Serving Trouble (15 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-­Two

“H
E'S OUT THERE,
Noah. I know he is.”

Noah leaned back against the bar and looked over at Caroline. His conversation with Josie had left him with a hollow, panicked sensation circling his chest. But he'd barely had time to think about whether pushing Josie away was the right thing to do before Caroline showed up at the bar with news that left him questioning damn near everything.

“If Dustin's here,” he said slowly, “why did the private investigator send proof that he was in California?”

Caroline had used his dad's computer to check her email and learned the guy Noah'd hired in California had found Dustin alive and well. Yeah, the scumbag was stalking his ex-­wife, which violated the restraining order Dustin's ex had filed. But there was no sign their former CO had followed Caroline to Oregon.

Caroline threw her hands up in the air and began pacing the empty bar. As soon as she'd arrived, Noah had locked up even though he'd only opened for business five minutes earlier.

“Maybe he drove back,” she said. “It's been weeks since he shot at us.”

“In his email, the investigator said he spoke with Dustin's ex-­wife. Dustin's been bothering her ever since she got the order. She's placed a handful of calls to the police.”

Caroline stopped in the middle of the room. With her hands on her hips, her long hair flowing over her shoulders and her expression turned to pissed-­as-­hell, Caroline looked a helluva lot like the last woman who'd left this bar. Except the angry marine wasn't about to declare her love.

And Noah didn't feel the same all-­consuming need to keep Caroline safe. He wasn't about to let her get shot or locked up again. But with Josie . . . the thought of anything happening to her . . .

Crazy, wild panic. He felt it pulsing through him.

“If it wasn't Dustin,” Caroline challenged, “then who shot at us?”

“I don't know.” And yeah, that fact drove him close to crazy too.

“Maybe it's one of the guys,” she said. “Someone who served with us and blames me for pressing charges against his beloved CO.”

“Could be,” Noah agreed, reaching for his phone. “I'm going to call April and see if she can come in and cover the bar. Then I'd like to walk the woods around the barn and have a close look at that hunting stand.”

He made the call, promising April a Saturday night off with pay if she'd come in now. And thirty minutes later, he climbed into the driver's seat of his truck while Caroline buckled her seat belt.

“I heard you tell April that you might not make it back before closing,” Caroline said as they turned out of the parking lot.

“I'm going to find this bastard tonight. Or hell, at least find out who has been sending the pictures.” He glanced over at Caroline. “I don't want you always looking over your shoulder.”

She left out a rough bark of laugher. “Finding him won't erase my paranoia, Noah. If I'm discovered here, I could be arrested. That threat won't go away and you can't change that.”

“I wish I could,” he ground out. “You don't deserve to live like this. Hiding and afraid.”

“But that's life. And, Noah, it's about time you realize that there are some things you can't change. You can't always save the day.”

He pressed on the brakes as they approached a red light. “You're the second person today who has tried to drive that point home.”

“Josie?” Caroline said.

He nodded.

“Did you listen?”

“Right now keeping her safe is my top priority,” he said gruffly.

“Then your priorities are messed up.”

“You really are losing it,” he murmured as he hit the gas and they sped toward his childhood home.

“Noah, I'm more than what happened to me. I've been in love.”

He cast a glance at her. “Josh?”

“No.” He saw her shake her head out of the corner of his eye. “I can't love him. Not now. But before I joined the marines, before everything, I had a boyfriend. The relationship didn't survive the first deployment, but still . . . I know you should be focused on
why
keeping Josie safe comes first in your life,” Caroline said.

Noah stared at the empty two-­lane road. “I can't lose her. I let her go once and I spent five years wishing I was with her. And now . . . I don't want to be a hero. But I need to save her.”

“From the madman with the gun?” Caroline asked softly.

“From everything. I just need her to be OK.”

“Impossible.”

“I know.” He turned onto his drive. “And it's killing me.”

Because I love her.

He'd always loved her. But this time, he'd fallen hard for her. Yet, Caroline was right. If he loved her, he had to face that fact he couldn't protect her from everything.

Except the madman hunting them. Please, God, let him keep her safe from whoever the hell was after them.

J
OSIE STEERED THE
Mini toward home, feeling as if her world had been turned upside down. The one person she'd thought she could trust, the one who had promised to always rush to her rescue, had pushed her away. For her safety! How had she ended up back here? Broken-­hearted because Noah didn't love her.

This time felt different. I saw the love in his eyes.

But if he did love her, it wasn't enough to overcome his need to focus on the things he could control—­like her freaking safety.

She parked in front of her house but didn't reach for the door. Should she go back and try to talk to Noah again? Even though he hadn't said the words, she knew she wasn't strong enough to face this pregnancy alone.

“Josephine?”

Her father stood outside the Mini, peering in the driver side window. She'd been so wrapped up in her questions—­Go back? Move forward alone?—­that she hadn't heard her dad approach.

“I thought you were working today,” her father said. “Is everything all right?”

