Laura Scott - The Thanksgiving Target

Admittedly, the idea held a certain appeal. Not from a financial perspective, but at least she’d be close to the hospital, able to keep an eye on Melissa. And if she stubbornly insisted on staying in her house, she doubted she’d get any sleep. She’d no doubt lie awake, frighteningly aware of every sound.

But going with Max would be a risk. She was already feeling too close to him. Too grateful for his protection.

She barely knew him.

Her silence was obviously wearing on him, since his tone grew impatient. “This guy knows where you live. He tried to get rid of your dog and probably already knows Mrs. Henderson is hard of hearing. What’s to stop him from showing up in the middle of the night? He almost killed Beau. How do you know he won’t feel more desperate the next time he shows up?”

A shiver racked her body, having nothing to do with the temperature outside. His words, spoken so bluntly, made the entire situation sound that much more sinister.

Max was right. She didn’t know who the guy was, so how could she know what lengths he’d go to get back at her for some perceived wrong she’d committed. She would be better off in a hotel, miles from her house. She needed to think logically, not emotionally.

Ted had loved her. He’d want her to be safe.

Max pushed away from the counter, coming to stand in front of her. “Please, Tara? I don’t feel right leaving you here. There must be something I can say to convince you.”

She could almost hear Ted’s voice telling her not to be foolish.

“I’ll stay in a hotel room for tonight,” she agreed slowly. “But I don’t want you to feel responsible for me. This isn’t your problem.”

He didn’t say anything in response, but as she turned to go down to her bedroom to pack an overnight bag, she suspected Max was incapable of standing aside, allowing her to face her problems on her own.

And deep down, despite her guilt over the prickly awareness she felt around Melissa’s brother, she was secretly glad that she had Max to lean on, at least for a few more hours.

Max ground the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stay calm and rational and awake as he waited for Tara to return with her overnight case.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a more stubborn woman. There was a part of him that admired her strength, her ability to weather a shock such as finding her dog hurt or her tires slashed. But at the moment he was more frustrated than anything. Lissa had teased him about being a control freak and his sister might be right.

Someone was stalking Tara. Yet she’d never said a word, hadn’t so much as hinted at her troubles. Most women were more than grateful for a helping hand—but not Tara. She seemed to think she could take this guy on by herself. And, like always, his need to protect others kicked in at the first sign of a woman in distress. He wanted nothing more than to keep Tara out of harm’s way.

But her well-being wasn’t his problem, as she’d so clearly pointed out. He wasn’t responsible for her.

He should be glad she felt that way. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly in an attempt to loosen the tightness of his neck. The thought of anyone hurting Tara made his blood turn cold. Thankfully, she wasn’t stupid enough to stay here by herself.

Not after someone had been at her house.

He’d help her get away from this creep stalking her, but then he needed to leave her alone. He didn’t understand this intense attraction he felt for her. She was beautiful, but he’d never particularly cared about outward appearances. He appreciated her nobility in dedicating her life to helping others—people like his sister. Yet she was also a widow. She’d emphatically denied having a man in her life when the police had asked, and he understood she was clearly stating she didn’t want one.

Which should be fine with him. She was a woman in trouble, and he didn’t really want to be involved in her problems any more than he already was. Especially since he refused to make the same mistake again, misinterpreting gratitude and friendship for something more.

He wasn’t going to be in town for long anyway. Soon, he’d be flown back to Iraq.

A twenty-day leave wasn’t much time. His main concern was to find Gary, Lissa’s abusive boyfriend. He was glad the police were already on the case, although until he talked to them, he wouldn’t know if they were making any progress or not. And if he could give Tara a little protection from her stalker, he would. But he wouldn’t allow himself to get too close.

Tara returned to the kitchen, dressed in comfortable jeans, a sweater and a heavy-duty blue denim jacket. She looked much younger in the casual clothes. The navy blue suit she’d worn earlier had given her a more professional appearance. In her arms she carried a small overnight bag and his camouflage cargo jacket.

He was ridiculously disappointed that she’d taken his jacket off to replace it with one of her own.

“Here,” she said, handing the army jacket to him.

“Thanks.” He took the coat and stuffed it back into his duffel. Then he plucked the overnight bag from her hands, ignoring her protest, and slung both bags over his shoulder. He stepped back so Tara could go out the door first. She threw one last glance over her shoulder, and he understood the regret darkening her eyes. Leaving her home hadn’t been an easy decision.

He followed her outside and then waited until she’d closed and locked her door before they headed back down the road toward the bus stop. They hadn’t quite reached the corner when a loud explosion blasted his ears, rocking the night.

In a heartbeat, he shielded Tara with his body, convinced they were back in Iraq under mortar attack.

What happened? Where was the enemy firing from?

He glanced back over his shoulder and once the flashback faded, he realized Tara’s house was engulfed in smoke and flames.

Someone had tried to kill her.

The earth shuddered beneath her feet, throwing her against Max, whose strong arms held her upright, his broad shoulders protecting her as he turned, putting himself in front of her. The explosion reverberated through her head over and over in a deafening echo. The acrid scent of smoke stung her nose.

What happened? She clung to Max’s arms, twisting to search for the source of the sound, not sure what she expected to see. A burning car or truck maybe?

Flickering flames danced in the gaping hole where a corner of her house used to be. Her house. She gasped in horror, unable to tear her gaze from the awful sight.

Her house!

“Tara? Are you all right?”

She could barely hear Max through the ringing in her ears. The destruction seared painfully into her eyes, making them burn.

Her home, the home she’d shared with Ted, was gone.

Max’s arms tightened around her. Dimly, she realized her knees had buckled.

Gone. Her home was gone.

Suddenly Max swept her off her feet, striding away from the wreckage. She clutched his shirt, knowing she should protest, but unable to remember why.

“Mrs. Henderson!” Her hoarse voice sounded far away, as if coming from the end of a long tunnel.

“What?” Max’s steps slowed.

She forced her brain to think, to react. She pushed against him, turning awkwardly to glance behind them. “We can’t leave. Not without checking on Mrs. Henderson.”

He stopped, looking down at her. “No. We’re too exposed out here,” he said in a low, rough voice.

“Please. I can’t just leave her.” Sensing her distress, he set her down gently but kept a hand on her arm to keep her steady. She hadn’t realized she was swaying. Pulling herself together, she tried to make him understand. “The blast was on the side of the house closest to Mrs. Henderson’s. What if she fell? What if the fire spreads to her house? I can’t just leave her. She’s been like a grandmother to me.”