Chapter 4

The barn renovation project team had almost finished nailing up the exterior siding. Isaiah stepped back from the area he’d been working on, pleased with his progress. No one could accuse him of slacking when Marchande’s side had nearly the same coverage.

He might have taken advantage of being alone for a few minutes while Marchande went for Powerade, or whatever passed for the least vile thirst quencher Mavis J had in stock at the grocery store in town. Normally he’d have used the down time to practice breathing or walking on his hands, but instead he’d gotten caught up with his appointed task.

Serenity’s rooftop chat had straightened him out pretty good. If he was head down at the barn, sweating through an honest day’s work to get this renovation done ASAP, he couldn’t be scouting around for the future Mrs. West. Which he wouldn’t have been anyway. Not really. Better safe than sorry.

Okay, he could admit a healthy curiosity about who might be the one Serenity thought he’d already met. Not because he planned to do anything about it if he did figure out who the prediction had in mind to heal and nurture his soul. Still.

Out of nowhere, Aria appeared, her red hair swinging in a rush of color as she practically skidded to a halt. She and Cassidy hadn’t been by to help for a couple of days since the exterior work required more brawn than brains. Frankly, the ladies’ absence had been a blessing. Marchande and Cassidy got crossways with each other twice an hour, mostly when she handed him his hat every time he tried to flirt with her. Isaiah had saved them all a lot of trouble by suggesting the ladies take a break from barn renovations.

Maybe his ability to guide people in the right direction wasn’t entirely broken, not when it came to saving his own sanity.

“In a rush?” he asked Aria with a genuine smile. She was an upgrade over Marchande any day and as long as Cassidy wasn’t with her, the fireworks would stay unlit. “This barn isn’t going anywhere.”

“I know,” she said, her voice a tad breathy, which did something nice to it. “But I’m on a break from the diner and I saw Tristan head into Voodoo Grocery from the window and I knew that meant you were probably here alone, so I ran—”

“Okay, easy.” She had his attention now. And she needed to stop talking so she could give her lungs a chance to catch up. He knew a thing or two about not being able to breathe. “You ran all the way from the diner? Impressive. That’s gotta be half a mile.”

She shrugged, matching his smile with one of her own that deepened the blue of her eyes. “Almost three quarters. Practically nothing. I don’t mind the distance. You have to learn to get around in a place like this if you want to do anything besides stay shut up inside.”

His estimation of her went up a notch. Yeah, he’d run his share of miles himself, usually at a ground eating pace with fifty pounds of gear strapped to his back. In the desert. Sometimes under a barrage of bullets. But he’d trained for brutal conditions and had the additional motivating factors of working with his team, plus trying not to die.

“You’re an outdoorsy type?”

“I guess.” She bit her lip, contemplating as if she wanted to be really sure she’d answered his question with as much honesty as she could muster. “I mean, I like to run, which has to be done outdoors around here. I never really thought much about it, but I do like being outside. Especially at the springs. It’s so peaceful.”

No one had mentioned anything about springs, which in retrospect might have just been a miss on his part given the name of the town. But he hadn’t had any reason to care about sorting that out. Until now. Aria’s face had taken on this glow as she’d spoken that might have been left over from running three quarters of a mile in the May heat. But he didn’t think so. And now he had to know more about what had lit her up.

“Springs? As in the Superstition ones?” he asked.

She tilted her head to the left to indicate the direction. “It’s not far from here. A little over a mile. Other end of town though, by the river.”

Springs and a river? He should get out more. His downtime consisted of rooftop stargazing. Alone. Which just sounded…lonely all at once. He had a very odd urge to invite Aria to join him in his makeshift tree fort sometime. They both lived at the hotel, albeit on different floors, so it would be convenient to jet up the stairs. Though she often worked late at the diner. Maybe after her shift? Or was that presumptuous?

He shook his head. Hard. No women. Even unassuming ones who had never so much as tripped his radar that way. Which was a shame because he really liked Aria.

“I’m a fan of peace,” he said instead. “Sounds like a place I might enjoy. Though it seems like there would be a lot of quiet spots around here since there’s not much else?”

“There are a lot of places to be by yourself, that’s for sure,” she acknowledged wryly. “Especially when people don’t stick around long.”

“That’s the spiel I keep hearing from Caleb. There isn’t much to anchor folks here. I think the schoolhouse will help, don’t you?” Or at least that was the party line. They had to get some basic infrastructure in place before the town could really function as a tourist draw—police department, fire department, tax office. This barn renovation was step one of about a million designed to get people entrenched in Superstition Springs.

And that reminder sat in his stomach like a stone. Not only was he one of the people without an anchor, Hardy expected Isaiah to be the one handing them out. When he got his mayor face on, there wasn’t a lot you could say to argue with the man, and when he flat out told you he needed help gluing people’s feet to the ground here, things got dicey.