She opened the door and climbed out of the car. “No, Dad.” Closing the door, she met her father's concerned gaze. “I fell in love with Noah. I'm pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” He father's eyes widened.

Her lower lip trembled. “And I'm scared. I can't lose another baby. I can't do this on my own. I can't.”

“Josie.” Her father wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “Another . . . another baby?”

She nodded, her cheek pressed against the stiff, starched surface of his police uniform as his hold tightened.

Then he released her and took her hand. “Come inside. I'll make you some eggs.”

She allowed her father to lead her up the back porch steps and into the kitchen. She'd expected an interrogation right there in the driveway. But he didn't look disappointed or disapproving. She glanced at his weathered face. The sadness etched into the deep lines on his forehead, into his grey-­green eyes, nearly knocked her off her feet.

“I'm sorry, Daddy.”

He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and held it for her. “I think I'm the one who should be apologizing. For your loss. For not being there.”

“I didn't tell you.” She sank into the chair.

“I'm listening now,” he said. “Why don't you start at the beginning and I'll make the eggs?”

She nodded and started talking, explaining about her stupid ex, the way he'd left, how her water broke too soon. By the time she started describing Morgan's final days, tears streamed down her father's face as he stood over the stove. She explained why she needed to repay the hospital and doctors while he plated their breakfast.

She'd told him everything by the time he set the dishes on the table. Almost. She'd left that night in Noah's barn years ago, or how she'd fallen for him this time, out of the story. And she skimmed over the depth of her depression after losing Morgan.

“Josephine.” He withdrew a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his eyes, but the tears continued to fall. “I'm sorry you felt you had to hide this from me.”

“I thought I could do it on my own,” she said, her voice shaking. “And I didn't want to return home a failure.”

“Things would have been different if your mother had lived. I wouldn't have fought to control you.” He shook his head. “But I can't change the past. I wish I could, but . . .”

“Me too.” She wouldn't hand back the few weeks of Morgan's life. Not for the world. But if she could go back, she'd hold on to her heart and stay away from Noah's barn and his bed. She'd listen to her fear—­she couldn't handle the aftermath—­instead of pushing back against it.

“But this time”—­he covered her hand with his—­“you're not alone. I'm here. And Noah is a good man.”

“He is,” she acknowledged slowly. “But he's not ready to love me. He knows about Morgan . . .” Her father flinched at the sound of his late wife's name even though she'd already told him that she'd named the baby after her mother. “And I don't think Noah is ready for . . . for . . . what could happen.”

“I'll talk to him,” he father said firmly.

“You can't make him love me,” she said. “And there's a chance I'll lose this baby too. The thought of something so far beyond his control terrifies him. I know it scares me. So much.”

“You can't let fear prevent you from living,” he said. “And neither can Noah.”

“It's not that simple. There are other factors.” She stabbed the eggs with her fork. She couldn't expose Caroline. Sure, Josie had been through hell and heartbreak. But Caroline had endured much worse.

“Either you talk to him or I will,” her father said.

“No—­”

“Look at what you've survived, what you've overcome,” he said. “I know grief. It's not easy. But you're strong enough to move past it. And so is Noah. If you love him, go talk to him.” Her father looked her straight in the eyes. “Don't let the person you love run away because he's afraid—­or you are. Trust me, every day counts.”

She set her fork down. She thought of how Morgan had felt in her arms . . . how her mother had breathed life into their home . . . and how her father had looked at her mother, his usually reserved expression so filled with love . . .

“You're right, Dad. I'll go talk to him.”

And this time I won't let him push me away for “my safety.”

She refused to let a madman with a chip on his shoulder keep her from being with the man she loved. And if Noah pushed her away again? If he refused to love her back?

She'd survive. Her father was right. She couldn't hide behind fear that she couldn't handle the outcome—­not when it came to her relationship with Noah, or her baby.

 

Chapter Twenty-­Three

F
IGHTING FOR LO
V
E
,
or even a second chance to say those words and demand to know how Noah felt—­not his determination to keep her safe, but what was in his heart—­required finding him.

He wasn't at the bar. She'd stopped by and found April in charge. And he wasn't at the house. Josie had said hello to his dad before heading back to the parking area where her Mini stood beside his truck. Holding tight to her determination, she marched across the gravel and headed for the barn door.

The kittens greeted her as she flipped the light switch. Overheard, the fluorescents illuminated the mechanical bull in the corner.

“Ouch!” She glanced down and found a pair of kitten-­sized claws digging into her Converse sneakers. The stupid shoes were too old and worn to protect her feet from a playful fur ball.

“Crying with pain?” a familiar voice jeered. “I haven't touched you yet.”

She looked up and froze, her gaze locked on the shotgun's long barrel. It was the second time she'd had a gun pointed at her in Noah's barn. But the man holding the shotgun was twice Caroline's size. And he wasn't a crazy former marine. She knew him.

