail had accepted that fact a long time ago when she’d failed so miserably with Hockey Hunk. Three hours in Chicago’s top salon hadn’t been enough to transform her from a pudgy tomboy into a desirable woman.

She’d still been too stocky, too shapeless, too ballsy.

Then and now.

But that was okay. She was a commanding officer, not a Hooters girl. She didn’t need that kind of superficial attention. She needed respect.

Well, that and a really rocking orgasm to ease her current nerves.

His gaze swept her from head to toe and stripped away every scrap of clothing. Anticipation zapped her and the air bolted from her lungs.

He grinned then and she had the unnerving thought that he knew her frustration. That he knew her.

She stiffened and put up the invisible barricade vital to a special ops soldier. No expression. No emotion. Nothing. Just name, rank and serial number.

His gaze widened and surprise flashed in the bright green depths. At least she thought it was surprise. But then he turned, the car door opened and he disappeared inside. The engine caught.

A rush of panic bolted through her and she pushed to her feet.

Because Abigal Trent didn’t waste her time thinking and analyzing. She was a field operative. Paid to trust her gut and act on it. And her gut told her something wasn’t right.

He wasn’t right.

He was hiding something, and there was only one way to find out exactly what that was, and whether or not it had anything to do with her latest mission. There was always the possibility and with her reputation hanging in the balance, she wasn’t leaving any stone unturned.

Abby headed for her rental car and took off after him.

SHE WAS FOLLOWING HIM.

He knew it even before he saw the blaze of headlights in his rearview mirror. He felt her. He’d felt her the first moment she’d spotted him.

Her piqued interest. Her pulse-pounding lust. Her surprise. She’d never reacted so fast, so fierce to any member of the opposite sex and it had freaked her out.

He knew the feeling.

It didn’t matter that he’d sucked down enough blood to last him several days. His gaze had met hers and bam, the hunger had sliced through him, cutting him to the quick and scattering his common sense. In an instant, he’d wanted to forget everything—particularly the all-important fact that his youngest brother Cody was waiting for him, along with the computer genius that was going to help him track down his sister-in-law. That’s why he was still stuck in this hole-in-the-wall. He needed a lead on Rose and her whereabouts. Once he had enough information, he would hit the road and find her. After he watched his youngest brother tie the knot next week, that is.