“Sure, that’s why I volunteered to help with the renovations. Well, one of the reasons.” She broke off and he had the distinct impression she’d said something she regretted. “Actually, that was a good segue into what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Talk to me about?” That’s why she’d hightailed it over here from the diner when she’d realized he was alone? His intrigue meter shot into the red.

“Yeah. I need your help.”

The long pause did not seem to fix her hesitation. Surely she wasn’t uncomfortable around him. He’d always worked hard to make sure people felt at ease. Clearly he was falling down on that job too. “I’m a helpful guy. This is the part where you tell me what it is.”

She huffed out a breathy laugh that seemed to release some of her tension. “It’s just kind of silly now that I’m actually contemplating saying this out loud. But here it goes. I need you to promise what I’m about to tell you stays between us. It’s a secret.”

This just got better and better. “Like a pinky swear?”

She scowled, which only made her look cute instead of annoyed. Aria didn’t have an ounce of meanness in her whole body, which kind of ruined the expression. “I’m being serious. I have a proposition for you.”

Uh…if it had been anyone other than Aria, he might ask if it was of the illicit variety, but he couldn’t imagine something of that nature coming out of her mouth. Intrigued didn’t even begin to cover it at this point. “I’m listening.”

“Here’s the thing. You can’t laugh. I made a bet with Havana and Ember that I could get Tristan to ask me out on a date. I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen unless I stack the deck.”

She paused, eyeing him meaningfully and he caught a clue pretty fast. Decoy, fake boyfriend, make Marchande jealous. Take your pick. “You want me to help you.”

Her relieved smile did something unexpected—it made him relax.

That explained why she’d started wearing her hair down at the renovation site. She had a thing for Marchande, which was far from unusual. Women thronged around him on a regular basis and he’d always had his pick. If she had her sights set on his teammate, good. That meant Isaiah could be around her with no chance of anything mystical going on.

“I had a feeling you might appreciate the fact that it’s a bet,” she allowed. “They practically dared me.”

That did hit all of his buttons. The fact that she’d clued in on it warmed him considerably. She didn’t have to know that a wager upped the stakes enough to get his blood pumping or why he needed that so badly. “If there’s a bet, I’m your guy. Tell me more.”

She shrugged. “That’s basically it.”

“Not by half. Why would anyone take that bet unless they thought you’d lose?” He had to know what he was working with here and she’d left out a piece of this puzzle.

Aria’s brows quirked in apparent disbelief. “Have you looked at me recently?”

What kind of question was that? He looked at her all the time. But in the interest of fairness, he swept her with a once-over that should have been a lot more casual than it was. “Looking at you. You have gorgeous hair. Pretty eyes.”

As his gaze strayed to some of the areas that might be off-limits, he suddenly couldn’t tear his gaze from her lithe form. Aria was fit in the way of a woman who could run three-quarters of a mile without stopping. Sure, she wasn’t one of those lushly formed types who made men stupid with nothing more than a come-hither smolder, but he’d never been attracted to that.

Actually, he’d never really spelled out the things that made up his ideal woman and he didn’t want to start at that particular moment. Because he’d sound like an idiot if he said Aria had every last quality.

He cleared his throat. “Basically, you’re pretty awesome. Seems like a sucker’s bet to me. And like you don’t need much help.”

Aria blinked and a pleased blush stained her cheeks, which did nothing to decrease her attractiveness. “That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

That summed up the issue in a nutshell. She didn’t have a lot of experience with men paying attention to her, which must be what she hoped to gain with Isaiah’s help. He was the practice run. That, he could do without worrying about Serenity’s prediction or his imminent departure.

The whole shebang got his juices flowing in a way that nothing had, not in a long time. “You should have men singing sonnets to your beauty on a regular basis.”

“Well they don’t.” She made a face that wrinkled up her nose a bit. “But I’m not expecting that. I just need Tristan to ask me out on a date. To anywhere. I’ve been in his orbit for a few weeks now and he’s never given the slightest indication that he notices me above anyone else. I need insider info. Tell me what he likes, dislikes. Music, movies, books. That kind of thing.”

“I’d counter that with the point the he’s been in your orbit, not the other way around,” he corrected and bit back some choice words about the kind of men Aria had been dating. There was a whole lot wrong with them if they hadn’t been telling her on a regular basis how great she was. “That’s all we’re going for here? He asks you out and you win?”

She nodded, seemingly pleased that he’d gotten on board so fast. “What can I do for you in return? Something similar? Maybe you’d like the inside track on Cassidy.”