“Travis,” she said slowly. “Please put the gun down.”

“It figures you'd be here,” he said without lowering the weapon. He stood on the faded cushion, the bull at his side like a mechanical sidekick. “Always with him, aren't you? At the bar. In his barn.”

Always with who? Noah?

She struggled to put the pieces together. Why, after all this time, would Travis come after her? She'd barely seen him since she'd returned home. Not after Noah kicked him out of the bar.

But he'd seen her. He'd been watching them. Her. Noah. Caroline.

“You're the one who sent the pictures,” she murmured. “And you shot at Noah.”

“You didn't even see me up in that hunting stand. I would have made the shot if you hadn't played chicken, hiding behind the tree.”

I wasn't there.

He'd mistaken Caroline for her.

“You were after me,” she said, her hands trembling. Oh God, after all these years, her pissed-­off, hot-­tempered ex had been hiding out, hunting for her. It felt as if her life was spiraling out of her control. Maybe Noah was right to fear the things that were far beyond his power. She'd been so sure someone was searching for poor, paranoid Caroline.

“Not you,” he sneered, keeping the barrel pointed at her. “I'm here for Noah. He's humiliated me one too many times. Starting rumors. After he broke my nose, I couldn't get a job. Did he tell you that? Word got out that I had anger issues. I couldn't pay for school. Now who do you suppose started those rumors?”

Someone you hurt? Someone you hit?

She'd never breathed a word. Noah was the only witness. But now she wished she'd spoken up. How many women had he hurt? How many girlfriends fell for him and then stepped back in shock when he unleashed his anger? Had they blamed themselves? Or started spreading rumors . . .

“It wasn't Noah,” she said.

“He kicked me out of Big Buck's. I come in for one damn shot. A chance to welcome you home—­”

A shudder ran down her spine. She didn't want his welcome. But she'd never suspected it would lead to this.

“He refused to serve me in front of the whole fucking bar because you ran away from me,” Travis continued, his grip tightening on the shotgun. “Let's see how much of a hero he is when I point a gun in his face.”

“If you want to find out,” Noah called from behind her. The sound of his voice moved along with the click of his work boots on the barn's cement floor. “You'd better aim that thing at me.”

N
O
A
H
S
T
A
R
E
D
A
T
the shotgun as the truth sank in. Night after night, he'd been chasing a threat that didn't exist. He'd been convinced Dustin had followed Caroline to Oregon. But Dustin wasn't out there. And Travis Taylor, the man he'd fought five years ago, didn't want a piece of the AWOL marine—­he wanted Noah.

Come and get me, asshole.

He would do anything to keep that gun aimed at him. Anything to keep Josie safe.

“You want to see me cower?” Noah challenged again, his gaze locked on Travis. His heart raced, beating faster and faster each second the gun remained aimed at Josie. “I'm your target, Travis. I'm the one to blame. Point the gun at me.”

The shotgun cut through the air. Travis held it steady, his dark eyes glistening with excitement. Noah knew that look. He'd witnessed it while deployed—­on both sides of the battle. Travis wanted to hurt.

Don't hurt Josie.

“Take your shot, man,” Noah called. Keeping Travis's attention on him—­that was the only element he could control. Everything else about this clusterfuck was out of his power.

I'm not going to let you down, Josie. I'm going to keep my promise. I'll keep you and the baby safe.

He heard a soft gasp, but didn't risk looking at Josie. One glance might draw Travis's attention back to her. And yeah, he was close to counting his lucky stars that he'd sent Caroline up to the house after they'd hiked out to the hunting stand, hoping to find a clue. A paranoid marine wouldn't add to this equation. Plus, he wanted her out of range. Josie too.

Go to the door, Josie.

He sensed movement, but he resisted the urge to steal a glance.

“You have me, Travis,” he said, raising his hands palms up in a show of surrender.

“Some war hero,” Travis said with a laugh.

Beneath the sound of his voice, Noah heard the soft roar of a machine coming to life.

What the hell are you doing, Josie? Why aren't you running?

“I'm not a hero,” Noah said, allowing some of the panic he felt to slip into his words. “Not even close.”

I'm scared. So damn afraid of the things I can't change.

The bull spun on its axis. The horns whirled toward Travis, who'd chosen to remain at the machine's side, probably using the old cushions to gain a few inches above Noah. But the power of the old bull was no match for Travis.

The man who'd pushed Noah to the edge, who'd left him walking around so damn worried that he'd been ready and willing to push the woman he loved out of his life if it meant keeping her in one piece—­Travis fucking Taylor fell back on his ass and the gun went flying.

God bless that bull.

Noah raced forward and scooped the shotgun off the matt. And then he looked up at the woman manning the bull's controls. No, he wasn't the hero here. It was Josie.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded as he stood over Travis, the gun pointed down at the man who'd served up so much damn trouble.

“I thought someone needed to jump in and save you,” Josie shot back. “And that someone had to be me.”