He recoiled so fast it snapped his neck. How in the blazes had Cassidy Calloway entered this already bizarre conversation?

“What? Why? I don’t—” He swallowed before he said something he shouldn’t, like how plain and unappealing Cassidy was next to Aria. “Why would I want any kind of track with Cassidy?”

“You know. Because she’s into you. Maybe I can help—” Aria’s eyes widened as she contemplated what must have been an expression of extreme what the heck just happened? on his face. “This is news to you. I thought you were…well, this is awkward.”

Yeah, he was a regular Captain Oblivious here. Clearly he’d been too wrapped up in his own misery over coming home from Syria in pieces to notice all the goofy eyes being thrown around on this barn renovation project. “I feel like I’m back in high school.”

Aria just laughed. “I wouldn’t know. There were ten people in my school and two of them were my sisters. For a while anyway.”

Because they’d both left, according to what he’d gleaned from Hardy. “Well, don’t worry about reciprocation. You can have my help for free, but only because you deserve to have a man who appreciates you.”

All at once, he had the uneasy feeling Marchande wouldn’t be that guy. Isaiah would lay down his life for the man, had been given many opportunities to prove that, but his own personal allegiance to his teammate didn’t erase facts. Tristan Marchande was a smooth dog of the highest order, prone to love ’em and leave ’em before a blink of time had passed. He appreciated women all right—in mass quantities.

That would not be what Aria deserved. Neither was that any of his business.

“No, I insist,” Aria shot back stubbornly. “You and Cassidy would be cute together. She’s so pretty and smart. There aren’t a lot of women around here, in case you didn’t notice. Why not snag one of the best for yourself?”

Because he was avoiding entanglements of that sort. And not just because of the prediction. Something that felt like panic beat a drum in his throat. But it couldn’t be. Because that would be a stupid thing to panic over. All he had to do was lay down the law in that respect.

“No really, I insist right back. This is a freebie, strictly to win the bet. Your sisters are going down. We cannot lose. I’ll be like Donkey, Shrek’s trusted sidekick. Right by your side to help complete the quest with no thought to my own personal safety as we traverse a hostile countryside in search of the dragon’s castle.”

The look Aria gave him brought him up short and he trailed off. Okay. Not on board with the Shrek metaphor. Maybe she’d never even seen the movie and plus, it was a cartoon. Probably he should have picked something more manly, like Lord of the Rings, another personal favorite. A quest was a quest.

“Before you get too far into this,” Aria said just as he opened his mouth to backtrack. “You should know there will be no makeovers like in the second movie. What you see is what you get. There will be no magic potions turning me into the non-ogre form of Fiona.”

Isaiah had to grin. “She never drank a potion. It was Shrek who got a makeover from the potion. Besides, I would never do that, mostly because I’m not into winning that way. But also because you don’t need any magic potions. You’re going to win because you’re you, and Tristan will be thrilled to have the Aria that you are right now.”

Color climbed through her face again in the most interesting barometer of her feelings and he liked having that tell. His compliment had pleased her. He wanted to do it again.

“I’ve seen all four of the Shrek movies at least ten times,” she said and he had the distinct impression she’d veered away from the subject of Marchande on purpose. “So I know the fairy godmother changed Fiona back into her human form. I’m just trying to go along with your point and also make it clear that there will be no new hairdo or anything.”

“Really? Ten times?”

He’d probably seen them all twenty times. But there was a lot of downtime when you were a SEAL waiting for deployment. The other guys preferred to read or watch depressing shows like Game of Thrones, but he’d had enough violence in his day job that he didn’t like it in his entertainment. Lord of the Rings notwithstanding since the violence was mostly toward the bad guys.

She shrugged. “The Shrek movies are great. The real question is why you picked that as the theme for our…association. Whatever you want to call it.”

What, like an almost thirty-year-old man couldn’t like cartoons? He bristled. “There’s nothing wrong with Shrek. It’s a quest movie. A twist on regular fairy tales.”

Defensive much? He hadn’t even touched on how it had this element of hope that had always resonated with him. If things could work out for an ogre, the same might be true of an orphan who’d never known a solid home for more than a few months at a time. He hadn’t seen the movies as a kid. It was only as an adult that he’d found the DVD in a pile of others at the base one day and the strange title plus the odd-looking green monster on the cover had intrigued him enough to see what it was about.

“Oh, I know. That’s one of the things I like about it. I just meant that you’re more like Shrek, going on a quest to find the princess on behalf of the king. You said you were going to be like Donkey. I was just thinking that if you intend to be the annoying talking sidekick, maybe I should reevaluate this whole thing.”

His shoulders relaxed as he laughed. “Point taken. I’ll be more like Shrek, the delivery boy.”

“You’ve seen those movies more than once.” Her smile widened as she punched him companionably in the arm. “Don’t try to deny it.”

He spread his hands wide, palms up. “I would never. It’s my favorite. The first is the best, followed by Shrek 3. Then 2, then 4. Sometimes I watch 2 and change my mind about the order though.”

That marked the first time he’d ever said that out loud. You didn’t talk about cartoons in a roomful of SEALs who could collectively dismantle an in-flight helicopter, then free jump fifty feet into the Persian Gulf before it crashed, taking its insurgent passengers to the depths of the sea.

There was something about Aria—and this conversation—that made him feel like he could be himself, no matter what. She didn’t know he was broken, nor did she expect him to provide any glue.

“Four is always last though,” she agreed with a definitive nod, apparently opting to skip the part where his taste had seven-year-old boy written all over it.

In a lot of ways, he hadn’t ever grown up, though, as Hardy often laughingly accused him of when Isaiah took Marchande’s stupid bets. So? What was so great about being a grown-up anyway? Adulthood sucked with all the responsibility and tension and bills. Besides, Isaiah hadn’t gotten a real childhood, not the kind other kids did. There’d been no Santa Claus on Christmas morning or Easter baskets to anticipate. One year, he’d landed with foster parents who practiced some fringe religion and that had been pretty bleak since they didn’t celebrate anything, least of all birthdays or other generally recognized festive occasions.

“I think we’ll get along just fine,” he told her as one very tall, very blond SEAL waltzed into view at the end of the cracked concrete road that lead toward town, not one hair bold enough to escape from his slick topknot. Marchande was always carefully groomed and never hurried anywhere, even when bringing back drinks for someone else who’d stayed behind working. “Looks like our target is back from his jaunt to Voodoo Grocery. Mum’s the word, right?”

Aria shook her head, eyes wide. “Oh, for sure. You can’t tell him there’s a bet. Or that I’ve got the hots for him. I would be mortified if he found out.”

“You told me, though.”

“Well, yeah, I had to in order to get your help. And, you know.” She shrugged and lowered her voice as Marchande ambled up the dirt path from the road, still taking his time but clearly intrigued by the party of two that had formed in his absence. “You’re easy to talk to. More importantly, I trust you.”

How about that? He kind of liked being her confidante, a go-to friend she could tell anything without fear of censure.

“What a great addition to the scenery,” Marchande said by way of greeting and treated Aria to one of his megawatt smiles. “I like it when you come by to dress up the place.”

She smiled at him in return, but otherwise kept her mouth shut. That wasn’t going to work. This was her chance to get started on winning the bet.

“Perfect timing, then,” Isaiah said cheerily. “I was just about to go…do something.”

He had nothing to do, but it was the only excuse he could conjure up on the fly to give them time alone together. Plus, jetting off had the added bonus of forcing Marchande to pick up his share of the renovations, which he’d shirked for the better part of an hour.

“Like what?” Marchande asked, because of course he had no clue Isaiah had been trying to finagle something on his behalf. “You can’t abandon ship, Elmer. It’s go-time on the rest of these exterior panels.”

“I have to get back to the diner anyway,” Aria said as Tristan handed over his PowerAde cargo to Isaiah.

But as she turned to go, she shot Isaiah a secret look that hit him square in the solar plexus with a long, liquid pull that shouldn’t feel so good. But it did. They shared something now. He was part of her inner circle, part of her community, and his greedy, parched soul lapped it up.

He’d had that in the Navy—the camaraderie, the sense of belonging—and it had been ripped away. If there was a small chance he could recreate some of that with Aria simply by giving her a few pointers about Marchande, but with none of the pressure, he’d take it.

In fact, he’d prefer it. Aria didn’t share the images in Isaiah’s head of the bloody, broken bodies he’d been responsible for murdering. The guys on his team did. They’d all been there. They’d all participated in the strike that had leveled most of the village of al-Sadidiq. How did you move on from that, pick up and go on like nothing had happened? How did you make a single decision outside of what shoes to put on in the morning without questioning whether you had all the right information?

Simple. You didn’t. You also didn’t let anyone give you the responsibility for any decisions. And you certainly didn’t take on a role in a project that was critical to the survival of a dying town, even if the mayor was a guy you’d lay down your life for.

Isaiah’s lungs got tight, right on cue. Good time for a sip of PowerAde to cover. Except the bottle in his hand that Marchande had brought back from Voodoo Grocery wasn’t PowerAde, it was some knock-off brand called Quencher and it was purple, a color that probably signified grape. Normally Isaiah would gag. He drank half of it in one shot. Didn’t help.

Clearly he needed to spend a lot of time in Aria’s company talking about innocuous things like Shrek movies and less time with Marchande. He had a bet to win.